His Holiday Heart. Jillian Hart

think I have your number, Spence McKaslin.”

      “I doubt it.” He grabbed the scoop inside the deicer bag and filled it. There was no way she could know his secret. No possible way. He straightened, doing his level best to keep his focus on the concrete in front of his boots. With great effort, he was able to walk right on past her like a normal, not interested, unaffected man.

      He was careful to keep his back to her, though, as he scattered the pellets across the driveway. Her boots pattered on the concrete behind him. He could feel her intake of breath. She was preparing to say whatever she had been thinking so hard about, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. He had defenses to fortify and shields to keep in place.

      “Go in, Lucy. Go away.” Those words didn’t come out nearly as harsh as he wanted, and he winced. How was he going to drive her away if he didn’t sound mean and unfriendly? Where had his commanding voice gone? Where was his embittered grimace? He tried to summon them up, but they were as frozen as the wintry world around him.

      “You can growl and bark all you want. I’m not going anywhere.” Lucy padded on by him in her expensive designer boots. She was holding a smaller scoop, and she had the audacity to sprinkle pellets, too. “You can’t scare me anymore.”

      “Why not?” He deepened his voice and scowled extra hard.

      “Because I have figured you out, Spence McKaslin.”

      “Unlikely.”

      “Likely,” she corrected with the sweetest grin. She faced him with her chin set and her pretty eyes laughing at him. “You always used to make my knees tremble, and I did all I could to avoid you, but no more. Growl all you want. I’m not afraid.”

      His jaw dropped. He knew he was staring at her like an idiot, and if any of his family happened to be looking out of the front window at this exact moment, they would draw a much different conclusion. He probably looked like a lovelorn fool gaping at Lucy as if she were the loveliest woman on earth.

      She did happen to be the loveliest woman on earth, but he didn’t want to be caught staring at her.

      She sashayed on by, heading straight to the bag of deicer. “You don’t have to look so shocked. I’m glad I can now step foot inside the bookstore and the church without having to plan how to avoid you first.”

      “Maybe I want you to avoid me.” His mouth felt strange in the corners, almost as if he were trying to grin. Impossible. He forced the corners of his mouth down into a severe frown and cast the last of the pellets along the corner of the driveway.

      “It was nice of you to help me out yesterday.” She stopped at his side.

      Way too close. His throat seized up. His lungs forgot how to work. His feet iced to the concrete. “N-no problem. I would do the same for anyone lacking good sense.”

      “I know.” She didn’t seem particularly bothered by his insult, as if she knew he didn’t mean it. “I understand completely. It was nothing personal.”

      “Good.” Whew. He stormed past her and commanded his eyes not to stray in her direction. He’d had enough of this malfunctioning eyeball problem. It took all of his effort to focus on the ground in front of him, and yet his vision strayed to her. He couldn’t help noticing the way she stood like sweetness itself, framed with the background of pristine snow and beheld by the white mantle of snow clouds that were gathering. Dressed in her bright blue coat, she was like a dream, too good to be real and impossible to believe in.

      You don’t believe in dreams, he reminded himself as he snatched Jack’s snowblower from its place against the wall. He’d lived his life this way, from the moment Linda—his biological mother—took off. He learned how foolish dreams were. He learned how fickle love was. A smart man didn’t let his heart go warm and soft over a woman. He gave the snowblower a shove and burst back out into the driveway.

      Lucy was watching him with a puzzled look. “The driveway is clear of snow. Even that little skiff of ice is gone, now that the deicer is working.”

      He scowled. Scowling was one of his most effective defensive tools. “Certain neighbors have not cleared their sidewalks. They ought to be fined.”

      “It’s a holiday. Perhaps they are out of town.”