The Ashtons: Jillian, Eli & Charlotte. Bronwyn Jameson

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СКАЧАТЬ where?”

      “I’ll find somewhere.”

      She had nowhere to go, nowhere except another cheap room like the one she’d fled to before. With nowhere for Jack to play, no company for Anna, and no security against whoever had threatened Jack’s safety. Jillian leaned forward and put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

      “Stay a few more days, until you find somewhere clean and comfortable and safe for Jack. I’ll help—we all will. If we put our heads together I’m sure we can come up with a decent rental. An apartment or a cottage or even a room in a boarding house.” She could feel the tension in Anna’s shoulder, knew pride wouldn’t allow her to give in easily. “Promise you won’t go right now. Give us a few days.”

      “Until the weekend,” Anna relented finally.

      Jillian smiled. “We’ll find you somewhere before then. I promise.”

      Jillian hadn’t expected to find an answer to her promise so close at hand or so soon. Half an hour later, it loomed out of her afternoon ride so unexpectedly that she reined Marsanne to a halt and just stared in why-didn’t-I-think-of-that bemusement.

      “Caroline’s enchanted cottage,” she murmured. “How utterly perfect.”

      She urged Marsanne into a canter and by the time they halted beside the pretty rail fence, her mind was humming with certainty. The cottage had been empty since their vineyard foreman fell for Abby Ashton and moved to Nebraska a month or two back. They could set a nominal rent, enough to satisfy Anna’s pride but not too much that she couldn’t afford to pay. How could she object?

       Because she wanted to keep Jack safe.

      Jillian’s excitement dimmed as she studied the pretty but not very childproof fence and the lake beyond. She clicked Marsanne into her long, loping stride and circled the perimeter, studying the fence with an objective eye. “It wouldn’t be too big a job, would it?”

      Marsanne shook her head.

      “Well, yes, you’re right. For me it would.”

      But what about for—say—a builder? A builder who had survived the toddler years as a single parent, keeping his child safe and protected and loved.

      Her heart quickened and tightened in her chest.

      A builder she’d avoided these past two days because she lacked the courage to deal with his answer to her “what now?” question.

      It had been so much easier to bury herself in work and the busy-ness of life than to face the consequences of that kiss and Seth’s admission. That kiss has been a long time coming.

      “Not good enough, Jillian,” she muttered, stiffening her spine despite the clutch of nerves in her stomach.

      Today, by driving up to the Ashton estate and meeting her half sisters, she had conquered one fear of the unknown. Perhaps, she decided as she touched thumb to ring finger and turned her horse back toward the winery, it was time to face another.

      Seth had left before Jillian rode up to the winery on Tuesday afternoon, but she caught him on his cell phone the next day. He was working on another job, but he promised to take a look at the problematic fence before the weekend. Sometime. Thursday he found himself driving by Louret on his way home from a site inspection, and he decided he might as well swing by the cottage.

      Three minutes, give or take, and he’d worked out a fix for the fence. He’d also worked up a decent level of irritation. Any half-handy vineyard or winery worker—or brother or stepfather—could have repaired this fence. She hadn’t needed to call in a builder any more than he’d needed to say, “Sure, no problem, I’ll take a look.”

      Hell, and weren’t those the words that got him into trouble in the first place? Agreeing to take a look at her tasting room when every instinct had screamed “no” and “are you a masochist?”

      Seth stalked to his truck and slapped on a tool belt. Since he was here, he might as well fix the loose screen he’d seen on one of the windows round back. While he was at it, he’d check all the latches. According to Jillian, Anna Sheridan was nervous about security.

      He heard a vehicle but paid no attention until it pulled up out front. Then every disgruntled cell in his body stood up and took notice. Damn. He didn’t even know who was out there. It could be Anna or Caroline or some half-handy worker come to fix the blessed fence.

      Except it wasn’t.

      Instinctively he knew that before he saw her coming through the gate, her arms loaded up to her chin with God knows what. With his truck parked in clear sight, his presence here was pretty much a given. Yet Jillian pulled up short when she saw him round the corner of the veranda. Her mouth softened in a soft “oh” of surprise, and all Seth could think about was that kiss.

      Four days and he could still taste her on his lips and in his blood. Four nights of shouldn’t-have-done-it recriminations and all he wanted now was to kiss her again. To simply walk right up and take that open mouth with his.

      Except he didn’t.

      Instead he leaned his shoulder against a veranda post, crossed his arms, and concentrated on anything but her mouth’s wet heat.

      The stuff in her arms. That would do for starters.

      “Moving in?” he asked, inclining his head toward her heavily laden arms.

      She blinked, then glanced down. “Oh, this. No. It’s just some things for Anna, to make the place more comfortable. For Jack’s room, mostly.”

      “She’s agreed to take the place?”

      “She took some convincing, but yes.” With a small grimace, she readjusted her load. “This isn’t heavy, but it’s awkward. Maybe you could get the door for me…?”

      The door. Right. He straightened and started to turn. Then remembered it was locked. “Keys?”

      “In my hand.” She jiggled the keys in said hand, somewhere beneath the voluminous folds of what looked like a duvet. Then, with a sharp yelp of alarm, she clutched at her slipping cargo.

      Seth leaped in to help—what else could he do?—and ended up with his arms full of soft duvet and his veins filled with the heat of body contact. Carefully, with a minimum of self-indulgence, he redistributed the weight.

      “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” she said, her voice low and husky. They were standing close, and when he looked down into her face their eyes met and held, and the connection, her nearness, the four-day-old kiss pulsed through him with the slow, steady beat of desire.

      “The door,” she said quickly. “Can you please get the door because this is starting to slip again?”

      Yeah, and so was his willpower. One kiss, one taste, one fleeting contact arm-against-breast and he wanted so much more. He wanted—

      With a snort of disgust, Seth swung away and strode to the door. He wanted a good hard kick to his senses. He wanted his head examined. He wanted to build a wall of aggravation to keep this insidious desire at bay.

      “Any СКАЧАТЬ