Not clumsy when she was shaking her ass on the dance stage.

Matt pulled himself together. “No, totally my fault.”

She wore a sweet scent. Something mild and flowery, nothing at all like the stronger spicy perfumes Helen had always worn. He took a deeper sniff before he was even aware he was doing it. Hope’s eyes widened, and she paced back farther, opening the space between them. A momentary rush of disappointment hit that he wasn’t willing to admit to anyone, least of all to himself.

Not that he deserved any better after their surprise meeting last summer. She’d never returned his calls, never let him apologize properly, and he didn’t blame her one bit.

“I’d better head home.” Hope’s gaze skimmed past his, then she busied herself grabbing bags and piling material into heaps. “If you ladies need anything this coming week you be sure to call. I can coach you over the phone if you want, if you can’t wait until you make it into the shop. I know you’re eager to finish these projects in time for the holidays.”

Marion Coleman spoke up. “Matt, help carry her things. It took three trips for her to bring it all in.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Coleman, that’s fine—”

“Of course, I’ll help.” Matt tugged the bags from her grasp. “I’ll nab my boots and coat, and meet you at the front door.”

The panic on her face vanished almost as quickly as it arrived, and she smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Matt dropped his handfuls by the front door then pivoted to fetch his shoes from the downstairs entrance that all the Coleman males still used out of habit. Only as soon as he turned, he smacked right into Hope, and once again, ended up catching hold to prevent her from falling.

The soft material of her T-shirt under his fingers felt way better than it should. And the thoughts that raced through his mind were of dragging his hands off her arms and around her waist to tuck her tight against him to see if she was as good a fit as he remembered from their brief tangle outside the door—

A tiny gasp escaped her. That only brought his attention toward her mouth, shiny from some type of lip-gloss. She smelt so damn good, and if the noise from the living room hadn’t reminded him where they were—standing in the front hall one corner away from the sight of the most vocal gossip line in the area—he’d have been tempted to further his mistake from the summer to discover what flavour she wore.

Instead he decided to bluff. Had to, or this situation would drive him mad.

He winked. “I think we’re both having troubles keeping our balance today. Not enough caffeine?”

Hope nodded. She seemed as eager as he was to change the topic. “Or too much. I drank a lot in the shop today to stay warm, and your mother served tea and coffee all night. I might need to switch to decaf the next time.”

It was as good an excuse as any. Matt hurried down the stairs, donned his winter gear and used the side path to get around and meet her at the wide front entrance to the family ranch house.

The long, low building was set into the hillside, with the walkout on the back giving the illusion from the front of a single-level home stretching across the land. With the Christmas lights strung along the eaves, twinkling white lights that his mother insisted go up the first of November, the darkness was warmed with a cheery brightness.

Nothing could change the fact it was as cold as a witch’s tit. His breath didn’t just fog in front of him, it clouded in heavy dregs, or would have if the wind didn’t whip it away in a rush. Hope was already on her way back from her first trip, the cleared path of the sidewalk showing a good three feet of snow piled high on either side. She’d started her car, puffs of exhaust streaking behind it like dragon smoke.

“You were supposed to let me help you.” Matt opened the front door for her and she stepped in, smiling cheerily.

“As your mom said, it’s a three-trip job.” She pointed to a pile. “If you get that, I’ll take my sewing machine and purse.”

Matt scooped up his load with ease. He listened for a moment. The chatting in the living room had resumed. “You need to say goodbye to anyone?”

She shook her head. “I did while you were gone.”

He followed her out the door. Why did this feel so prickly? She was a friend. Other than that one weird incident from last summer hovering over them, there was no need for this awkwardness. Hell, for years he’d thought she’d end up his sister-in-law. There was no reason for the strange twisting sensation in his gut.

Maybe it was the memory of just how turned-on he’d gotten before he knew who she was. Plus the realization she wasn’t his sister, not by any stretch of the imagination, and wasn’t ever going to be, changed everything.

Hope turned from packing her load into her crowded backseat and reached to accept her supplies from him. As she tucked them into the vehicle, he couldn’t help but notice it looked a little worse for wear. Even as he passed over the final armful, he took a closer glance at the tiny car. It was filled to the brim with bags and boxes. There was no way she could see out her back window.

“You use a shoehorn to get yourself in there?”

Hope straightened from where she’d been rearranging things to make them fit. She smacked into the doorframe and cursed before snapping her mouth shut and rubbing the back of her head.

“It’s big enough for me. And I don’t usually haul this much stuff, but with the holiday season being the best time for sales, I didn’t want…” She grinned sheepishly. “I guess that’s as close to a confession as you’ll hear. I didn’t want to lose a sale just because I’d left something behind. With this weather, the ladies aren’t coming to the shop as often as they used to.”

The sharp wind slapped him in the neck and Matt flipped up his collar. “I don’t blame them for not going out. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”

“I know. Me neither.” Hope forced the passenger door shut before turning and rubbing her gloves together briskly. “Thanks for the help. See you around.”

Matt eyed her tires with continued suspicion as she manoeuvred her way back to the driver’s side, slipping on the hard-packed snow underfoot and barely catching herself in time. She got behind the wheel, adjusted a few of the bags beside her, did up her seatbelt.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He knocked on the passenger window.

She paused then opened her driver door a crack. “I don’t have power windows and I can’t reach the crank.”

He should have thought of that. He hurried around, worried all the heat she’d built up inside was escaping. When he made it to her door and leaned in close, only a faint bit of warmth greeted him.

“You sure you’re okay heading back to town? Why didn’t you turn on the heater?”

“Herbie takes a while to warm up. I’ll be fine. Really.”

She wiggled the door and he reluctantly moved away. The brittle clink of the locks connecting made him cringe. Why was she driving a clunker like this anyway? And she’d named it?

At least she was a competent driver. She backed past him smoothly, waving a gloved hand. Her headlights clicked on, and the tiny vehicle slipped along the long gravel drive to the highway.

Matt watched until the red of her taillights disappeared when she turned, only she didn’t head right, down the road that led toward town, but left, and his remaining limited patience vanished.

He spun and headed for his truck. She didn’t have to know he was following her, but until she was home, he couldn’t relax.

And while he would have done the same for any woman under these circumstances, for some reason knowing it was Hope ahead of him turned the Good Samaritan act into something infinitely more complicated.


Hope twisted the air-selection button. Car manufacturers needed to realize when it was this cold, a setting to blast heat at feet, body and windshield simultaneously was more than a whim, it was a necessity. Either she had a trickle of heat on her rapidly numbing torso and toes, or she had enough air pressure to keep the front window from fogging over and blocking her view. There was no selection in her ancient beater for all three to run at once.

She gripped the wheel tighter, staring into the darkness, and counted gate entrances. She never would have made the trip in the dark, on a night this cold, if she hadn’t already been three quarters of the way there. It made no sense to go home and have to drive all the way out in the morning to deliver the package Mrs. Bailey had ordered. The gas savings alone was worth the inconvenience of adding to her already long day.

She just wished it wasn’t so dark, so cold, and that the secondary roads were plowed a little better. The locals with four-by-four trucks would have no troubles, but her wheel clearance wasn’t nearly as high. She hit another rut and her car shimmied from side to side.

Ignoring her rising sense of foreboding, she turned on the side road leading toward the Baileys’ and a half dozen other homes. The plows hadn’t touched the fresh snowfall from the morning yet—there must be no school buses on this route—which meant the remote country lane would be one of the last to get cleared.

She pulled to a stop in dismay. The only people moving that day had been driving four-by-fours, leaving two narrow wheel tracks the length of the gravel highway. There was no way she could get Herbie down that road, not even for the two miles it would take. The lights of her farmhouse destination twinkled in the distance, and for one crazy second she debated walking. Reason beat away that idea quick. It was cold enough she’d have frostbite if she was lucky and made the trip without any problems. If she did get into trouble? No way. She wasn’t stupid.