Jodi's Mail-order Man

The oblique compliment unexpectedly warmed Donovan. He’d always thought he didn’t need a father’s approval. His own father’s opinion certainly wasn’t worth caring about, yet all at once it meant a lot that Shamus thought he measured up, at least in some things.

“Jodie…disturbs me,” Donovan admitted, relieved to let it out. “She isn’t what I expected.”

“Few women are.”

He grabbed the maul again. “And she’s planning to marry Cole.”

“Aye, that is a trouble.”

The economy of words was enough, Donovan could tell Shamus understood his dilemma. In a small way it eased some of the tension gripping him.

The sound of a door opening and closing drew their attention, and Donovan’s breath hissed out at the sight of Jodie, dressed in close-fitting black jeans and a T-shirt, carrying a tray with two ice-filled glasses. The soft pink fabric clung to her breasts, emphasizing both their sweet roundness and her slender waist below.

Donovan’s fingers clenched around the wood handle of the maul and he mentally counted the days until Cole would return home. He knew the statistics; a climb up Mount McKinley’s West Buttress took an average of nineteen to twenty-one days.

Might as well be a lifetime.

“Is this more practical?” Jodie murmured.

“You look just fine,” Shamus said. “But then, you were always fine. Isn’t that right, Donovan?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, then shook himself. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s all right. It’s been a strange day for all of us.”

“You’re a kind one, Jodie love.” Shamus smiled and took the tray she carried. He put it on a stump and motioned to an Adirondack chair, well away from the possibility of flying wood chips. “Watch and you’ll see some fancy cuttin’.”

Jodie sank into the chair and watched the two men work. Shamus had a broader shoulder span, and he brought the ax down with a crack of blunt strength. But Donovan…He worked with a coordinated power that sent more uncomfortable sensations into her abdomen.