“Stillcan’t hold on to your books?” a voice rumbled behind her.
Astonished,she whirled to face a broad chest covered in a navy sweater under a brownbomber jacket. She didn’t have to look up—but did anyway—to know Becketttowered over her. Her pulse took off at a gallop.
“Whatare you doing here?” she yelped.
Heducked under the truck and fished out the book, grabbed the other two, andarranged them across her seat. He shrugged. “Helping a friend.”
Sunglassesperched on his head, his light blue eyes roamed over her, making her stomachsomersault. She stomped her boots as though to rid them of snow, but it was tosettle her insides.
Shelooked back up at him, blurting, “The beard’s gone.”
Herubbed his not-completely-shaved chin. I love that days-old scruff on him.So rugged … so masculine … so … He interrupted her mind’s meanderings.“That was for playoffs.”
Shenodded so hard her neck crunched. “And your hand? I saw you get slashed.” AndI wasn’t there. I wasn’t part of any of it.
Hesmirked. “Which time?”
DearGod, this beautiful man, this Adonis who’d spent hours in her bed and professedto love her, who’d asked her to marry him, stood mere inches away, the mingledfragrance of Old Spice and him washing over her, and she couldn’t ground thebutterflies flapping in her stomach. Speechless, all she could think of wasreaching out and touching him.
Shecrossed her arms to keep her fingers in check. “When did you get back?”
“Rightafter our season ended. I’ve been splitting time between Denver and themountain house.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to nowhere inparticular.
Wait.What? Her heartcrashing to her knees, her glimmer of happiness drained from her body.
“Oh. Ithought you’d let me know you were in town.”
“Youmade it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Didyou … I left you a voicemail yesterday.”
“I gotit.” He stood motionless, a stone pillar, his face unreadable.
She dartedher eyes across the street to keep him from seeing the tears welling there andbit her lip hard to hold them in. He’s here to break it off for good. Whatan idiot I’ve been.
“Sowhat are you up to?” was about all she could muster.
“Wrappingup a few details. I’m on my way back to the cabin.”
“Goingalone?” God, she was lame. She rushed to add, “That’s a nice place to recover.”
“Fromall kinds of hurts.” He speared her with an ice-blue gaze.
I’velost him.
CHAPTER 31
Hanging by a Moment
Beckett stared at her, his battering heart physicallyhurting, unable to read what was in her mint-green eyes. She was all he’dthought about for weeks, stubbornly lurking in every corner of his mind, fromher auburn waves to her little feet and every part in between—her soft lips,her delicate collarbones, her small hands and slender fingers, her secrettattoo. Her huge heart. He’d been haunted by memories of her touch, her laugh,her scent, and the extraordinary way he’d felt with her. How she hadfelt. Like no one else, ever. He needed her more than the air he breathed. Andhere she stood, so near he could pull her against him. Being this close bluntedthe hurt and had him questioning whether his asshole-self had gone too far.
Stayingaway from her, not answering her, had just about killed him, but with hisfather’s most recent words bobbing like corks in his stewing brain, he’d foundthe will and pulled it off. Now he needed to steel himself just a littlelonger.
A carrolled by, its tires splashing in the melting snow.
Andienarrowed her gaze. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Katie.”He pointed across the street. “So this is the very first, honest-to-goodnessAnderson Home built from the ground up? Is this one of those lots from NewYear’s?”
Shebroke out in a proud little grin. “It is. It’s a proprietary design I had builtoff-site. That’s why it went up so fast. It’s the first of six. What do youthink?”
For thefirst time since he’d parked, Beckett surveyed the structure. “Impressive. Ilike it. It’s for sale, right?”
“Well,yes, but it’s not ready yet.” A frown of confusion bloomed on her face. “Um, sothe Flyers aren’t extending your contract?”
“Don’tknow yet. Herb’s fielding calls from other interested NHL teams, but no matterwhere—or if—I sign, Colorado’s my home.” He stuffed his hands in his backpockets. “So what about the finishes?”
“Finishes?Oh! The house. I’ve got a design board.” Her cheeks were pink and shiny likeapples.
“Iseverything you picked for this house what you’d pick if it were yours?”
Herlovely mouth parted and closed a few times. “I suppose.”
“And isthis a house you’d live in?”
“No.It’s too big for me.”
“Sosell it to me.”
Hermouth opened and closed a few more times. He loved it when she got all tongue-tied.She looked like a very cute guppy.
Hegrinned. “You probably need to know I can afford it.” He slipped on his glassesand pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, scanning it beforehanding it to her.
Alittle storm brewed in the vertical slash between her knotted brows. As shestudied the paper, her expression transformed to one of astonishment, and sheglanced up at him. “This is legit?”
Hisgrin widened. “Yep. It’s amazing what paychecks and selling a business can doto a bank account. That doesn’t include settlement money from the restaurantand the Vegas shit-storm.” He cleared his throat, fighting his shortness ofbreath. “Anyway, instead of blowing it on old habits, I have some new ones I’mitching to try.”
Shehanded his statement back with a wary look. “Such as?”
Herefolded the paper, slid off the glasses, and stowed both in his pocket. “Forstarters, adopting a pack of wolves at the sanctuary.”
“What?Why wolves?”
“Theymate for life. Did you know that? Unlike tigers, who screw around all thetime.” He looked down his nose at her. “I’m surprised you picked Tyrone. I’vebeen watching him. That boy’s a player.”
Herfrown returned. “So you’ve visited the sanctuary?”
“Ohyeah. A
