The Road to Reunion. GINA WILKINS

except for the sheer number of books. Living alone here as he did, so isolated in his mountain cabin, he probably turned to his books for company.

      She plucked a promising-looking novel from the selection. “D’you mind if I read this while you watch your game?”

      Without glancing at her, he gave a grunt that she assumed was an assent.

      She curled up on one end of the couch and opened the book. She managed to read a page and a half during the next half hour. The writing was fine, the premise interesting—but when it came to holding her attention, the story could not compete with the reality of the man in the recliner a few feet away from her. He sat without moving, his full attention seemingly focused on the game playing on the screen, proving again that she wasn’t nearly as distracting to him as he was to her.

      He fascinated her.

      Granted, her memories of him were hazy. She had been so young when he left, and there had been several boys in her family since. He had been quiet even then, standing apart from group activities. So many of the boys had arrived rebellious and angry at the circumstances that had landed them in foster care, but Kyle had kept his emotions carefully locked away. From what Molly had been told, he’d been obedient and cooperative, though so obsessively guarded that it had taken Cassie and Jared several months to coax a genuine smile from him.

      Molly remembered his smiles. Perhaps because they had been so rare, and because she had been so accustomed to winning over everyone she met, she had been thrilled the few times Kyle had actually smiled in her direction.

      Whatever their challenges, Molly had considered each of the foster boys brothers. Even though she had known from the start that their stays would only be temporary, she had still grieved each time one of them moved on. Her parents had protected her from physical dangers during her childhood, but they hadn’t been able to prevent the heartaches that accompanied each departure. Instead, they had shared them—and then all of them had opened their home and hearts again to the next boy who needed them.

      During the past year or so, she had realized that her childhood had set a pattern for the way she interacted with the men she’d met as an adult. She had never had a serious relationship. It seemed that anyone who initially expressed a special interest in her had ended up seeing her more as a kid sister or close pal.

      Her girlfriends had accused her of manipulating the situations to ensure just that outcome. They had suggested that she was commitment-phobic, or had her standards set too high. Her response had been that she was too young to get tied down to one guy.

      While that had been the truth, she suspected there had been more to her reluctance to give her heart completely to anyone. But for some reason, she had always shied away from examining her skittishness more closely.

      Oddly enough, it had been easier for her to see those potential suitors as brother figures than it was to think of Kyle that way now, even though he’d once been a part of her family. She had thought of the others as nice boys. Kyle was a man battered by experience, a soldier hardened by battle. He was only a little more than five years her senior, but she was painfully aware of the vast differences between his life and her own decidedly sheltered existence.

      Did he still see a little girl when he looked at her? Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be the only one who did.

      Though he didn’t look at her, Kyle was all too aware of Molly’s eyes on him during the evening. He focused fiercely on the game, though he was unable to enjoy it as much as usual.

      Why did she keep staring at him? He wasn’t doing anything entertaining. He certainly wasn’t that interesting to look at. Was she studying his scars, wondering how he’d gotten them? Was she comparing the man she saw now to the boy she remembered?

      He could have told her she might as well stop looking for similarities. As far as he was concerned, that boy had died in a fiery blast in the Middle East.

      When he could stand her scrutiny no longer, he gave a silent, mental curse and shoved himself to his feet. “I’m getting something to drink. You want any—”

      Before he could complete the question, he stumbled, almost taking a nosedive straight down to the floor. His bum leg had locked up while he’d been sitting so self-consciously motionless, and now it refused to cooperate, punishing his too-sudden movement with a jawclenching wave of pain. He knew the spasm would subside if he stood perfectly still for a few minutes, then swallowed a couple of pain pills. He’d certainly had enough experience.

      Soft hands clutched his arm. “Are you all right?”

      He shook her off. “I’m fine. Just a cramp. What do you want to drink?”

      “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get us something?”

      She could almost feel the embarrassment, frustration and anger seething in the look he gave her.

      She took a hasty step backward, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Fine. You go. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

      It took every ounce of strength he had to force his feet to move and his legs to support him as he headed for the kitchen. Pain slammed through him with every step, but he kept his head high and his shoulders squared.

      Life and war had left him with very little, but he still had his pride. It refused to allow him to show any further weakness in front of Molly Walker.

       Chapter Three

      It was all Molly could do not to rush to help Kyle into the kitchen. As the minutes crept by after he disappeared into the other room, the urge to check on him was almost overwhelming. Only the memory of the glare he had given her kept her in her chair.

      He had looked hard and sort of aggressive, and she suspected most people would have been intimidated. Maybe a little annoyed that their instinctive offer of help had been so coldly rebuffed. Molly’s reaction had been just the opposite. Her heart had twisted in sympathy for him, an emotion she had known better than to let him see.

      A lifetime of experience with angry and bitter young men had made her quite skilled at reading pain—physical and emotional. She had seen both when she looked into Kyle’s eyes.

      A good fifteen minutes passed before he returned, carrying two cans of caffeine-free cola. Most of the color had returned to his face, she noted, but his eyes were still dark. Deep lines had settled in around the corners of his mouth, as though he held his facial muscles clenched.

      She wondered what it was costing him just to keep moving. She would bet that if she wasn’t there, he would be flat on his back and moaning right now.

      Her knowledge of the male ego kept her from voicing any of her concerns aloud. She thanked him for the soda, then pretended to read again while he walked with carefully measured steps to the recliner.

      She let a few more minutes pass, and then she yawned delicately, but audibly. “Gosh, I’m getting tired. It was such a long trip here.”

      After a pause, Kyle said almost offhandedly, “I’ll go back to my room so you can get some rest in here.”

      She kept any hint of satisfaction out of her voice when she replied, “I don’t want you to miss your game.”

      He shrugged. “It’s pretty one-sided, anyway.”

      Pleased that she had come up with a way to send him to bed without a loss of pride—and making him think it was his idea in the process—she said, “Just don’t leave on my account. I can wait until you’re ready to turn in.”

      He gave her a look that might have held a hint of suspicion, but she kept her expression as unrevealing as her voice. His shoulders seemed to relax when he nodded. “I’ll get you some sheets and a blanket. You can bunk down here on the couch, and I’ll read in my room until I’m ready to turn in.”

      A very short time later, Molly lay on the couch listening to the rain that fell more gently against the roof now. With only a very brief “good-night,” Kyle had retired to his room. She