His Christmas Sweetheart. Cathy McDavid

wanting to do the same ever since.

      Kiss him, not evacuate her residents.

      “No problem.” He swallowed.

      She wondered if he was remembering that day, too. “Someone who works as hard as you deserves a reward.”

      His eyes widened a fraction and a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.

      “Can I get you a cold drink or a snack? Nell made some cherry cobbler for dessert. I’m sure I can sneak you a piece without her getting mad.”

      “I have to get back to the ranch.”

      “One small piece?”

      “Thanks, but no.” He scooted forward and stood.

      Miranda had no choice but to give him room. To her surprise, his hand appeared in front of her face.

      She took it and let him pull her to her feet, noting his calluses. A working man’s hand. Like her foster father’s. She found comfort in that.

      “Such a gentleman.”

      He met her glance briefly before turning away.

      A warm glow bloomed inside her. His severe shyness, as much as his good looks, had kept her intrigued and putting herself in his path at every opportunity these past five months. There was also something about him, a complexity, a depth, a sensitivity that most women probably missed.

      Dropping the wrench into the toolbox, he retrieved the towel from the floor.

      “Where can I throw this?”

      “I’ll take it.” She did, and her attention was drawn again to the rubber band on his wrist.

      Odd habit for a man, she mused. Miranda had picked hers up from her foster mother, the queen of practicality and thriftiness.

      But then Will was a person of many odd habits. And mystery. She’d asked around after the fire. Few knew him, none well, and no one had any idea where he’d come from or what he’d done before arriving in Sweetheart. Besides serving in the army, which he’d confirmed today.

      He could, she supposed, be an AWOL soldier. A criminal on the lam. A serial killer. A witness in the protection program. A deadbeat dad evading child-support payments.

      Her instincts told her Will was none of those things. She’d seen him with her residents and Crackers, her therapy dog. Will was innately good and kind.

      But something had caused him to close himself off from people. Something harsh and heartbreaking. If she wasn’t afraid of appearing nosy or gossipy, she’d prod Will’s boss, the new owner of the Gold Nugget Ranch, for answers.

      “Next time, perhaps?” Miranda dropped another hint, even though Will never took them. “Nell’s constantly cooking up delicious dishes with far too many calories. I swear I’ve gained five pounds this past week alone.”

      He took her in from head to toe and, for a fraction of a second, his gaze heated. “You look fine.”

      It was the most emotion Miranda had ever seen him show, and a shiver of awareness wound slowly through her.

      She inched closer. “Aren’t you the flatterer.”

      Grabbing his hat off the table, he all but stumbled out of the kitchen in his haste to depart.

      She saw him to the door, but he was three steps ahead of her and barely acknowledged Arthur’s booming goodbye and Babs’s wave. Mr. Lexington and Crackers didn’t so much as stir from their place in the recliner.

      Miranda returned to the kitchen, feeling quite satisfied with herself. Finally she’d gotten a reaction from Will. A small one, but there was no mistaking it. He was interested in her, and that was enough for now.

      She had considered being less intimidating—her big personality didn’t appeal to everyone—only to change her mind. Will seemed to like her plenty fine the way she was, despite his wariness.

      Nell came into the kitchen just as Miranda was closing the lid on the toolbox.

      “Himey is finished with his bath, and Mrs. Litey’s napping. Took her medication without a fuss. What I’d give to have Will visit every day.”

      Miranda thought the same thing.

      “Leak fixed?” Nell inspected the cupboard under the sink.

      “For now.”

      “What a dirty trick you played on that poor unsuspecting man.”

      “I did no such thing.” Miranda pretended naïveté.

      Nell chuckled as she opened the refrigerator and removed items in preparation of dinner. “We both know you could have fixed that leak easy as him. Maybe easier.”

      It was true. Miranda had grown up scrappy. There wasn’t much she couldn’t repair, be it mechanical, electrical or automotive.

      “Men like feeling useful. I was merely feeding his ego.”

      “Right.” Nell’s reply dripped sarcasm. “You wanted a reason to get close to him.”

      “What if I did?”

      Her friend and employee arranged chicken breasts in a baking pan. “Honey, if Will Dessaro hasn’t succumbed to your charms by now, I doubt he ever will.”

      “I disagree.”

      “Other than he’s handsome as sin, I’m not sure why you bother. There are plenty of other single men in town more than willing to walk into any trap you set.”

      Miranda picked up the toolbox, planning on returning it to the garage. “I feel sorry for him. He can’t be happy living how he is. Alone and isolated.”

      Nell covered the seasoned chicken with foil and popped the pan in the oven. “And you think you’re the one to draw him out?”

      “Why not me? Besides, I owe him for helping me the day of the fire. It’s the least I can do.”

      “Ah! I see. You’re returning a favor.”

      “Exactly.”

      “Favor, my foot,” Nell scoffed. “You like him. More than you want to admit.”

      Miranda headed out the kitchen door, through the laundry room and to the garage, where she set the toolbox on a crowded shelf. Nell’s belly laugh trailed Miranda the entire way.

      She wasn’t annoyed or offended. How could she be, when Nell’s assessment was spot on? She did like Will. Liked him more every time she saw him. And she wasn’t about to let a little case of shyness on his part get in their way.

      Chapter Two

      Will didn’t make it to the end of Miranda’s street before his hands started to shake. By the time he reached the main street running through town, the shaking had traveled up his arms to his shoulders, making driving impossible. Luckily no one was behind him, and he waited at the stop sign.

      A whine and a nudge to his arm distracted him. Cruze pressed close, instinctively sensing his master’s need for comfort. Will draped an arm around the big dog’s neck. Only when he could safely steer the truck without causing a wreck did he proceed onto the main road.

      Up ahead, the Paydirt Saloon came into view. He turned into the lot and parked his pickup in the space farthest from the entrance. There he quit fighting and yielded to the panic, his first full-blown attack in over four years.

      No matter how he tried to relax, he couldn’t breathe. His lungs refused to draw in sufficient air. His heart labored to beat, hindered by the giant invisible vise squeezing it. Sweat soaked his shirt even as chills racked his body. His stomach pitched, threatening to expel the tea and cookies he’d recently consumed.

      Will was going to die. Even Cruze’s head resting on his leg didn’t calm him.

      The