Mark frowned. So much about everything she’d just said troubled him. “Relationship” and “spent the night” especially.
“Steph, how did you hear—?” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What exactly did you tell Riley in the bathroom?”
As Steph related what was said, Mark’s confidence began to unravel. The idea of seeing Riley again clouded with dread.
“Are you mad at me?” Steph asked, sounding truly sorry.
He paused. “I can’t tell if I’m grateful you told me, or sick.”
She made a whimpering sound. “I’ll make it up to you.”
He ran his hand over his face. This shouldn’t be a big deal. Right? He had no claim on Riley.
Then why did his insides burn with a lava flow of envy and possession?
Take it easy, Rivers.
“When are you going to see her again?”
He pulled himself together. “I was going to go over later today. I left my hat over there.”
“You took your hat off? In front of her?”
“Don’t make more of it than it is.” Her silence told him she was making more of it than it was. “We just talked. Just—you can’t say ‘spent the night.’ It gives people the wrong idea, and I don’t want that for her. We had a good talk, that was all.”
She was quiet for a few moments. “Did you kiss her?”
He chuckled ruefully. “No.” Just a peck on her head.
“Maybe you should have.”
He laughed outright, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d never wanted to kiss Riley more than after she’d listened to him spill his guts and still curled up next to him. “Doesn’t matter.”
“For what it’s worth . . . it matters a lot.”
“Not helpin’, sis.”
Riley scowled at the shepherd’s expression, which scowled back at her. Her mood had translated into his bent eyebrows and downturned mouth. He wasn’t frowning, really, but he wasn’t exactly spreading tidings of great joy.
He was probably distracted, worrying about Mark and his sister and small, small towns.
Little towns. “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
Letting out a growl of frustration, she stomped her foot.
Why had she come here?
You wanted a fresh start.
She sighed and opened the jar of black paint. Start at the start. She painted over the face. She’d let it dry and try again. Putting excessive pressure on herself to get these faces right was getting to her. She’d always been a perfectionist, but this was a wooden stand-up nativity scene meant for a lonely stretch of mountain highway.
Not the freaking Sistine Chapel.
A quiet knock sounded at the front door. She groaned and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Go away,” she whimpered. Then she called out, “Just a minute,” and washed up in the bathroom. When she finally opened the front door, she stepped back. “Mark.”
He smiled at her, his thumbs tucked in his back pockets. “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?” She winced, not meaning to sound so abrupt. His smile wavered, and that alone made her try harder. “I mean, hello. Come in, it’s cold.” She motioned him inside.
He took a step, but then paused. “I came to get my hat. I can just grab it quick, or I can come back later if you’re busy.”
His hat. From the other night when he’d shared his nightmare with her and he’d still kept her safe and warm on the sofa. She leaned her head against the door as she held it open. “Of course, your hat. I’m sorry. I’m just”—she opened the door wider—“frustrated.”
He stepped past her. “I know how that goes,” he muttered.
She shut the door and guessed that Stephanie had talked. Or Dalton had. Mark turned and faced her, and the caution she saw in him unsettled her.
She grabbed his hat off the desk and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said. He squeezed it from one hand to the other. She suddenly wished she hadn’t insisted he look at her straight on, because he was. The look burned through her, and her cheeks warmed.
“Are you painting?” he asked.
“Yeah. The angry shepherd.”
A look of puzzlement crossed his face, then cleared. “I won’t keep you, then.”
He stepped around her, smelling like crisp air and sawdust, but before he opened the door, he rounded on her. “Riley.”
He was so close to her she looked almost straight up at him. She swallowed.
“I know my sister talked to you—”
“I’m guessing you know about—”
They both paused after speaking over each other.
“Go ahead,” she said.
He nodded. “I know my sister talked to you while you were out with Gainer, and I want you to know that I didn’t put her up to that. She can be a real hothead, and she’s just protective. But it’s no excuse.”
Riley nodded.
His brows furrowed. “That’s not to say if I’d been in her place, I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”
Her eyes widened. “You would’ve followed me into the ladies’ room?”
“Maybe,” he said, a half-smile forming. “I would’ve looked like an idiot, and I would’ve had no right, but Gainer didn’t have the right to set you up like that.”
The lift she’d felt at her own lips faded. “Setup?” she repeated. “You think Dalton was out with me just to get to you?”
“Maybe.” He ran his hand over his face. “I don’t know.” He shook his head, looking down at the floor. He brought his gaze up to meet hers. “Here’s the truth,” he said. “When Steph told me you were out with Gainer, after the day we’d spent together—I wanted to—”
She swallowed. “You wanted to what?”
His hand came up and gently brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her pulse heightened at his touch. She tried to temper it. Had he really led people on about the other night?
“I know we’re friends,” he said. “We keep saying we’re just friends. But you’re important to me, Riley. And I guess Steph picked up on that. So, while I want to
