The Road to Reunion

Shane had accused her of being obsessed with Kyle Reeves during the past few weeks, so determined to convince him to attend the party that she couldn’t think straight. This impulsive trek to Kyle’s home probably proved her brother right about her mental condition. But now that she had made the trip and had a definitive answer, she should be able to put it behind her.

The funny thing was, now that she had actually spent time with Kyle, she seemed to be even more obsessed with him than she had been before.

Kyle’s first thought when he woke the next morning was that the pain had mercifully subsided to a more manageable—and all-too-familiar—dull ache. The sleep and medication had done their stuff, letting him get out of bed with a minimum of discomfort and grumbling.

It was only when he reached the closed bedroom door, which he usually left open at night, that he remembered he wasn’t alone in his house. Grinding out a curse, he turned back toward the dresser to pull out a pair of gray sweats. He doubted that Molly would appreciate the sight of him in his underwear first thing in the morning.

Grateful to find the bathroom empty, he showered, but didn’t bother with shaving. He had just shaved the afternoon before, and he saw no need to do so again.

Dried and dressed, he moved toward the kitchen. He found himself walking with much the same quiet caution he’d used in the military when he’d been braced for a surprise attack. Maybe he would find that observation amusing later. After Molly was on her way.

He stopped in the doorway of the living room. Molly was still asleep on the couch. Her long, red hair tumbled around her face and onto the pillow he had provided for her. She had kicked off her blanket, revealing the fact that she had slept in her clothes, removing only her shoes and socks.

It couldn’t have been comfortable spending the night in her shirt and jeans. He should have offered her something to change into—a big T-shirt or something. But the thought of Molly sleeping on his couch wearing nothing but one of his shirts made his entire body clench.

Maybe it was just as well that he hadn’t offered. He reminded himself of who she was, and the way she had looked the last time he’d seen her. But, damn, it was hard to visualize a little girl when Molly was lying on his couch all warm and flushed and curvy. Those full lips that could go so quickly from sexy pout to blinding smile were slightly parted in sleep, and he could imagine all too well how sweet they would taste.

She sighed and nestled into the sofa cushions, drawing one leg up into a more comfortable position. Which, of course, only made him imagine how comfortably those long legs would fit around him.

That jarring mental image made him stumble backward, a near panicky retreat. He must have made some sort of sound. Molly stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw him. “Good morning.”

Between the effects of her smile and the sleepy huskiness of her voice, it was all he could do to respond without stammering. “Morning,” he said curtly. “Sorry I woke you.”

With a rather feline stretch that drained the last of the moisture from his mouth, she swung her bare feet to the wood floor, then quickly lifted them again with a little yelp. “Cold floor,” she explained.

He scowled toward the front door. “The weather stripping is shot. I keep meaning to work on that.”

She had already retrieved the chunky clogs she’d worn the day before. Sliding her feet into them, she stood, tugging her shirt down over the waistband of her jeans. “You look as though you slept well.”

He was glad now that he’d taken the time to shower and comb his hair. He hadn’t liked showing any weakness in front of her the night before. “Not bad. You?”

“Surprisingly well,” she said cheerfully.

The rain had stopped during the night and sunlight streamed through the east-facing windows. Kyle figured she could safely be on her way at any time, since the water ran quickly down the mountain once the rains ended. Cheered by the awareness that he would soon have his house to himself again—and would be spared any more inappropriate fantasies about Molly Walker— he decided he might as well feed her before ushering her out.

“Want some breakfast?”

She nodded eagerly. “Sounds good. Just let me freshen up and I’ll help you prepare something.”

“I can handle it. Take your time. There are clean towels in the bathroom cabinet if you want a shower.”

Because just the passing thought of Molly in the shower was enough to make him sweat again, he turned toward the kitchen. He needed to busy his mind and his hands. Immediately.

Mesmerized by the beauty of the washed-clean mountain scenery around Kyle’s cabin, Molly was tempted to linger for a while outside when she retrieved her bag from her car. The air was chilly, but so fresh and clean it was almost intoxicating. Pearl-gray clouds hung low over the mountaintops, clearly demonstrating why they were called the Smoky Mountains. Rushing water tumbled over huge boulders in the creek that ran alongside the gravel road leading away from the cabin, and a full orchestra of birds performed in the treetops.

Forcing herself back inside, she showered and dressed quickly. As she checked her reflection in the steamy mirror over his bathroom sink, she mused that she could certainly understand why Kyle had chosen this place to hide himself away and heal.

She hadn’t brought many clothes with her on this hasty trip, but she was satisfied that the pumpkin colored, three-quarter-sleeve T-shirt and low-slung, boot-cut jeans flattered her. Not that she was trying to impress Kyle or anything, she assured herself as she fluffed her freshly washed and dried hair and checked her makeup.

By the time she joined him in the kitchen, he had breakfast already on the table. Her tummy rumbled in response to the scent of food filling the room. He was just setting out a container of orange juice when she walked in.

Something about the way he looked, standing there with the morning sunlight washing over him, his shaggy brown hair tumbling onto his forehead, his too-thin-but-all-male body encased in a gray sweatshirt and loose jeans, made her brain shut down. Before it kicked back into gear, she heard herself blurting, “No coffee?”

She answered herself as she belatedly remembered what he had said the night before. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink coffee.”

“No. But I can make you a cup of herbal tea, if you want.”

“Orange juice is fine.” She crossed the room and slid into the chair he indicated for her. “I’m not all that crazy about coffee, anyway. I just drink a cup in the mornings out of habit. Daddy, now, has to have his coffee—entirely too much of it. Mom finally talked him into switching to decaf after noon.”

She was babbling again. And as far as she could tell, Kyle hadn’t heard a word of it. He had already started eating his simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

Molly drew a deep breath to steady herself and reached for the condiments he’d set out. Her spirits rose when she saw the container of Cajun seasoning—a mixture of salt, black and red peppers and garlic.

She reached for it eagerly and sprinkled it over the fluffy scrambled eggs. “Obviously you learned a few things while you were on the ranch—like how to season eggs.”

“I learned a lot more than that.”

She would have liked to follow up on that mumbled response with a barrage of questions about exactly what lessons he had learned from her parents, and about the memories he had carried away with him, but she knew better. Kyle would volunteer what he wanted her to know and that, apparently, wasn’t much.

“Don’t push them,” her mother had once said when Molly asked how Cassie managed to connect with so many emotionally withdrawn young men. “You have to treat them like wild animals, in a way. Respect their fears and suspicions, knowing they’ve come from experience. Show them kindness and let them come to you in their own time.”

It had worked for Cassie, as she’d had amazing success with her foster sons. Yet Molly had heard that Cassie’s strategy had been a bit different when it had come to another wary, emotionally guarded male. According to Molly’s aunts, Cassie had gone after Jared with a relentless, single-minded determination, giving him no choice but to fall in love with her and make her his wife.

Molly studied Kyle across the table, free to do so because he was pointedly not looking at her. If—hypothetically, of course—a woman wanted to catch Kyle Reeves, which method would be more effective? The patient, wait-until-he-comes-to-you approach? Or the no-holds-barred pursuit?

“Eat your eggs before they get cold,” he muttered, letting her know he was aware of her scrutiny.

“I’m eating.” She forked another bite of spicy eggs into her mouth to prove her point, then swallowed them hastily so she could ask, “Just one more question?”

He sighed. “What?”

“Don’t you ever get lonely up here on your pretty mountaintop?”

“I’ve only lived here a little more than five months. Haven’t really had time to get lonely yet.”

“And when you do?”

He shrugged. “If I do—I’ll find some company. In the meantime, I’m considering what to do now that I’m out of the Marines earlier than I’d planned.”

It sounded as though he had planned to retire from the military. “Do you have any other ideas yet?”

“A couple.”

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to expand on that, she spoke again. “Do you plan to stay here in Tennessee or will you go back to Texas eventually?”

“There’s nothing for me in Texas,” he said bluntly. She tried to recall what she had been told about his past. She remembered that his mother had died when he was a teenager, and that he’d had no other family willing to take him in. She didn’t know anything about his father.

She thought he’d been assigned to a couple other foster homes before he’d come to the ranch. Cassie had said that Kyle was never a behavioral challenge, just so deeply withdrawn and introverted that his social worker had thought it would do him good to be placed with the easygoing and gregarious Walker family.