Free Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) by Barbara Delinsky Page A

door, deposited the wood in a basket by the hearth, threw back his hood and unbuckled his jacket.
    Leah didn’t have to ask if the rain had let up. The boots he’d left by the door were covered with mud; his jacket dripped as he shrugged it off.
    She returned to her book.
    He took up one of his own and sat down.
    Briefly she felt the chill he’d brought in. It touched her face, her arm, her leg on the side nearest to him. The fire was warm, though, and the chill soon dissipated.
    She read on.
    “Do you like it?” he asked after a time.
    “It’s very well written.”
    He nodded at that and lowered his eyes to his own book.
    Leah had turned several pages before realizing that he hadn’t turned a one. Yet he was concentrating on something.…
    Craning her neck, she tried to reach the running head at the top of the page. She was beginning to wonder whether she needed a new eyeglass prescription, when he spoke.
    “It’s Latin.”
    She smiled. “You’re kidding.”
    “No.”
    “Are you a Latin scholar?”
    “Not yet.”
    “You’re a novice.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Reluctant to disturb him, she returned to her own corner. Studying Latin? That was odd for a trapper, not so odd for a man with a very different past. She would have liked to ask about that past, but she didn’t see how she could. He wasn’t encouraging conversation. It was bad enough that she was here. The more unobtrusive she was, the better.
    Delving into her own book again, she’d read several chapters, when his voice broke the silence.
    “Hungry?”
    Now that he’d mentioned it … “A little.”
    “Want some lunch?”
    “If I can make it.”
    “You can’t.” It was his house, his refrigerator, his food. Given the doubts he’d had about himself since Leah had arrived, he needed to feel in command of something. “Does that mean you won’t eat?”
    She grimaced. “Got myself into a corner with that one, didn’t I?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I’ll eat.”
    Trying his best not to smile, Garrick set down his book and went to make lunch. Despite the time he’d spent at the woodshed, he was still annoyed with Victoria. It was difficult, though, to be annoyed with Leah. She was as innocent a pawn in Victoria’s game as he was, and, apparently, as uncomfortable about it. But she was a good sport. She conducted herself with dignity. He respected that.
    None of the women he’d known in the past would have acceded to as untenable a situation with such grace. Linda Prince would have been livid at the thought of someone isolating her in a secluded cabin. Mona Weston would have been frantic without a direct phone line to her agent. Darcy Hogan would have ransacked his drawers in search of a flattering garment to display her goods. Heather Kane would have screamed at him to stop the rain.
    Leah Gates had taken the sweater he offered with gratitude, had found herself a book to read and was keeping to herself.
    Which made him all the more curious about her. He wondered what had happened to her marriage and why she didn’t date now. He wondered whether she had family, or dreams for the future. He wondered whether the loneliness he saw in her eyes from time to time had to do with the loneliness of this mountainside. Somehow he didn’t think so. Somehow he thought the loneliness went deeper. He felt it himself.
    Lunch consisted of ham-and-cheese sandwiches on rye. Leah didn’t go scurrying for a knife to cut hers in two. She didn’t complain about the liberal helping of mayonnaise he’d smeared on out of habit, or about the lettuce and tomato that added bulk and made for a certain sloppiness. She finished every drop of the milk he’d poured without making inane cracks about growing boys and girls or the need for calcium or the marvel of cows. When she’d finished eating, she simply carried both of their plates to the sink, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher, then returned to the sofa to read.
    Midway through a very quiet afternoon, Garrick