The Sharpest Edge. Stephanie Rowe

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      She lifted first one foot and then the other. He was appalled—and scared—at how blue her feet appeared. Why on earth had she ventured out in such inappropriate footwear?

      Gently, he eased off her left shoe, and set it on the floor beside them. Next, he removed the right one.

      His thumb accidentally brushed against the skin on top of her foot. She quivered. His throat clogged. Her feet were cold, so cold, but thank You, God, no signs of frostbite.

      Jonas wrapped her lower limbs in the folds of the afghan. Through the fabric, he rubbed the circulation back into her feet.

      Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Stone.”

      Pausing, he frowned. “I told you, it’s Jonas.”

      She fidgeted in the chair. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I am fine, J-Jonas...”

      Was saying his name that difficult?

      He glared. “Be still, woman. The storm out there is nothing to play around with. The Blue Ridge Mountains are beautiful, but they can also be deadly.”

      As beautiful as AnnaBeth Cummings. The thought stopped him cold. Momentarily befuddled, he stared at her.

      Her lips parted. “What’s wrong?”

      Nothing. Everything. His mother returned to the living room, bringing him back to the present.

      She handed AnnaBeth a coffee mug. “Cream and sugar.”

      AnnaBeth’s face fell. “Thank you.” Dutifully, she brought the mug to her lips.

      He squeezed her foot. “Not that you should worry, but the cream and sugar don’t count today.”

      AnnaBeth arched an eyebrow. “They don’t?”

      “Not when it’s the first thing you’ve eaten in forty-eight hours.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You said... On the road...”

      “I didn’t think you were listening. Most people—” Averting her gaze, she took a big gulp of coffee and sputtered. “Wow. That’s strong. But good,” she added quickly.

      Jonas had noticed that about her. Always so careful not to give the slightest offense. Yet with that red hair of hers, he wondered what she’d be like if she ever got mad. Did she ever allow herself to get mad?

      His mother smiled. “My coffee’s like my two cowboys. Strong. Sometimes a little thick. But with undertones of sweetness.”

      Jonas started to rise, but his mother waved him to remain where he was. “Look’s like you’ve got this under control.” She settled onto the nearby sofa. “Like I said, a little thick. At least at first.”

      Hunter dashed downstairs, saving him from further comment. “Here you go, Snow Pwincess.”

      AnnaBeth blushed. “I’m not—Why don’t you call me AnnaBeth, Hunter? Or A.B. That’s what my sister, MaryDru, calls me.” She set the mug on the side table.

      Hunter jutted his jaw. “I’d wather caw you—”

      “Son!” Jonas got to his feet so fast, the room spun. Again. “Give Miss AnnaBeth the socks.”

      A pleased expression flitted across her features. And he realized it was the first time he’d said her name out loud. Although, he’d been thinking her name far longer.

      Kasey used to complain he was emotionally unavailable. How she never knew what he was thinking. After she deserted them, probably better she hadn’t.

      Hunter thrust the socks at AnnaBeth. “Dese awe so, so wawrm, Miss AnnaBef.”

      Jonas narrowed his eyes. “Where did you get those, Hunter?”

      His son grinned. “Dese socks keep your feet wawrm, Dad. You told me to go get socks.”

      Jonas ran his hand over his head. “I meant for you to get a pair from Gramma’s room, Hunt.”

      Bending, AnnaBeth slipped on the heather-gray, wool boot socks. “Already my toes feel toastier.” She sighed. “I’m in love.”

      He gave her a startled glance.

      She went crimson. “I mean I’m in love with these socks.” She stuck out her feet.

      Deirdre snapped her fingers. Everyone jumped. “That’s where I’ve seen your name. You write the Heart’s Home blog. I love your tagline.” She smiled. “‘May your heart always know the way home.’ That’s you, isn’t it, AnnaBeth?”

      “That’s me.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you enjoy the blog, Deirdre?”

      Hunter planted his fists on his pint-sized hips. “What’s a bwog?”

      “Something on the computer.” Jonas jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “That’s what you do for a living? You write a blog?”

      AnnaBeth lifted her chin. “I’m an influencer.”

      Jonas blinked. “A what?”

      “Honestly, son.” His mom threw out her hands. “Get off the mountain once in a while. Even if virtually. AnnaBeth Cummings writes reviews for products. She’s a trendsetter.”

      AnnaBeth fluttered her hand. “I only write about what I love.”

      “I loved your ‘Autumn Wardrobe Must-Have’ post a few months ago. And the endorsement you wrote for the Duer Inn sounded wonderful. Somewhere in Virginia?”

      AnnaBeth nodded. “The Eastern Shore. A great place. Fantastic people. If you’ve never been, you should go.”

      His mother’s lips curved. “Looked like a great place for a honeymoon.”

      AnnaBeth’s cheeks turned pink.

      He crossed his arms. Obvious much, Mother?

      Jonas glowered. “I’ll take your cases upstairs. Which room, Ma?”

      “I was thinking the Snowbird.” His mother headed to the staircase. “It’s an en-suite corner room, AnnaBeth, with a lovely view of the ridge.”

      “Not that she can see the ridge in this weather,” he growled. “No telling when the storm will let up.”

      AnnaBeth batted her lashes. “Are you always this cheerful and optimistic, Jonas?”

      His mother laughed. “I think I’m going to adore having you around, AnnaBeth.”

      Jonas scowled at them both.

      “Stay by the fire for a few more minutes, AnnaBeth, and finish your coffee.” Climbing the stairs, his mother called over her shoulder, “I’ll put clean towels in the bathroom.”

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