Free Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe by Cassie Miles Page A

showing the day’s headline. “Look at the way she’s holding the paper. Her fingers form a circle and an M.”
    â€œShe doesn’t look scared at all.” Fiona leaned closer to the screen. “I wouldn’t have been that brave.”
    â€œSure you would. I saw how you stood up to Clinton.”
    â€œDealing with a jerk isn’t comparable to being held captive.”
    â€œKeep in mind,” Jesse reminded her, “that Nicole might have been falling in love with one of the kidnappers, probably Butch Thurgood. He was a former rodeo star and an accomplished horseman.”
    â€œAnd she’s a large-animal veterinarian. I guess they have a lot in common.”
    Because Fiona was so sensitive, he was interested in her interpretation of Nicole’s actions. “Do you think she’s the kind of woman who’d run off with a kidnapper?”
    â€œIt sounds kind of romantic. Some women are attracted to bad boys. But I thought Dylan and Nicole were truly, deeply in love.” She shook her head. “I could be wrong. It’s hard to know what goes on inside a marriage.”
    Jesse tapped a few computer keys and played a video. Nicole looked into the camera and said she’d be fine if theypaid the ransom. “Again, watch her hands. She made a circle when she tucked her hair behind her ears. The way she touched her lips is a sideways M.”
    â€œThe way she’s dressed,” Fiona said. “It isn’t right. She wears practical ranching clothes. Not a worn-out cotton shirt with a flower print.”
    In Burke’s notes, others had come to the same conclusion. “Here’s the third proof of life. Another video.”
    He and Fiona watched and listened as Nicole apologized for causing so much trouble and said everything might have worked out for the best.
    â€œNo clue this time,” Fiona said. “And her attitude is different. More resigned. In the other pictures, she has more spark.”
    â€œAnd this one?”
    â€œHer eyes are empty and hollow.” Fiona turned her head, averting her gaze from the screen. “I saw that same expression on my own face every time I looked in the mirror after Wyatt’s death.”
    â€œWhat does it mean?”
    â€œLoss of hope.” Slowly, she rose from the table. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Knowing that you’ve lost something precious, and you might never find it again.”
    He came up behind her and gently turned her toward him. “You don’t have to hide your tears from me. I understand. I know how much you cared for your husband.”
    But when she looked, her eyes were dry. “Tennyson said it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
    She stood so close to him that he could feel the radiant warmth of her body. He sensed the beating of her pulse,the rhythm of her heartbeat. “That’s what Tennyson says. But what do you say?”
    â€œI’m not a poet.”
    â€œBut you’re an artist.”
    â€œWhich means I’m not good with words. I could draw you a picture.”
    He didn’t need for her to pull out her sketch pad. He could see that she was aware of the chemistry between them. Her lips had parted. Her breathing was shallow.
    The fire was there.
    The question was: would she fan the flames?
    If she wanted him to back off, now would be the time to tell him. “I know you have an opinion about love and passion.”
    Her eyes invited him to come closer. A gradual smile spread across her face. “I haven’t given up on love.”

Chapter Eight
    While Fiona had been sitting beside him, the dining-room table provided a natural barrier. Now there was nothing but air between her and Jesse. That air was charged with tension and promise.
    â€œYou’re not wearing the sling anymore,” she said.
    â€œI’m feeling a lot stronger.”
    She could see that was true. He didn’t