Sunrise Crossing. Jodi Thomas

to check every night. He’d even walked over a few days on his lunch break, hoping she might have dropped by. No sign of her or of his coat.

      He was beginning to believe she was only a figment of his imagination. Maybe wishing for someone his age to talk to had conjured her up. A man gets used to the loneliness after a while, but that doesn’t mean hope vanishes.

      What were the chances that a woman he’d never seen around town was hanging out in his workshop? She’d been pretty, real pretty, and he would have noticed a girl with beautiful blue eyes and dark, waist-length hair. He volunteered at half the things in town. He went to all the town-hall meetings and was always running to the grocery or the hardware store. He would have seen her somewhere.

      Smiling, he remembered how her thick midnight braid had brushed her hips when she’d climbed down the ladder. If he was just making her up, at least he’d done a good job. Even her smile made him grin now, three days later.

      “You up there, Rabbit?” he muttered to the silent barn.

      A board above him creaked, making him jump.

      “I’ve been waiting,” she answered with a laugh. “I had to make sure you were alone.”

      Startled, he looked up and saw her lean over the edge of the loft. She was dressed, as before, in jeans and a flannel shirt, with his coat folded over her arm. Little Rabbit was so petite folks might mistake her for a teenage boy if they didn’t see her long hair braided down her back and the gentle rounding of her chest that showed even in the baggy shirt.

      Yancy tried to clear his thoughts. She was back.

      “Well, come on down, Rabbit. We’ve got work to do.” The rule came back to him. No questions. “I thought I might have dreamed you up, but dreams don’t usually steal coats.”

      She swung a leg onto the ladder. “I’m sorry about that. I brought it back. But I’ll have to borrow it again to wear home.”

      He watched her as her left foot hit the rung of the ladder and slipped.

      An instant later she was flying down toward him, tumbling out of control like a bird with a broken wing.

      Taking one step, he caught her in midflight. This dream he’d been thinking about felt very solid in his arms.

      Without holding her too tight, he lowered her feet to the ground. She was real. Her heart pounded against his chest for a moment before he let her go.

      “Thanks,” she managed as she backed away. “I’ve always been clumsy.”

      “You didn’t look clumsy,” he managed to say as he fought the urge to reach for her. “You looked like you were flying.”

      She shoved a hand in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a bag. “I brought you cookies, but it appears they’re only crumbs now.”

      He accepted her gift. “I love cookie crumbs. I’ll share them when we take our coffee break, if you can stay awhile?”

      “I can stay. The other night, when I worked here, I walked home and slept like a baby. So, what have we got to do tonight? I feel like a cobbler’s elf.”

      “I’m putting together the hearth for the fireplace. I could really use your help.” He pulled a tarp away from a long piece of wood he’d carved months ago. “It’s a two-man job.”

      Her face lit up when she grinned. “One man, one rabbit, you mean.”

      “That’ll have to do.” It crossed his mind that the lady might be a little nuts to show up at night in a stranger’s barn, but right about now in his life, a bubble off normal didn’t sound like too bad a place to be. He liked watching her work. She had skills he’d probably never develop. Plain, old, ordinary wood became art in her hands.

      As the night aged, he began to feel like he was half-drunk. She’d come back. The work seemed to go more than twice as fast with her help. When he made a mistake, alone he would have sworn, but together they laughed.

      It was funny, he thought as he watched her; deep inside, he felt like he’d known her all his life. He’d read once about an old Greek myth that claimed humans were once twice as tall. When the gods decided to make males and females different, they cut all the humans in half. From that day on, people walked around searching for their other half.

      An easy way of just being together drifted between them. They didn’t need to ask questions or carry on small talk. Like they’d always been a part of each other’s lives. Or like they were each other’s missing half. Impossible, he thought. Men like him were loners, born to have no one care enough to last a lifetime.

      She helped him carry the hearth through the darkness between the barn and the house. When he clicked on the construction lights in the old house, she squealed with pure joy.

      Turning loose her side of the hearth, she circled the room. “Even in the shadows I can see the beauty of this place.” The construction lamps made spotlights on the floor of the huge open room, and she danced in and out of their beams like a ballerina on stage.

      Yancy didn’t notice the beauty of the room he’d so carefully created. He was too busy watching her. “Take your time looking around. I’ll just stand here holding this hunk of wood myself,” he teased.

      Her laughter filled the empty space. She ran back and helped him carry the hearth to where the bones of a fireplace waited to be dressed.

      As he spread his arms wide to hold the frame in place, she moved between him and the hearth, measuring, taping everything in place. By the time she was satisfied all was level and balanced, he was no longer thinking, period. When she brushed against him, he seemed to be the only one who noticed they’d touched. She smelled so good. Like peaches and freshly washed linens. He could do nothing but stand perfectly still, holding the hearth in place and breathing in the nearness of her.

      When she finally left to run back to the barn for the toolbox, he forced himself to relax and think of what they were doing, not what he would have liked to do. If he’d thought she would have welcomed an advance, he might have dropped the hearth and grabbed her. After all, he could rebuild the hearth, but he might never get another chance to hold her.

      Only she might not welcome his touch. He wasn’t the kind of man who knew how to come on strong with a woman. He guessed his shy Rabbit wasn’t much more knowledgeable when it came to men and women than he was. She did love helping, though. A kind heart was rare in the world.

      When she returned, she was all business, but the easy nearness, the light touches continued. He told himself she wasn’t noticing what she was doing, but he was memorizing every brush her body made against his, every time her hand touched his shoulder, and loving the way she leaned near. If she was launching a gentle attack, maybe he should tell her that he’d gladly surrender.

      An hour later, they both stood back and admired their work. The hearth was beautiful. A work of art, thanks to her cuts and finishing.

      “Not bad,” Yancy said. “We could roast marshmallows in a fire there.”

      She nodded. “If we had the wood for a fire, a few matches, some chairs to sit in and some marshmallows.”

      “Just details,” he admitted, looking around. “I’m almost finished with the downstairs and I have no idea about furniture.”

      “You could make it.”

      He liked that idea. “I wouldn’t need much. I got the bar to eat on. All I’d need is a stool and maybe a rocker by the fire.”

      She moved to the bar and leaned against it. “What about your guests? Where would rabbits sit?”

      Without thinking, he circled her waist and lifted her up. “You could sit on the bar.”

      A moment later he realized what he’d done. He might have let her touch him, but this time he’d touched her. No, he’d handled her. Like she was a kid or a close friend. He didn’t even know her name. He had no right. He didn’t