Marriage Under the Mistletoe. Helen Lacey
she remained focused on the road, Evie felt his surprised stare.
“You must have married young.”
Evie pushed her hair from her face. “By some standards, I suppose. I was nineteen.”
She could almost hear him do the math in his head and felt about one hundred years old. While he, she knew, was just twenty-seven.
She pushed the CD button on, waited for music to fill the cab and resisted the urge to sing along.
“Do you want to share the driving?”
Evie looked sideways. “We drive on the other side of the road.”
“I have an international license.”
Of course he did. He was young, gorgeous, fearless and accomplished. “I’ll let you know.”
He didn’t say anything for a while and relief pitched in her chest, although she felt the nearness of him through to her blood. What was it about men who looked like Scott Jones that made some women discard their usual good sense and want to jump their bones? But not her. Evie wasn’t about to make a fool of herself over a great body and an incredible smile.
She cast a quick look in his direction. His eyes were shut. Good. If he slept she wouldn’t have to talk. Besides, they had three weeks to get through, including the wedding, Christmas and New Year’s.
And she could bet, right down to the soles of her feet, that they’d turn out to be three of the longest weeks in history.
* * *
Scott wanted to sleep. He longed for it. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d caught more than a couple of hours without being bombarded by dreams.
Yes, I can...
Eight months, he thought. Give or take a day. It had been eight months since his colleague and friend Mike O’Shea had been killed. And he’d lived under a cloud of guilt and blame and regret ever since.
Because despite being acquitted of any negligence involving the incident that had taken Mike’s life, Scott felt responsible. He should have been able to save his friend. He should have tried harder, moved faster, relied on instinct rather than adhering to protocol. Mike had deserved that. So did the two young daughters and grieving wife he’d left behind.
It proved to Scott that a man with his profession couldn’t have it all. The job he had, the job he loved...that job and family didn’t mix. The wife-and-kids kind of family that meant commitment on a big scale. He’d been in love once, a few years back. He’d thought being involved with another firefighter would work, that she would understand the job, the pressures and the dangers involved. It lasted eighteen months before she’d bailed on him, their apartment and their plans for a future.
He should have expected it. Love hadn’t figured in his life since. Lust...well, that was different. Since Belinda had walked out he’d dated half a dozen different women. He’d slept with a few of them but had no inclination to pursue anything serious. Because serious wasn’t for him. Not while he was a firefighter.
Scott inhaled a deep breath and got a whiff of perfume. Something sweet...vanilla. He smiled when his brain registered how much he liked it. The woman beside him was extremely attractive; although she was so uptight he could feel the vibrations coming off her skin. But he liked the way she looked. He’d always been a sucker for long, dark, sexy hair. She had a nice mouth and big green eyes beneath slanting, provocative eyebrows. The type of woman he’d notice. Lush, he thought. And touchable in a way that could make a man’s palms itch.
Maybe I should talk to her and break the ice a bit? Talking with women had never been a problem. He liked women. They usually liked him. But she didn’t seem interested in conversation, so Scott kept his eyes closed and concentrated on the soft music beating between them.
Sleep...yeah...I can do that.
* * *
Evie had a headache. Probably from the tightly clenched jaw she couldn’t relax. Acutely conscious of the sleeping man beside her, she gripped the wheel and looked directly ahead. An hour and a half into the journey and she felt the need to stop for a fix of caffeine. She pulled into a truck stop twenty minutes later and maneuvered the pickup into a vacant space outside the diner. Her passenger didn’t stir as she turned off the engine and unclipped her belt. She looked him over and experienced a strange dip low in her belly. Really low.
Okay...so my body’s not quite the museum I thought it was.
Evie wasn’t sure how this sudden attraction made her feel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to feel anything. She wasn’t sure she even knew how anymore. Oh, she knew how to love her son, and her parents and her siblings and her nieces and nephews. And she was a good, loyal friend.
But a man? A flesh-and-blood man like the one in front of her—that was a different kind of feeling altogether. Memories of those kinds of feelings swam around in her head, like ghosts of a life once lived, a life that belonged to someone else.
The life of a woman who’d had a husband, a lover, a soul mate. When Gordon was alive she’d had those things. They’d laughed and loved. She felt passion and heat and sweat.
But Evie wasn’t that woman anymore.
She took a breath, grabbed her purse and got out as quietly as she could. The restaurant wasn’t busy and she quickly ordered coffee to go and a couple of prepackaged sandwiches. Evie hung around the counter until the order came, then stopped to collect sugar and plastic spoons from a small table near the door. She was just about to pocket some of both when she heard a voice behind her.
“How’s the coffee here?”
She turned. Scott was close. Really close. His chest seemed like a solid wall in front of her. “I’m not sure.” She held up a small cardboard carrier containing two foam cups. “It’s hot at least.”
“That’s a good start.”
Evie’s skin prickled. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it.”
He smiled. “Black, two sugars and milk.”
A funny guy. Great. She passed him four sachets of sugar. “Knock yourself out.”
“Shall we sit?” he asked.
Evie handed over the coffee. “Sure.”
She grabbed the food and followed him to one of the melamine tables and contained her surprise when he pulled out a chair for her. “How much do I owe you?” he asked once seated.
Evie shook her head and flouted the way her heart pounded beneath her ribs like a freight train. “My treat.”
He smiled again and she got another look at the dimple. “Thanks.” He took the lid off his coffee and poured in some sugar. “Callie tells me you’re in the wedding party?” he asked, resting both elbows on the table.
She nodded and pushed a sandwich toward him. “And you’re giving the bride away?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “So, what else do you do besides run a B and B?”
Evie carefully sipped her coffee. “I paint.”
“Houses?”
“Pictures,” she replied. “Portraits, landscapes...that sort of thing.”
“Talented and beautiful,” he said smoothly.
Color rose up her collarbone and she felt like shaking her head to refute the compliment. Evie knew she wasn’t beautiful. She had even enough features and was attractive at best. Her sister Grace, on the other hand, was a classic beauty. And Mary-Jayne, the youngest of the three sisters, had always been considered the pretty one. Evie was just...Evie.
“And I teach art classes at my studio. What about you?” she asked, ignoring the compliment. “What do you do?”
“Besides what I’m doing