Free Rescued in a Wedding Dress by Cara Colter Page A

himself.
    Was she reading too much into him?
    Probably, but that’s who she was, and that’s what she did. She rescued strays. Funny she would see that in him, the man who held himself with such confidence, but she did.
    Because that’s what she did. She saw the best in people. And she wasn’t going to change because it had hurt her.
    She was going to be stronger than that.
    Molly was no more dressed for this kind of work than Houston. But she went and got a spade and began to shift the same pile of topsoil he was working on. What better way to show him soul than people willing to work so hard for what they wanted? The spirit of community was sprouting in the garden with as much vitality as the plants.
    The spring sun shone brightly, somewhere a bird sang. What could be better than this, working side byside, to create an oasis of green in the middle of the busy city? There was magic here. It was in the sights and the sounds, in the smell of the fresh earth.
    Of course, his smell was in her nostrils, too, tangy and clean. And there was something about the way a bead of sweat slipped down his temple that made her breath catch in her throat.
    Romantic weakness, she warned herself, but half-heartedly. Why not just enjoy this moment, the fact it included the masculine beauty of him? Now, if only he could join in, instead of be apart. There was a look on his face that was focused but remote, as if he was immune to the magic of the day.
    Oh, well, that was his problem. She was going to enjoy her day, especially with this new sense of having discovered who she was.
    She gave herself over to the task at hand, placed her shovel, then jumped on it with both feet to drive it in to the dirt. It was probably because he was watching—or maybe because of the desperately unsuited shoes—that things went sideways. The shovel fell to one side, throwing her against him.
    His arm closed around her in reaction. She felt the hardness of his palm tingling on the sensitive upper skin of her arm. The intoxicating scent of him intensified. He held her arm just a beat longer than he had to, and she felt the seductive and exhilarating zing of pure chemistry.
    When he had touched her yesterday, she had felt these things, but he had looked only remote. Today, she saw something pulse through his eyes, charged, before it was quickly doused and he let go of her arm.
    Was it because she had made a decision to be whoshe really was that she couldn’t resist playing with that zing? Or was it because she was powerless not to explore it, just a little?
    “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. And then just in case she thought he had a weak place somewhere in him, that he might actually care, that he might be feeling something as intoxicatingly unprofessional as she was, he said, “Second Chances can’t afford a compensation claim.”
    She smiled to herself, went back to shoveling.
    He seemed just a little too pleased with himself.
    She tossed a little dirt on his shoes.
    “Hey,” he warned her.
    “Sorry,” she said, insincerely. She tossed a little more.
    He stopped, glared at her over the top of his shovel. She pretended it had been purely an accident, focused intently on her own shovel, her own dirt. He went back to work. She tossed a shovel full of dirt right on his shoes.
    “Hey!” he said, extricating his feet.
    “Watch where you put your feet,” she said solemnly. “Second Chances can’t afford to buy you new shoes.”
    She giggled, and shoveled, but she knew he was regarding her over the top of his shovel, and when she glanced at him, some of that remoteness had gone from his eyes, finally, and this time it didn’t come back. He went back to work.
    Plop. Dirt on his shoes.
    “Would you stop it?” he said.
    “Stop what?” she asked innocently.
    “You have something against my shoes?”
    “No, they’re very nice shoes.”
    “I know how to make you behave,” he whispered.
    She laughed. This is