Page 23 of A Hard Habit to Break

“Whynot sold its waterfall to the highest bidder, if you ask me. It’s a booming tourist attraction. That quiet town is noisy t’boot, trash littering the sidewalks. It’s a shame that money is moving to the other side of the mountain away from Service, but none of us wants resort condos in our town.”

“Wow, that would be unfortunate for all the families here. The tax increase alone would have a lot of folks losing their land.”

“True.” He nodded, one corner of his mouth dropped into a semi-frown. Nice to know he still cared for this town and the people in it. He’d always worked hard to showcase his hometown pride. Every football game, he led the Service County Otters to victory. If given a microphone, Noah praised the coaches and the girls who served as athletic trainers and provided the players with food. He was generous with compliments, including his own. Rachel had loved every second of it for him. His friends became her friends. Noah’s spotlight had swung a wide beam into Rachel’s tiny corner, coaxing her fromthe shadows. She stayed close, enjoyed his warmth, and then he hit a switch, plunging her back into darkness.

“What’s the town council doing to staunch the loss of community resources? Before Petey, Mayor Austin fought hard for Service to preserve its small-town charm and grow the budget.”

“Pete’s holding off the developers. That’s a start.”

“But… responsible development is necessary for growth and—”

“Hold that thought.” He held up a red zippered bag with a white cross printed on the front. “The patient comes first.” She looked up then, their eyes locking. A white towel hung over his shoulder. With one hand, he held it out to her. “You’re still wet.”

Why did a rush of heat spread through her chest, melting her insides? Swallowing the rise of awareness popping between them, she gripped the plush folds, running the softness over both arms and legs, before gathering the material in both hands to wipe her face.

“Maybe now I’ll get to see your freckles.”

She thrust the towel at him. “You won’t. Waterproof makeup,” she clipped, tone sharper than the statement warranted. “When clients’ first question is,What’s your background?, and you realize they’re not asking about your educational or professional experience, you learn real fast to minimize the distraction, that being my face.”

Noah’s lips thinned, and then he nodded. Not wanting another woeful side glance, she stared past him, unseeing.

Their fingers brushed as he slipped the damp rag from her limp fingers. “I imagine your beauty does render folks stupid. It does for me.”

Her heart thumped in her chest at the contact. Quicker than her brain could register the action, her gaze flicked back to him. Memories of gentle caresses, soft kisses, and whispered words nailed her.

“Sure about not coming inside to keep warm?”

Along with the timbre of his voice, his eyes dropped to her mouth. Rachel bit back a sigh. She refused to willingly walk into the lion’s den.

“Beyond sure, I do not want to do that.” Just her luck, he’d grab her by the messy red mop of hair, drag her to bed, and… she’d like it. How could she be this weak for Noah after years apart? Love might be cruel, but Rachel had a strategy. His rear deck overlooked the water and was plenty big for the massive misstep she’d made on Day One back in town. “Now, about that first aid kit,” she prompted, needing to move this encounter to a speedy end.

“Right.” He nodded, waiting as if he expected her to say more, do more. “You want help finding ClamClam after I patch you up?”

Rachel gasped, surprised that he’d volunteered. “You’d risk another encounter?” A twisted grin stretched his lazy smile and, honest to goodness, Rachel’s heart fluttered.

“She’s my gift to you, Six. You know a Calvary man honors his promises.”

Geezuz. They were six years old. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t hold himself accountable to the musings of a child in grief.

His hands were full, the kit in one and the towel in the other. A wet mop image flashed in her mind just thinking what she must look like to him—matted hair, sagging T-shirt, and Army-camo boy shorts. Grace and beauty, and the man was both, came naturally to Noah. Hair tousled, eyes blazing, lips—kissable, snackable.

“Use the towel on your hair. It’s dripping.” Oh, the irony. He lifted a clump of her locks with his long fingers, tucking it over her shoulder. “You want my shirt?” And cue the blatant stare at his big, broad man chest. The faded navy blue T-shirtbore the firehouse logo, with his name embroidered beneath in white stitching.

Rachel shook her head at the absolute wrongness of the jolt of pleasure that shot through her at the possibility of slipping his shirt over her chilled skin, the delight of his scent buried under the covers with her tonight. “Urgh, no. Just render aid so I can go.”

He propped one hip on the picnic table where she sat. Unzipping the bag, he removed an elastic bandage, a small roll of tape, and scissors. “And the magic word is…”

“Please,” she muttered, grabbing the towel. With one hand she rubbed the moisture from the tendrils stuck to her neck before completing a quick once-over of her face, torso, and legs.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “I’ll wrap you up, and then we’ll drive to Whynot for an X-ray.” He gently took her injured wrist in his very large, capable hands. Hands that once upon a time caressed—

“Urgh, I can get myself to Whynot. Can you hurry this up?” She rolled her eyes. “If my hand weren’t throbbing, I’d—

“Slap me?” he gave a lopsided grin before bringing her wrist up to rest on his jean-clad thigh.

“What—no. Just no. I don’t even want to touch you like that,” she stammered, while she lowered her gaze to his full mouth framed by an onyx five o’clock shadow.

Stop it, Rachel.