Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) by Penny Richards Page B

To his surprise, she relinquished the cut-off broom handle with no argument.
    “Go sit on the porch,” he said. “Your clean hair will get all smoky if you stay out here. Mother and I have this.”
    Self-consciously, she raised a hand to her hair with a look of surprise. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”
    The first thing he’d noticed when he pulled into the yard was that Meg was wearing a different skirt and blouse. She’d obviously bathed and washed her hair. The straight blond mass was still damp and hung more than halfway down her back, glistening like spun gold in the sunlight. Ace couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to bury his face in the silken strands and breathe in its clean scent. Would it smell like lavender? Jessamine? Some other sweet-smelling flower?
    “I suppose I could go and make the starch.”
    “That would be good,” he said, pleased that she hadn’t cringed away from him. “We’ll need a lot.”
    “I know.”
    Mesmerized by the slight sway of her hips, Ace watched her walk toward the back of the house. He blew out a frustrated breath and glanced over at his mother. Nita’s face wore an expression of contemplation.
    He suppressed a sigh. Like most mothers, his didn’t miss much. As always, she was in tune to every nuance of his emotions, and from what she’d said the evening before, she knew exactly how he felt about Elton Thomerson’s young widow.
    * * *
    Meg went inside and mixed up the flour and cool water that would be used for starch. When she was reasonably certain it was lump-free, she added boiling water to thin and smooth the mixture.
    She was about to go and tell Ace that she was ready for him to carry it outside when she felt a prickling of awareness on her neck. Placing a hand over her heart and whirling around, she saw him standing in the doorway, a hand braced on either side of the aperture.
    It was a pose often adopted by Elton, one where he regarded her coolly or mockingly...even appreciatively, depending on his mood. For a few painful heartbeats, it was Elton who stood there. Her eyes closed to shut out the sight. The room dipped and her knees gave way. Strangely, her only thought was that when she hit the floor she would reinjure her newly healed ribs.
    It never happened. One second she was falling like a one-egg pudding; the next she was being held against something hard and warm and realized that she hadn’t fallen after all. She was in a safe place. Then she seemed to be floating through space, perhaps through time. Something soft gave beneath her, and the warmth and safety started to move away. With a cry of protest, she reached out blindly, pulling it close once more. The scent of pine and wood smoke enveloped her.
    Something rough brushed her cheek. The harsh abrasiveness had no place in the velvety shadows and security of her shelter. With a murmur of denial, she forced her heavy eyelids upward. She didn’t expect to see a bronze face shadowed with a day’s growth of beard so near hers. She could see the slightly darker blue that fanned out in a starburst shape from the pupils of his eyes and smell the sweetness of mint-scented breath against her face.
    She realized that her arms were looped around his neck. A flash of unease flickered through her, triggering the instinct to shove him aside and flee his overwhelming maleness. The feeling vanished as quickly as it appeared. This man meant her no harm. Instead, she heard herself say, “You smell like peppermint.”
    Tiny lines appeared at the corners of his light blue eyes. Their customary coolness was warmed by the same smile that claimed his mouth for the space of a heartbeat. The brief upward curve did miraculous things to his austere features. He looked less threatening. More approachable. Handsome in a severe sort of way. Another flutter of alarm scampered through her, but this was different somehow and frightening for reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that he was a big, powerful