His Healing Touch

Yippee, she thought. Kasey knew as much about the stock market as she knew about cardiology. “Have they said anything about the weather yet?”

“Only that we’re in for a doozie of a storm.”

Yippee, she echoed silently. It’d be just her luck for the tail end of that hurricane that had been wreaking havoc in the Atlantic to choose tonight to head up Chesapeake Bay. If that happened, they could be stranded here for…for who knew how long! Several years earlier, when the weather had taken a turn like that, downed trees and power lines had Baltimoreans fighting in store aisles over the dwindling supply of ice and batteries. Kasey sighed inwardly.

A huge clap of thunder, followed immediately by crackling lightning, shook the cabin.

Wonderful, Kasey thought. What else could go wrong?

As if in answer to her question, the lights went out. She watched as the TV’s picture shrunk to a bright white pinpoint, then disappeared altogether. She’d never seen such total darkness, not even in the basement furnace room at home.

“Stay right where you are,” Adam said. “I’ll get a flashlight.”

“Don’t you worry, I’m not gonna move a muscle. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.”

She could hear him, rummaging somewhere off to her left. Hopefully, he hadn’t stored the flashlight in that kitchen drawer, because he was likely to pull out the proverbial bloody stump instead of a flashlight.

Much to her surprise, he was back in no time, illuminated by the pyramid-shaped beam of a foot-long flashlight.

“Here,” he instructed, handing her a battery-powered lantern, “turn that on.”

And before she could agree or object, he was gone again, leaving nothing but a bobbing, weaving trail of light in his wake. Kasey fumbled with the lantern until she found a switch on its side. Minutes later, Adam placed a glass-globed lantern beside it, and once lit, the oil-soaked wick brightened the entire room. He placed a matching lamp on the kitchen counter.

“Well,” she said, laughing, “what in the world will we do without the TV to entertain us?”

Adam leaned back in his recliner. “Oh, I have a feeling you’ll think of something.”

For a reason she couldn’t explain, the way he sounded just now matched the expression he’d worn earlier. Suspicious was the only word she could think of to describe it. And she couldn’t for the life of her come up with a reason he’d have to feel that way. “We could play a game, I suppose. Do you have a game cupboard up here?”

“Actually, it’s a game chest.” He nodded at the coffee table. “What’s your preference? Scrabble? Monopoly? Life?”

Last thing Kasey wanted to do right now was think. She wrinkled her nose. “How ’bout War?”

“That baby game?” he said, grinning.

“Truthfully, if it’s all the same to you, I’m not really in much of a game-playing mood right now.”

Adam sighed. He’d never liked games. Not even as a kid. “Good, ’cause I’m never in much of a game-playing mood.”

“Really?”

He watched her tuck one leg under her, hug the other to her chest. In the lantern light, her hair gleamed like a coppery halo, her eyes glittered like emeralds. “Why’s that? Are you a sore loser?”

She had a lovely, lyrical voice, too, he thought, smiling when she laughed. “Sore loser? Hardly. For some reason, I rarely lose.”

“I see. So you turn other people into sore losers, then.”

And that smile! Did she realize it made him want to kiss her?

“Something like that, I guess.”

She started to get up. “So, how ’bout I snoop around in your kitchen, whip us up a cup of hot chocolate. Or tea.”

Somewhere under that thick, oversize sweatsuit, was a curvy, womanly figure. He knew, because earlier, her soaking-wet blouse and trousers had acted like a second skin, making it impossible not to notice. He was surprised at the caustic tone of his “Mi casa, su casa.”

She padded into the kitchen on the thick-soled athletic socks he’d loaned her and turned on the gas under the teakettle. And as she opened and closed cabinet doors in search of tea bags and sugar, he said, “So tell me how you got into this flower business of yours.”

“It’s a long boring story.” She shook an empty box. “And by the way, you’re out of hot chocolate.”

“Well, one thing we’re not out of is time.” He linked his fingers behind his head.

And you’d better spend it wisely, he cautioned, because he couldn’t afford to give in to his feelings.

He had a pretty good life, all things considered. His mom was still healthy, thank God, and he had good friends, a good job, a nice house, a place to hide from the everyday stresses and strains of the world. Only thing missing, really, from his American Dream lifestyle was a wife, two-point-five kids and a golden retriever. The scene flashed in his mind—he and Kasey and a couple of rosy-cheeked, red-haired tots….

Ridiculous! He could see it now: “Hey, how would you like to marry me? And by the way, I killed your father….” He wouldn’t live his dream life with Kasey.

Yes, he’d lived a pretty good life, but aspects of it had been less than fair. Tonight, for example. He’d been sitting here, alone, browbeating himself yet again, knowing full well that he had no one but himself to blame for his solitary status.

Still, if he’d shown a little courage fifteen years ago, Al Delaney wouldn’t have died—at least, not on that night. Adam knew, even back then, that he’d pay for his moment of cowardice for the rest of his days. And if he needed proof of it, he only needed to look into his kitchen, where a gorgeous creature was humming as she prepared him a cup of tea.

He couldn’t afford to fall for her, no matter how cute and sweet she was, no matter how funny. If he did, well, eventually she’d find out he was responsible for her father’s death. And he’d rather die himself than have her hate him because of it.

Keep it casual, keep it friendly. She’d be gone in the morning and he’d probably never see her again. Not outside the confines of his own private thoughts, anyway….

“So,” he said in a calculatedly easygoing tone, “tell me the so-called long and boring story about how you got into the flower business.”

Chapter Two

A filled-to-the-brim steaming mug in each hand, Kasey trod slowly toward him. The tip of her tongue poked out from one corner of her mouth as she concentrated on every cautious step. Adam could think of just one word to describe her at that moment: Cute.

Knees locked, she bent at the waist and carefully centered his mug on a coaster on the end table beside his chair. After depositing her own cup on the tile-topped coffee table, she flopped onto the couch.

“Whew,” she said on a sigh. “I’ve developed a whole new appreciation for waitresses.” One dainty forefinger indicated the hot brew. “That’s dangerous work!”

Chuckling, Adam lowered the recliner’s footrest, rested ankle on knee and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “You were about to tell me how you got into the flower business.”

Her laughter reminded Adam of the wind chimes that once hung outside his grandma’s kitchen window.

“I guess you’d have to say I just fell into it.”

Adam continued to watch, transfixed as she gestured with small but clearly hardworking hands, her incredible green eyes flickering with wit as she smiled, pursed her lips, tucked in one corner of her mouth.

“‘Falling into it’…now that,” Adam interjected, “sounds dangerous.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “How so?”

“Well, look at those things—” He indicated the basket of cuttings. “Briars big enough to saddle, spears that could harpoon a Great White.” He met her eyes. “I sure wouldn’t want to ‘fall into’ any of that!”