The Sweetest Hours. Cathryn Parry

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      CHAPTER THREE

      MALCOLM STRODE BESIDE Kristin in the early darkness, his mood matching the light. Snowbanks lined the sidewalk. It was so frigid cold outside that the hard-packed snow crunched underfoot, and his breath made puffs of air as he walked.

      They’d left the mill building and were cutting through the middle of what passed for a downtown—a New England-style town green surrounded by shops, shuttered tight, and old homes, typical of the region. It reminded him of the remote village in New Hampshire where he’d first been sent to prep school as a boy, which only depressed him further. He hunched his shoulders in his coat as they passed through a section of street without lamplights. Malcolm pulled his torch from his pocket and turned it on.

      “You carry a flashlight with you, too?” she asked, breaking the silence.

      “Everyone should.” If trouble warranted it, the heavy barrel could double as a weapon. He never went anywhere without considering the security implications.

      She showed him her flashlight. Smiling sheepishly, she said, “Not everyone understands it, but a person has to protect themselves.”

      Something they agreed on. Still, he thought of his sister who was about Kristin’s height, though slighter. He couldn’t see her bashing anyone over the head with a piece of metal. Too bad.

      “Did somebody teach you to carry that?” he asked her.

      “Yep, my brothers.”

      He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah...will they be present this evening?”

      Passing beneath a streetlight, he noticed the dimple form in her cheek. “We may be blessed with their presence, yes.”

      Lovely. At least his luck was predictable.

      Within another block, they were at her family’s house, a multistory, clapboard Victorian. They climbed a set of stairs to a big wraparound porch. Stamping her feet to warm them, Kristin pulled a key from her coat pocket.

      “You have a key to your sister-in-law’s home?” he asked.

      “I live in the apartment upstairs. My brother and sister-in-law own the house, and I rent space from them.”

      Interesting. Living here was safe, he supposed. “You have a short walk to work.”

      “I do.” She smiled at him. Her hair was tucked inside her beret, and she looked...pretty. The fur from her collar framed her face, and her soft, green eyes gazed up at him. It made him ache.

      He had too many secrets to keep from her. He only hoped he endured the night without incident. If he kept himself aloof from her and did not let himself care about her or her predicament once he left, then he would do fine.

      “I have one thing to ask of you, George—please don’t hold me responsible for what my family might say or do tonight,” she pleaded, her hand on the doorknob.

      He blinked. “Why? Are they likely to string me up because I’m with you?”

      “Not you. They like strong, silent types.”

      Is that what he was? In any event, nobody would think well of him once his handiwork was made known. Kristin certainly wouldn’t.

      A gust of cold wind blew by, and he hunched his shoulders against the frigid temperature. “What are the risks tonight, then?” he asked.

      “Me. I’m the risk. I’m bringing someone to a family event.” She choked out a laugh, and then glanced at him helplessly. “Trust me, they would love to pair us up. And it turns out the whole clan is going to be here, not just Stephanie and Lily. So, could you please back me up—make it clear that we’re work colleagues only?”

      He stared at her. There were so many things ahead that could go wrong—so many potential traps she didn’t even know about. But he could only fixate on one thing.

      “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”