Free My Stubborn Heart by Becky Wade

off their conversations and regarded him with fascination.
    Matt stood with the kind of stillness that held suppressed motion, as if he were on the verge of turning and heading back to his truck. He’d made his face carefully expressionless. For all his physical beauty and strength, he looked vulnerable to her, standing there.
    Her heart squeezed. Shoot! He was miserable around strangers. She knew this, and she should have warned him about tonight.
    â€œEveryone,” Gran said, wrapping her hand affectionately around his forearm, “this is Matt Jarreau. Of course you know he’s our marvelous contractor.”
    He had on a fitted navy sweater and flat-front khakis. She’d bet that he was one of those guys who hardly gave a thought to his clothing. He probably just wore whatever was clean. Yet his casual, sometimes ever-so-slightly-rumpled appearance never failed to make him look like a J.Crew model.
    â€œMatt,” Gran continued, “this is William, Morty, Peg, and Velma. Friends of mine.”
    Matt lowered his chin a fraction. “Nice to meet you.”
    Velma walked up to him, still holding, with two frayed potholders, the dish of glazed carrots she’d been taking to the dining room when he’d arrived. “Good gracious, you’re taller than I realized. How tall are you?”
    â€œSix two.”
    â€œHmm.” She scrutinized him from behind her enormous glasses, as if trying to decide whether she’d deign to let him stay.
    Kate felt ridiculously protective of Matt, a sentiment he wouldn’t thank her for. Still. If Velma started needling him, she was going to have to intercede.
    â€œYou’re tall and you’re good-lookin’,” Velma announced. “Nice to have a hottie over for dinner, isn’t it, girls?”
    Disaster. Kate expected Matt to break for the door. But he stayed where he was, apparently speechless.
    Peg blushed and nodded faintly.
    â€œIndeed!” Gran smiled up at Matt, her blue eyes twinkling. “Always nice to have hotties over.”
    Velma’s attention swooped to Kate like a hawk catching sight of a canary. “It sure is, isn’t it, Kate?”
    â€œYes,” Kate said lamely. “It is.”
    And that’s how Matt Jarreau was ushered into the kitchen, swept along to the dining room table, and firmly caught in the center of poker night.

    After dinner, Morty—who took his poker very seriously—hauled out an enormous case of gambling chips and a small sign stating the worth of each color of chip. While Morty was setting up at the dining room table, Velma made her way to the bathroom. Kate followed her surreptitiously and waited in the hallway outside the bathroom for Velma to come out.
    When Velma exited, she caught sight of Kate and halted. “Wouldn’t go in there for a few minutes if I were you,” she warned. “Stinks.”
    â€œAhh . . .” All Kate’s preplanned sentences evaporated, and she had to scramble after them. “It’s okay. I wanted to ask you something anyway.”
    One penciled eyebrow rose. Velma was wearing a black cowboy-cut shirt and tapered jeans tucked into flat ankle boots with fringe on the side. It appeared she’d fallen for an infomercial and shelled out $19.99 in exchange for a machine that punched silver studs into fabric, because she’d punctured her shirt with dozens of them. Her shirt positively gleamed. Brighter than the tin man.
    Kate had a vision of Velma attempting to pass through airport security in that thing—metal detectors up and down the terminal shrieking and wailing.
    â€œMorty likes you,” Kate said. “And I wondered if you’d reconsider going out with him.”
    Velma rolled her pink lips into a sour expression. “No. Morty and I get along fine as it is. I’m not interested in anything romantic.”
    â€œWhy not? I mean, he seems like a good person.”
    Velma regarded