Free My Southern Bride (The Texas Two-Step Series, Book 4) by Kathy Carmichael

think there was more to their kiss.
    That it was more than mere loneliness on his part.
    That they were developing a relationship.
    A romantic kind of relationship.
    But he knew, all too well, how Lori had acted when her designs on his brother had been thwarted.
    So he needed to think about anything other than how right she'd felt sitting by his side. And that his kiss had been about his driving need to hold her, rather than calming her.
    Being on his own was far preferable to a lifetime of being miserable. Yet, late at night, emptiness and longing plagued him.
    He had a lot to be grateful for. He had a great life. He could live it on his own terms, but it was far from perfect.
    With his brother and sister far away, they no longer served as a substitute for the kind of intimacy every human being longed for.
    In those quiet midnight hours, he yearned for that certain someone who would make his life complete. Someone to turn to when he was down, celebrate with when he scored a victory, and share the normal ups and downs of a life worth living. And, in return, he wanted to share all of her victories and defeats.
    Even though he was drawn to Lori, he had to keep a clear head. He wasn't searching for just any relationship. Dwelling on their kiss didn't help. Sure, it was an amazing kiss, the kind a man enjoyed thinking back on, but that alone didn't lead to a once-in-a-lifetime union.
    Very deliberately, he pushed Lori from his thoughts.
    Instead, he chose to brood about the weather.
    How much longer could a freak storm last?
    In all his days, the Nelson Ranch had never seen weather like this.
    He shifted his legs and his nearly-numb bottom, but couldn't find a good position to lie in. After so many hours, the sofa lacked any comfort. Not that he would have chosen to plant himself on it in normal circumstances.
    But today was anything but normal.
    He'd stayed in one spot more than long enough, especially since he had a battery-operated radio in the kitchen, and he'd forgotten to have Lori fetch it. While he couldn't have TV, a radio station with regular weather updates might keep him from losing his mind from the boredom. Or from driving himself crazy with thoughts about Lori.
    Both his body and his mind yearned for activity and needed distractions.
    Back in his rodeo days, he'd received far worse injuries than a bum ankle. He'd gotten back on his horse and won the event, broken ribs or no broken ribs.
    He could come to only one possible conclusion. He'd been sissying out by babying himself. Time for that to end.
    One weak ankle couldn't and wouldn't sideline him any longer.
    Gingerly putting both feet on the floor, he cautiously raised himself from the sofa.
    So far so good.
    He placed a little weight on the bad ankle, and pain ricocheted from his head to his toes.
    Not good.
    But it wasn't as bad as it had been the day before.
    He bent his knee and pulled his foot from the floor. When he started to lose his balance, he grabbed the arm of the sofa.
    Pretty good.
    At least he could stand. Sort of.
    It didn't get him any closer to the radio, especially since he couldn't put weight on that leg.
    There had to be a way.
    He chewed over his predicament for a moment. What about hopping?
    As long as he hopped to something he could balance against, he should be fine.
    He mentally calculated the number of hops between the sofa and the opening leading into the kitchen. Only eight good-sized hops. Piece a' cake.
    Taking the first hop, he over-calculated, and waggled and flailed to keep his balance.
    Okay, make that twelve medium-sized hops were needed.
    On his last hop to the doorway, he almost fell. A mad grab for a side-table propped against the wall saved him from landing face-first on the floor.
    Taking a fortifying breath, he craned his neck around the wall and estimated it would take another ten hops to reach the pantry where the radio was stored.
    Hopping had been a fun pastime when he was a boy. But now in his thirties, it wasn't