Iâm real good with a gun.â
âNo guns!â Lizabeth stood at her seat, palms flat on the table, and leaned toward Elsie to make her point. âI donât want any guns in this house.â
Elsie bit into her doughnut. âI suppose it wouldnât be neighborly to shoot him, anyway.â
âAnd the police would frown on it,â Lizabeth said. âTheyâre not fond of vigilantes.â
Elsie turned her attention to Matt. âDid you come over here just to plan a barbecue?â
âNo. Itâs supposed to rain tonight, so I thought Iâd take a look at the roof. I might be able to patch some of the worst spots.â
âYou donât have to go up on the roof to do that, do you?â Lizabeth said.
âWorried about me?â Matt asked, looking pleased.
âOf course Iâm worried. The roof is a mess. The shakes are loose, and the wood is probably rotted. If you fall off and get hurt, theyâll raise the rates on my homeownerâs insurance.â
He drained his coffee cup and rose. âIâll keep all that in mind.â
âDo you need help?â
âYou bet. I need someone to hold the ladder.â
He slung his arm around Lizabethâs shoulders and dragged her out of the kitchen. âHolding the ladder is a very important job. Not just anyone can do it. It has to be someone you trust.â
âUh-huh.â
âAnd if you turn out to be good at holding the ladder, later on I might let you hold something else.â
Lizabethâs stomach did a rollover. âIâm not sure I want to hear this.â
He turned and pinned her against the front door. âLizzy Kane, you have a dirty mind.â
He was silently laughing, and his mouth was just inches away.
âYou set me up,â Lizabeth said.
His face was a study in offended innocence. âNot true. I was thinking you could hold my shirt if it gets too warm on the roof, or you could hold my hammer while I carry the shingles.â
He leaned even closer. âYou were the one who thought about holding more intimate objects,â he whispered. âYou want to know what I think? I think you want to hold myââ
Lizabeth made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.
âSomething wrong?â Matt asked. âI thought talking was okay. I thought everything was allowed except the ultimate act.â
He was seeing how far he could push, she thought. Well, that was great. Two could play that game. âFine,â Lizabeth said. âYou want to play hardball?â
He was close enough for her to feel the laughter rumbling deep in his chest.
âNo,â he said. âThereâs no doubt in my mind that Iâd lose.â
âReally? Scared of me, huh?â
âYup. Iâm in love with you, and that makes me vulnerable. If you wanted, you could squash me like a bug. You could trample my ego flat.â
âI bet when you were a kid you got away with murder,â Lizabeth said.
Matt finally broke the embrace, moved away and propped the ladder securely against the house. âWhat makes you think that?â
âYou know all the right things to say to disarm a woman. You probably had your mother wrapped around your little finger.â
âHardly. I was the fifth kid in a family of seven. Half the time my mother couldnât remember my name.â
To Lizabeth it seemed like a bitter statement to make, but there was no bitterness in his voice. In fact, there was no inflection at all. The tone had been flat. Matter-of-fact. His eyes, usually so filled with feeling, were blank, and his face held the sort of vacuous expression that came with denial or followed unbearable pain. Thereâd been a tragedy there, Lizabeth thought. And it had been dealt with and filedaway. She didnât want to drag it out and open old wounds.
She searched for something to say, but found nothing. She wanted to hug him, but she wasnât