Three

      By the following morning, Joy had decided the man needed to be pushed into getting outside himself. Sitting in the kitchen with him the night before had been interesting and more revealing than he would have liked, she was sure. Though he had a gruff, cold exterior, Joy had seen enough in his eyes to convince her that the real man was hidden somewhere beneath that hard shell he carried around with him.

      She had known he’d been trying to avoid seeing her again by staying late in his workshop. Which was why she’d been waiting for him in the kitchen. Joy had always believed that it was better to face a problem head-on rather than dance around it and hope it would get better. So she’d been prepared to argue and bargain with him to make sure she and Holly could stay for the month.

      And she’d known the moment he tasted her baked mostaccioli that arguments would not be necessary. He might not want her there, but her cooking had won him over. Clearly, he didn’t like it, but he’d put up with her for a month if it meant he wouldn’t starve. Joy could live with that.

      What she might not be able to live with was her body’s response to being near him. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t felt anything remotely like awareness since splitting with Holly’s father before the little girl was born. And she wasn’t looking for it now. She had a good life, a growing business and a daughter who made her heart sing. Who could ask for more than that?

      But the man...intrigued her. She could admit, at least to herself, that sitting with him in the shadow-filled night had made her feel things she’d be better off forgetting. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Just look at the man. Tall, dark and crabby. What woman wouldn’t have a few fantasies about a man who looked like he did? Okay, normally she wouldn’t enjoy the surly attitude—God knew she’d had enough “bad boys” in her life. But the shadows of old pain in his eyes told Joy that Sam hadn’t always been so closed off.

      So there was interest even when she knew there shouldn’t be. His cold detachment was annoying, but the haunted look in his eyes drew her in. Made her want to comfort. Care. Dangerous feelings to have.

      “Mommy, is it gonna snow today?”

      Grateful for that sweet voice pulling her out of her circling thoughts, Joy walked to the kitchen table, bent down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

      “I don’t think so, baby. Eat your pancakes now. And then we’ll take a walk down to the lake.”

      “And skate?” Holly’s eyes went bright with excitement at the idea. She forked up a bite of pancake and chewed quickly, eager now to get outside.

      “We’ll see if the lake’s frozen enough, all right?” She’d brought their ice skates along since she’d known about the lake. And though she was no future competitor, Holly loved skating almost as much as she loved fairy princesses.

      Humming, Holly nodded to herself and kept eating, pausing now and then for a sip of her milk. Her heels thumped against the chair rungs and sounded like a steady heartbeat in the quiet morning. Her little girl couldn’t have been contained in a hotel room for a month. She had enough energy for three healthy kids and needed the room to run and play.

      This house, this place, with its wide yard and homey warmth, was just what she needed. Simple as that. As for what Sam Henry made Joy feel? That would remain her own little secret.

      “Hi, Sam!” Holly called out. “Mommy made pancakes. We’re cellbrating.”

      “Celebrating,” Joy corrected automatically, before she turned to look at the man standing in the open doorway. And darn it, she felt that buzz of awareness again the minute her gaze hit his. So tall, she thought with approval. He wore faded jeans and the scarred boots again, but today he wore a long-sleeved green thermal shirt with a gray flannel shirt over it. His too-long hair framed his face, and his eyes still carried the secrets that she’d seen in them the night before. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked past, and Joy wondered what he was thinking.

      Probably trying to figure out the best way to get her and Holly to leave, she thought.

      Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She turned to the coffeemaker and poured him a cup. “Black?”

      He accepted it. “How’d you guess?”

      She smiled. “You look like the no-frills kind of man to me. Just can’t imagine you ordering a half-caf, vanilla bean cappuccino.”

      He snorted, but took a long drink and sighed at the rush of caffeine in his system. Joy could appreciate that, since she usually got up a half hour before Holly just so she could have the time to enjoy that first, blissful cup of coffee.

      “What’re you celebrating?” he asked.

      Joy flushed a little. “Staying here in the ‘castle.’”

      Holly’s heels continued to thump as she hummed her way through breakfast. “We’re having pancakes and then we’re going skating on the lake and—”

      “I said we’ll see,” Joy reminded her.

      “Stay away from the lake.”

      Joy looked at him. His voice was low, brusque, and his tone brooked no argument. All trace of amusement was gone from eyes that looked as deep and dark as the night itself. “What?”

      “The lake,” he said, making an obvious effort to soften the hard note in his voice. “It’s not solid enough. Too dangerous for either of you to be on it.”

      “Are you sure?” Joy asked, glancing out the kitchen window at the frigid world beyond the glass. Sure, it hadn’t snowed much so far, but it had been below freezing every night for the last couple of weeks, so the lake should be frozen over completely by now.

      “No point in taking the chance, is there? If it stays this cold, maybe you could try it in a week or two...”

      Well, she thought, at least he’d accepted that she and Holly would still be there in two weeks. That was a step in the right direction, anyway. His gaze fixed on hers, deliberately avoiding looking at Holly, though the little girl was practically vibrating with barely concealed excitement. In his eyes, Joy saw real worry and a shadow of something darker, something older.

      “Okay,” she said, going with her instinct to ease whatever it was that was driving him. Reaching out, she laid one hand on his forearm and felt the tension gripping him before he slowly, deliberately pulled away. “Okay. No skating today.”

      “Moooommmmmyyyyy...”

      How her daughter managed to put ten or more syllables into a single word was beyond her.

      “We’ll skate another day, okay, sweetie? How about today we take a walk in the forest and look for pinecones?” She kept her gaze locked on Sam’s, so she actually saw relief flash across his eyes. What was it in his past that had him still tied into knots?

      “Can we paint ’em for Christmas?”

      “Sure we can, baby. We’ll go after we clean the kitchen, so eat up.” Then to Sam, she said, “How about some pancakes?”

      “No,