Sweet Destiny. Rochelle Alers

ribs were no longer visible. By the time he received his official discharge from the Air Force he’d tipped the scales at 220 pounds.

      He would’ve asked Mia to dance but didn’t, even after Selena had offered to introduce him to her. The woman with the beautiful face and perfect body, wearing priceless jewelry and haute couture, was a snob, and she hadn’t bothered to hide her disdain for his folk. And for as long as he’d stared at her—not once had she smiled or approached anyone other than her relatives. It had appeared as if the talk about the joining of two families didn’t apply to her.

      Now, four weeks later, she had returned to Mingo County, this time to live. Kenyon wanted to warn Mia that her haughty manner would not endear her to the people who didn’t cotton to folks who put on airs.

      Mia was right—he had asked a lot of questions, but it been years since someone had come to Jonesburg to live. Most times it was people moving out because they’d either tired of living in a small town where everyone knew everyone and their business, or they were offered better employment opportunities elsewhere. For those living in towns like Jonesburg, generations became miners because their fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers and great-great-grandfathers were coal miners.

      He’d decided not to ask any more questions and instead watched her closely. Six months. That was how much time he’d give Mia before she packed up and returned to the pampered life she’d left behind.

      The drive to Matewan took Kenyon twice as long as it would have if it hadn’t been snowing. He’d had to slow down because the snow was falling at a rate of two inches an hour, but it was also wet and heavy. The sound of branches breaking under the weight of the frozen precipitation resounded like gunfire in the stillness of the night. Heavyweight snow also meant loss of power when electrical wires snapped, plunging homes and businesses into darkness until utility crews could get to the region to repair them.

      Downshifting, he turned off the county road and onto a local one leading to the house where his grandmother lived with his aunt and uncle. His mother had tried to get her mother to come and live with her, but Lily Yates refused to move out of the converted garage Kenyon and his uncle had renovated into a one-bedroom apartment after her husband passed away.

      He maneuvered into the carport next to a late-model sport utility vehicle with Texas plates. The silver Volvo hadn’t been there when he’d left for the airport. Apparently Mia had arranged for her vehicle to be delivered to coincide with her arrival. Kenyon had to admire her for planning ahead. What he still found disturbing was that he hadn’t been informed that Dr. Lyman would have a partner.

      He turned off the radio and the engine. “Don’t move. I’ll help you down.” Mia had unsnapped her seat belt.

      Mia waited for Kenyon to get out, come around and open her door. He extended his arms and she slid off the seat, her arms going around his neck as he held her aloft for several seconds before her boots sank into a mound of drifting snow.

      She smiled. “Thank you.”

      A beat passed as he stared at her mouth. Even her smile was sensual. “You’re welcome. Go inside the house where it’s warm.”

      Mia hesitated. “Aren’t you going to unlock the door?”

      “It’s probably unlocked.” Kenyon motioned with his head. “Go! Now, before you catch a chill.”

      Rolling her eyes and carefully putting one foot in front of the other to keep from falling, she walked tentatively up the four steps leading to the porch. She’d left the Lone Star State for the City of Brotherly Love, and then went onto the Mountain State, where the temperatures ranged from the low sixties to below freezing. But Mia was totally unprepared for the snow and biting wind that seemed to search through layers of clothing, chilling her to the bone.

      The large farmhouse had a wraparound porch; electric candles lit the many windows, and a large, live pine wreath festooned with tiny glazed ceramic apples, acorns and holly berries was attached to the front door. Mia turned the knob and the door opened. She couldn’t believe people actually went to bed without locking their doors at night. She’d grown up where not only were doors locked at all times, but the house and property was wired and monitored by cameras and a 24/7 security company. She knew it would take her a while to adjust to living and working in a small town.

      Stepping onto a thick coir mat, Mia stomped the snow off the soles of her boots before she leaned over to unlace them. She left the Doc Martens on a rag rug lined with boots and shoes. Two dimly lit hurricane lamps on either end of a long wooden table revealed a highly polished walnut floor. Her gaze shifted to the smoldering stone fireplace facing her, and the sweet smell of burning kindling mingled with a scent she recognized as pine. She walked into the living room, smiling. A live pine tree decorated in tiny white lights was positioned near the arched entryway to the dining room. The miniature lights were the same as those that had decorated the barn where Xavier and Selena held their wedding reception. However, these blinked off and on like twinkling stars.

      Selena, who’d also removed her shoes, joined her in the living room. “If you follow me I’ll show you where you’ll sleep. I’m giving you my old room, because it’s on the top floor and soundproof. That way you can sleep as late as you want and not hear whatever ruckus is going on down here.”

      Mia followed Selena as she mounted the staircase, which had a massive mahogany banister and carved newel posts. She couldn’t wait until daylight to see the magnificent beauty of the wood in the farmhouse. Their sock-covered feet were silent as they climbed the staircase from the first to the third floor. Standing on the landing, she saw there were three doors.

      Selena opened one door, reached in and flicked on a switch, and the room where she’d spent her childhood was flooded with soft light from a ceiling fan. She stood to one side as Mia walked in, her eyes taking in everything in what had at one time been her sanctuary.

      “Awesome, isn’t it?”

      Mia nodded numbly. A four-poster bed, draped in a gossamer fabric, was positioned in an alcove facing another recessed area with a massive armoire fashioned out of the same dark mahogany wood. A window seat running the width of the room could easily accommodate six people. The grate in a stone fireplace, similar to the one in the living room, held a supply of firewood. A large bronze bucket was filled with wood and kindling. Someone hadn’t bothered to close the screen.

      “It’s incredible,” she said, when she found her voice. “Who designed this room?”

      “My grandfather. He built this house and most of the furniture in it. If he hadn’t been a carpenter or furniture maker he would have become a coal miner. Speaking of furniture, there’s a TV and a collection of DVDs in the armoire.”

      “Do you have relatives who are or were miners?” Mia asked.

      Selena nodded. “There are several generations of miners on my grandmother’s side of the family. Grandma Lily lost two brothers and an uncle in an explosion, and she vowed that none of her children would ever work in a mine. She did everything, taking in wash, making and selling quilts and even babysitting to put away enough money to send my father and aunt to college. Dad majored in criminal justice and he’s now sheriff of Matewan, and Kenyon’s mother is an expert when it comes to textile designs. Aunt Sylvia’s weaving and quilts are exhibited in the American Folk Art Museum in New York City, and she has donated a collection of quilts to the Textile Heritage Museum in Burlington, North Carolina. Thankfully, my paternal grandfather was the last one to work as a coal miner.”

      Mia smiled. One of her questions had been answered. Selena’s father and Kenyon’s mother were siblings. There were a few more questions Mia wanted to ask, but she decided it would be impolite to pry. She didn’t know what it was about Kenyon that elicited more than a passing interest. Although he hadn’t worn a ring, she didn’t know if he was married, single or committed to someone. And, if he was committed then the woman could count herself lucky to have snared such a gorgeous male specimen.

      The object of her musings chose that moment to walk into the bedroom carrying her luggage. He’d removed his jacket, and the long-sleeved waffle-weave shirt