for her to sit.
“You okay?” Concern rumbled in the thunder of his voice.
She could only nod. Thinking clearly was difficult enough; sensible
talk might prove impossible. It had nothing to do with banging her head. It had
everything to do with the banging inside her heart.
He turned away to the counter and brought back a bottle of water.
With a simple flick of his powerful wrist, the lid popped off and he offered her
the cold refreshment.
“Thank you.” She took a long, deep draw in hopes it would clear
her head. Little chance of that, not with him settling into the opposite chair and
staring at her with those intriguing eyes of his. In an attempt to take control
of the riot coursing through her body, she extended her hand across the table. “I’m
Charity, by the way.”
The way he stared at her hand was humbling. You would think she
had offered him a gift wrapped in shiny paper, not a mere hand that trembled with
the anticipation of touching him again. He moved hesitantly, as if afraid he might
crush her with his large paw. Crush her , mind you; she who often had trouble
slipping a bracelet over the large bones of her hand.
His touch was as electrifying as before. His massive palm engulfed
hers, making her feel dainty and feminine and oh-so-jittery inside. Her hand fell
into his as easily as her soul fell into the depths of his eyes. “Tarn,” he introduced
himself.
“A mountain pool,” Charity murmured. “How… perfectly fitting.”
He still held her hand. Their arms were outstretched to bridge
the distance. Without conscious thought, their limbs drifted down to rest on the
scarred Formica tabletop, hands still joined.
“That’s what my mother said when she named me.” He never questioned
why he revealed such an intimate fact with a perfect stranger. Perhaps it was because
she was perfect, in all the ways that mattered. To him, at least.
“Your eyes are so….” She stopped, at a loss for words. She wasn’t
even embarrassed by the breathless wonder in her voice. She studied his eyes, looking
from one to the other, trying to find a word that adequately expressed their beauty.
The bearded giant nodded in complete understanding. “So are yours,”
he told her.
They stared in each other’s eyes for another long moment, oblivious
to the room around them. Too early for a lunch crowd, the tiny dining nook was practically
empty, but customers milled around in the store behind them. Two women worked behind
the lunch counter and cast curious looks their way, but neither Charity nor Tarn
noticed. They were absorbed in each other, as much delighted, as they were surprised.
Holding hands in public with a total stranger — with anyone , for that matter
— was a new experience for them both.
Charity finally broke out into a grin. In truth, she had been
holding it in since her eyes first fell upon him. “This is crazy, running into you
again like this. What are you doing here?”
“Re-stocking. You?”
“Just passing through.”
Alarm sharpened his gray-blue gaze. His hand tightened upon hers.
“You’re leaving Vermont?”
“Not… Not yet.” She only meant to ease his worry. She placed
her other hand atop his and patted him in a gesture of reassurance.
The feel of him, however, was intriguing. Much like the rest
of him, the back of his hand was covered in hair. Beneath the wiry hairs that tickled
her palm, his skin was like tanned leather, soft yet tough. Her fingers lingered,
tracing the vein that pulsed on the top of his huge hand. Was his heart racing as
rapidly as hers was? When his hand flexed into a fist, she felt the muscles cord
into rivulets of strength.
Of their own will, her fingers slipped beneath the edge of his
sleeve. When she realized the suggestive nature of her innocent gesture, she jerked
away. A guilty flush colored her face when she realized the thoughts accompanying
the gesture might not have been so innocent, after all.
For such a large man, Tarn moved quickly. His
“You okay?” Concern rumbled in the thunder of his voice.
She could only nod. Thinking clearly was difficult enough; sensible
talk might prove impossible. It had nothing to do with banging her head. It had
everything to do with the banging inside her heart.
He turned away to the counter and brought back a bottle of water.
With a simple flick of his powerful wrist, the lid popped off and he offered her
the cold refreshment.
“Thank you.” She took a long, deep draw in hopes it would clear
her head. Little chance of that, not with him settling into the opposite chair and
staring at her with those intriguing eyes of his. In an attempt to take control
of the riot coursing through her body, she extended her hand across the table. “I’m
Charity, by the way.”
The way he stared at her hand was humbling. You would think she
had offered him a gift wrapped in shiny paper, not a mere hand that trembled with
the anticipation of touching him again. He moved hesitantly, as if afraid he might
crush her with his large paw. Crush her , mind you; she who often had trouble
slipping a bracelet over the large bones of her hand.
His touch was as electrifying as before. His massive palm engulfed
hers, making her feel dainty and feminine and oh-so-jittery inside. Her hand fell
into his as easily as her soul fell into the depths of his eyes. “Tarn,” he introduced
himself.
“A mountain pool,” Charity murmured. “How… perfectly fitting.”
He still held her hand. Their arms were outstretched to bridge
the distance. Without conscious thought, their limbs drifted down to rest on the
scarred Formica tabletop, hands still joined.
“That’s what my mother said when she named me.” He never questioned
why he revealed such an intimate fact with a perfect stranger. Perhaps it was because
she was perfect, in all the ways that mattered. To him, at least.
“Your eyes are so….” She stopped, at a loss for words. She wasn’t
even embarrassed by the breathless wonder in her voice. She studied his eyes, looking
from one to the other, trying to find a word that adequately expressed their beauty.
The bearded giant nodded in complete understanding. “So are yours,”
he told her.
They stared in each other’s eyes for another long moment, oblivious
to the room around them. Too early for a lunch crowd, the tiny dining nook was practically
empty, but customers milled around in the store behind them. Two women worked behind
the lunch counter and cast curious looks their way, but neither Charity nor Tarn
noticed. They were absorbed in each other, as much delighted, as they were surprised.
Holding hands in public with a total stranger — with anyone , for that matter
— was a new experience for them both.
Charity finally broke out into a grin. In truth, she had been
holding it in since her eyes first fell upon him. “This is crazy, running into you
again like this. What are you doing here?”
“Re-stocking. You?”
“Just passing through.”
Alarm sharpened his gray-blue gaze. His hand tightened upon hers.
“You’re leaving Vermont?”
“Not… Not yet.” She only meant to ease his worry. She placed
her other hand atop his and patted him in a gesture of reassurance.
The feel of him, however, was intriguing. Much like the rest
of him, the back of his hand was covered in hair. Beneath the wiry hairs that tickled
her palm, his skin was like tanned leather, soft yet tough. Her fingers lingered,
tracing the vein that pulsed on the top of his huge hand. Was his heart racing as
rapidly as hers was? When his hand flexed into a fist, she felt the muscles cord
into rivulets of strength.
Of their own will, her fingers slipped beneath the edge of his
sleeve. When she realized the suggestive nature of her innocent gesture, she jerked
away. A guilty flush colored her face when she realized the thoughts accompanying
the gesture might not have been so innocent, after all.
For such a large man, Tarn moved quickly. His
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