His Christmas Angel. Michelle Douglas

God forgive her. Being Brian’s widow was the best thing. But she couldn’t tell Sol that. She couldn’t tell anyone.

      He sat heavily when she remained silent. ‘I see.’

      She doubted that. And she was glad, she told herself fiercely. She didn’t want anyone to see. She lifted her chin. ‘I’m never, ever getting married again.’

      ‘Don’t say that, Cassie.’ He reached across and took her hand. ‘I swear you can find what you had with Brian again.’

      Exactly. That was what she was afraid of.

      ‘And give up all this?’

      Alec wheeled back into the kitchen and she tugged her hand free, tried to slow the stupid scampering of her heart. Alec had changed out of his pyjamas, but he still had the kitten on his lap. Maybe she’d misjudged him? Maybe he’d like a kitten to love?

      She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m afraid I have to get going.’ She should’ve taken the ride Keith had offered. But Sol had smelt too good, looked too good, for her to surrender all hopes of sharing at least one cup of coffee with him this morning.

      Bad idea. Look where that temptation had landed her. Idiot. She was not risking everything she’d built up here in Schofield because some man smelt good and looked good.

      Sol surveyed her for a long moment. ‘I thought you had to help Alec out with something.’

      Alec glanced up. ‘You do?’

      ‘Sure I do. But it’ll have to wait till this afternoon.’

      ‘You just put the kettle on,’ Sol pointed out.

      ‘I…umm…habit. I don’t have time now.’ She headed for the front door and tried not to breathe too deeply as she walked past him.