Montana Homecoming. Jillian Hart

       “I don’t know.” Her voice dipped. “I’ve gotten used to life in Seattle.”

       “Oh, I get it. You have someone there. A boyfriend?” Why was he disappointed? He should not be bummed because Brooke had a significant other.

       “No, no way. Just a life I’ve gotten comfortable with.” She held up a length of thread to one of the couch cushions, nodded and chose a needle.

       No boyfriend? Why was he relieved? “Sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone. Take a risk.”

       “I’ve done that. Got burned.” She shrugged, oddly vulnerable and trying to hide it. “Lived to regret it. Hugely.”

       “Who hasn’t?”

       “True.” He didn’t know what it was about her that drew him. It was a mystery he had to figure out. Was it her honesty, like the quietest note of a hymn, that hooked him? Or the promise of an amazing spirit that went along with her breath-stealing beauty? He wished he knew. One thing he liked was a puzzle. It was the reporter in him. He had to know more, so he tried again. “What do you do for a living?”

       “A little of this, a little of that.” She threaded the needle. “I think the couch cushion is totally salvageable, but what about that throw pillow?”

       “Not a chance of saving it, and I’m the one asking the questions.” He swept up the pillow missing half its stuffing. He had more pressing matters, mainly the intrigue of Brooke McKaslin. “Where did you go to college?”

       “I didn’t.”

       Curious. He would have pegged her for an intellectual type with a degree in fine arts or maybe social work. She stayed away for most holidays or he would have spotted her at Gram’s long before this. “Why did you move so far from your family?”

       “Uh…” She looked up from knotting her thread. Her long hair whipped as she glanced around the room. “Liam, where is Oscar?”

       “Nice one, but you aren’t going to distract me. I’m on a mission—”

       “No, really, where’s Oscar?” Concern tugged at her rosebud lips. “Where did he go?”

       A crash rang from the kitchen, accompanied by the thud of something four-footed landing on the floor. A plate clattered to a ringing stop.

       “Mystery solved,” Liam quipped. “He’s in the kitchen helping himself to our dinner.”