A Bride For Abel Greene by Cindy Gerard Read Free Book Online Page A

too proud to give in to humiliation and too pleased by the prospect of listening to his precious radio, the boy nodded. “No, sir.” Then he stood, pushing back his chair and picked up the radio.
    “The dirty dishes go in the sink,” Abel said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
    At the least he’d expected a belligerent scowl. At the most, a suggestion to stick it. Instead Mark picked up his bowl and spoon and walked them to the sink. When he returned to the table for his radio, he hesitated, then swallowing hard, faced Abel again. “Thanks,” he croaked.
    Abel regarded him over his coffee cup, then accepted the unexpected thanks with a nod.
    With Nashata at his side, and the boom box under his arm, Mark headed for the loft. Abel was standing there watching them go when he realized he had an audience.
    He turned his head and found Mackenzie standing in the doorway. She looked like an untidy elf. She didn’t look like a woman who would accelerate a man’s heartbeat and heat his blood. Yet she did—in spades.
    Jaw clenched, he took in her drab, gray sweats, her hair tousled and shaggy, her green eyes full and glistening. The look on her face nearly destroyed him. It held too much. Too much respect. Too much gratitude. Too much hope.
    “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for setting him straight.”
    Then, hugging a towel to her breast, she turned toward the bathroom, walked down the hall and shut the door behind her.

Four
    H e might have known she’d get the wrong idea. He might have known she’d take the dressing down he’d given the boy as a sign that he cared. Caring had nothing to do with it. Emotions long buried and seldom addressed had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t hurt for the boy, hadn’t speculated at his source of conflict, hadn’t answered a need to set him back on course.
    Like hell he hadn’t—but he’d be damned if he’d let her think it made any difference. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and set his mind to the task. She’d had her rest. And as soon as she had her shower, she was going to get the facts.
    When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later dressed in tight old jeans and a bulky red sweater, he was ready to lay things out for her without preamble. He could have pulled it off, too, if the look of her hadn’t blown his plans all to hell.
    She held him spellbound, speechless and...hungry, he admitted, as she again managed to tap his sexual urges that were out of place and out of time. Hungry for the softness she possessed, which had been missing so long from his life. Hungry for the womanly scents she brought with her—strawberries and cream and spring rain—as the steam from her shower rolled out of the bathroom in her wake. Hungry for what J.D. had with Maggie and he’d been fool enough to think he could have for himself.
    He swore under his breath. Damn her for answering the ad. And damn the insufferable storm. It should have blown itself out by now, but it hadn’t let up and didn’t show signs of easing up anytime soon. The wind howled around the cabin like a wolf calling the pack home, deepening the drifts, dumping more snow as it screamed across the lake lands.
    He was stuck with her until the front moved on. In the meantime, if he was going to get through this, he was going to have to get a grip. And he was going to make it clear that this foolishness about a mail-order marriage wasn’t going to happen.
    “Sit down,” he said stiffly when she shuffled on bare feet into the kitchen.
    “Coffee?” he added in a grudging attempt at civility.
    Either she didn’t catch the sharp edge to his voice, or she chose, for whatever reasons, to ignore it.
    “Coffee would be great.” She smiled and settled cross-legged into a chair at the table, fluffing her damp hair with a towel.
    He poured her a cup, working hard at ignoring all the subtle, provocative jiggling that was taking place under her sweater while she did it.
    “Black, right?”
    “You got it.