Jodi's Mail-order Man. Julianna Morris

Evelyn’s earlier conversation with Donovan.

      “Mostly that you were beautiful and intelligent and that you loved Alaska. It was more than enough.”

      “Okay, when did he tell you about me?” Jodie countered dryly.

      Evelyn laughed. “I didn’t know he’d proposed until a couple of days ago, but don’t worry about that. He probably wanted to be sure you were really coming before getting my hopes up.”

      “Of course.” Jodie dropped another potato into the pot. “Is that enough, or do we need more?”

      “Enough,” Evelyn pronounced. “Even for that big Irishman I married.”

      The palpable love in her voice tore at Jodie. She’d once wanted that kind of love for herself—she’d even had it for a time. Now all she wanted was something safe and predictable. In the bottom of her heart she suspected it was a form of cowardice, but it was a cowardice she couldn’t seem to overcome.

      “What’s that about me bein’ big?”

      Shamus Carney stood at the doorway, or rather, he filled the doorway. None of him was fat, it was simply the height and muscle and square dimensions of a large, well-built man. He’d changed from his suit since arriving home, but he still looked like a successful oil executive…with touches of silver-haired teddy bear.

      “Now, Evie darlin’, you know we leave the really big ones at home,” Shamus continued in his lingering Irish brogue. “I’m barely keeper size.”

      “Better than keeper size,” Evelyn murmured. A private look was exchanged between husband and wife, a look of loving promises made and kept.

      Donovan stood nearby, his hands thrust into his pockets. The contrast between the two men couldn’t have been more obvious. For all his size, Shamus dressed and looked like what he was, a high-powered executive. But Donovan…Jodie glanced at him again from the corner of her eye, trying to decide what category he fit into.

      Tall and trim, with a strong body that suggested he was accustomed to hard work. But it wasn’t his muscles that were so appealing to watch, it was the way he moved with a comfortable, masculine grace. He was adequately covered by worn jeans, a blue flannel shirt neatly tucked into those jeans and a black T-shirt beneath, yet he still made her mouth go dry.

      Stop.

      Jodie threw on her mental brakes with an effort. She’d been in a sexual deep freeze for so long that she’d lost all perspective. Donovan was a man—that was enough of a category. She shouldn’t think about him any more than necessary.

      “Mom,” Donovan said, flicking Jodie a look. “Got some lemonade? We’re going to cut some winter firewood, so we’ll get thirsty fast.”

      “You shouldn’t work so hard. You’re visiting,” Evelyn objected. “Talk to him, Shamus.”

      “I have, darlin’, but you’ve a hardheaded son.”

      “I get it from my mother,” Donovan countered, a smile playing on his lips.

      Everything was said in a fond, comfortable way. They’d probably had this discussion a hundred times, and would have it a hundred more. Threads of regret slid through Jodie. Her mother had been the one who held things together, the one who softened the general’s hard edges. Jodie had tried, but the loss of his wife had damaged Thaddeus McBride, leaving wounds through his soul that never seemed to heal.

      She didn’t want to be like that. Not anymore. She needed to protect herself, but that didn’t mean she had to retreat from life. Becoming part of this loving family was fast becoming an important element of her plan to marry Cole.

      “I’ve never seen anyone chop wood,” Jodie said. “Mind if I watch?”

      “That t’would be a real pleasure, Jodie love.” Shamus’s smile gentled. Upon learning her maiden name of McBride, he’d instantly pronounced Jodie a girl from the Emerald Isle, though she’d protested that her Irish roots were diluted and generations back.

      “I should learn something useful about living in Alaska. Maybe you could teach me how to use that ax,” she suggested.

      A look of alarm froze both men’s faces.

      “I’m sure Cole will split any wood that needs to be cut,” Donovan said quickly.

      “I should still know how—”

      “Change into something more practical, then we’ll talk about it.” Turning on his heel, he headed out the back door. Shamus followed, his expression as perplexed as his wife’s.

      Jodie self-consciously smoothed the sleeve of her silk blouse. In a world of jeans and flannel, she probably did look impractical.

      Evelyn patted her hand. “Don’t let him trouble you. Shamus won’t let me cut wood, either—men are like that the world over.” She shrugged. “And Donovan has always been too protective. He just doesn’t want you to get hurt when he feels responsible for your safety.”

      It was more than that, but Jodie kept her mouth shut. Underlying Donovan’s outward friendliness, was an edge of disapproval; he was convinced she wasn’t the right woman for his brother.

      “Well, I’ll see if the children are still napping, then change my clothes,” she said, rising. “Unless I can help more with dinner?”

      “Go on, dear. I have things in hand.”

      Jodie headed for the back of the house, mentally reviewing her limited travel wardrobe. She hadn’t come prepared to brave the wilderness; she’d come for a summer visit. With all of Tadd and Penny’s things to pack, as well, she’d opted mostly for light blouses, shorts, a couple pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts. They took the least space in a suitcase.

      Sighing, Jodie took out a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt. If Donovan didn’t like her clothing, then too bad.

      Donovan brought the head of the maul down on the last wedge, splitting the log into two clean pieces. He sensed Shamus’s puzzled gaze, even as they worked in tandem on the familiar chore of preparing for a northern winter. It was something that began each spring as soon as the landscape eased from the grip of the cold and ice.

      “You were rude, lad,” Shamus finally said softly.

      Donovan flicked a glance at his mother’s husband and shifted uncomfortably. The quiet rebuke was the closest the elder man had ever come to sounding like a dad. Shamus had never acted like a father because, quite simply, Donovan had never let him get that close.

      You sound fond of him.

      The memory of Jodie’s astute observation gave Donovan a queer sensation in his chest. He suddenly knew that Shamus had wanted to be a father, but he’d barely been allowed friendship.

      “You’re right. I’ll apologize,” he said.

      “Why?”

      Donovan knew the question wasn’t why should he apologize, but why he’d acted like a jackass. Beneath Shamus’s Irish congeniality was a shrewd man, in both the business world, and the business of people.

      Why?

      Because I can’t help seeing Jodie as a woman, not as a sister-in-law.

      Setting the maul on the ground, Donovan lifted another log to the chopping block. Shamus still waited for the answer, but it wasn’t something Donovan wanted to admit out loud.

      “She’s a fine woman, lad,” Shamus said, breaking the silence. “You can see it in her eyes, and in her children. The same way you can see it in your mother.”

      The oblique compliment unexpectedly warmed Donovan. He’d always thought he didn’t need a father’s approval. His own father’s opinion certainly wasn’t worth caring about, yet all at once it meant a lot that Shamus thought he measured up, at least in some things.

      “Jodie…disturbs me,” Donovan admitted,