Blessed Vows. Jillian Hart

      She did follow him. Jake monitored the pad of her slippers against the carpet a good two to three paces behind him. “That’s it. Keep coming.”

      “I want my strawberry soda back in the kitchen where it belongs.” She didn’t have a sharp voice or an angry edge. No, she was all softness and warm humor, as if he were amusing her to the nth degree.

      He wasn’t used to softness and humor, not in his life of duty and service. So, he thought he’d enjoy the chance to amuse her some more. “Is there a house rule about keeping all food and beverages in the kitchen?”

      “There is, as a matter of fact.”

      “Funny. I didn’t see a sign.”

      “It has to be a sign?”

      “Sure. If it’s not written down, it’s not a law I have to follow.”

      “Yeah? Then for you I’ll make an exception.”

      He liked the rumbling music of her chuckle. It was an appealing sound, one a man could get used to. Nice.

      And so was the house, he thought as he stepped inside the sizeable living room. Spacious. Comfortable. It was the kind of place a guy could get used to putting his feet up on that scuffed coffee table that sat in the middle of a big sink-into-me sectional. The TV was big and new, and in the winter this would sure be a great spot to sit and watch football with a fire in the gray rock fireplace.

      He used an old television guide as a coaster and left the drink on the coffee table within easy reach. “Sit there. Put your feet up.”

      “That would be rude considering I’m supposed to be cooking you dinner.”

      He held out his hand, palm up and waited for her to take it. “C’mon. I’m the guest, right? So humor me.”

      “My mother taught me to be wary of men wanting to be humored.”

      “Sounds like your mama raised you right. And so did mine. It may be hard to believe to look at me, but I’ve got a few manners.” He shifted closer to her with his hand still out, still waiting. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to do what I ask? Or am I gonna have to make ya?”

      “Men.” Rachel sized up the commando in her living room, with his dazzling grin and his hand held out, palm up, waiting for her to place her fingers there. “Suddenly I remember why it is that I’m single.”

      “Those bunny slippers?”

      He clearly thought he was a comedian, but he wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought. “No, judging by my slippers you might be misled to think men have avoided me on purpose.”

      “I don’t think that, believe me.”

      “But it’s been my choice. Most men are bossy.”

      “We’re made that way.”

      “Sadly.” He didn’t seem the least bit sorry about it. He was incorrigible, and she liked that in a man, too. He had nice eyes—kind ones—and she was a sucker for a good-hearted man. How was she going to ever say no to this one?

      Willpower, she directed herself. “I’m supposed to be the hostess. You’ve flown all this way to be Ben’s best man. The least I can do is talk you into sitting down and putting up your feet.”

      “Good luck. But let me warn you, I’m stubborn.”

      “I’m stubborn, too.” There was no way she was going to give in to the temptation to place her fingertips on his big rough palm.

      Oh yes, she wanted to. His palm was wide and relaxed, and calluses roughened the skin at the base of his fingers. He worked hard. She liked that in a man too.

      His hands had scars—not big ones, just nicks that had long healed over, and those calluses. She imagined him fast-roping from a helicopter or carrying wounded on a litter. Essentially male, wholly masculine, everything a man ought to be.

      And suddenly she felt it in the pit of her stomach. A little tingle of anxiety. Her shyness seemed to rear up and leave her speechless. It was one thing to have her brother’s military buddy drop by. It was another to be alone with a smart, brave and warm-hearted soldier.

      If only she could untie the knot her tongue had gotten itself into and say something wonderful to make him laugh some more. To show off the dimples in his hard, carved cheeks.

      “I’m waiting.” He arched one brow, but he wasn’t intimidating in the least. He should be—he was a big man, and the slightest movement made muscles ripple beneath his sun-bronzed skin.

      But he was a gentle giant down deep, Rachel was sure of it. “How about you and Sally sit down with me? We’ll find something on the tube that all three of us can enjoy and after a while, I’ll sneak into the kitchen and start supper.”

      “There’ll be no sneaking on my watch. I’ve got a sharp eye.” His hand hovered in a silent question.

      And she answered just as quietly by placing her fingers in the center of his palm. Wow. It was all she could think the instant they touched. An energy jolted through her like a lightning strike—or heaven’s touch.

      She felt seared all the way to her soul. It was as if her entire central nervous system short-circuited—she couldn’t seem to talk. She could barely manage to be coordinated enough to sit down.

      Wow, was all her poor fried brain could think. Wow. Wow. Wow. Lord, he can’t be the one. He can’t be. Look how he acted as if nothing had happened. It probably hadn’t on his end. She searched his clear dark eyes and the calm steady way he moved away from her with sheer athletic grace as he ambled out of sight.

      She’d read about moments like this, that instant punch of something extra that said this man was special. Above the ordinary. Meant to last. Okay, she read inspirational romances one after another. She always had her nose in one, but she’d never believed, never thought once that it could happen to her.

      Not that it was a life-changing moment. It was just a snap of something extra, making her more aware of this man’s goodness than others she’d come across.

      Why? He couldn’t be the one. He lived on the other side of the country and he worked in faraway places on other continents. Plus, he was leaving after the wedding.

      He’s not the one. She was imagining all this, right? She was tired, she hadn’t eaten since she’d been able to work in an early sandwich before the lunchtime rush. She was feeling the weight of being a bridesmaid for the umpteenth time. Not that she minded, no way. And especially because this was her brother’s wedding.

      But she wanted to be a bride. She wanted the real thing, a sweet storybook wedding with the man she would love for all time. That’s why she was feeling this…wishful thinking. Pretty powerful, but wishful thinking all the same.

      The pleasant rumble of his voice from the kitchen drew her attention. It was like a tingling warmth in her heart, and she’d never felt that before either. She could hear Sally’s answer and then the faint scrape of the wood chair on tile.

      That’s why I feel so wowed by him. It all made sense now. She loved a man who was good with children. And his niece was a cutie, that was for sure. It was sweet he was spending time with her. And now that she knew why she was so taken with him, it would be easier to keep things in perspective.

      “Hey, Rachel.” Jake rounded the corner with Sally at his side, her small hand engulfed by his huge one. “Mind if she uses the facilities?”

      “First door on the right.” Rachel stood, but Jake waved her back and deftly disappeared beyond the edge of the fireplace. In a few seconds, a door closed down the hall.

      What she really ought to do was to take another crack at finding that roast. The soda would keep—it was fizzing and bubbling merrily in the cartoon cup.

      As for her aching feet, she could get a few more hours out of them, she thought as she cut through the dining