“Hey.” She got stuck looking into his eyes. Damned if there wasn’t something there. How could he keep leaving her and not even exploring this thing that simmered between them?
She almost closed her eyes and tipped her head a little more to invite a kiss and see what he’d do. But she caught herself, shocked that she’d nearly done it. And he looked like he was thinking along the same lines.
She thrust the bowl outward, pushing him back a step. Well, more like startling him back a step. Pushing him would be like pushing a tree. “Dip!” she said. Scintillating conversation starter, that.
He took the bowl and smiled. “Thanks. I’ve been thinkin’ about this dip since Christmas.”
The dip. He’d been thinking about the dip since Christmas. Not their almost-kiss under the mistletoe.
They’d bumped into each other right under the leaf and berry bundle. She’d looked up at him, then past him, and he’d tipped his head up, too. Glimpsed the mistletoe hanging over his head. It only cleared him by a few inches.
He lowered his head again, real slow, and his eyes locked with hers. She moistened her lips with her tongue, lifted her chin a little.
He put his hands on her shoulders, moved even closer.
And then somebody dropped a glass, and it shattered the moment. He’d been about to kiss her, she was sure of it!
She was so frustrated she wanted to pour the bowl of dip right over his head.
“The dip need the fridge? he asked, distracting her.
“Not right away. But it should be divvied up into smaller bowls.”
“I think there are some in the bunkhouse.” He’d taken the bowl from her, so now she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She shoved them into her pockets and they turned and walked along the path toward the bunkhouse. The bonfire was behind it, far enough out to be safe. She could see the golden glow, smell the burning wood and hear the crackling flames.
They went inside, though, into the kitchen. Ethan opened cabinets, took down four small ceramic bowls just the right size for dip. He set them on the counter, then opened a drawer and took out a spoon.
Lily took the lid off the dip, and Ethan scooped some into each of the bowls, replaced the lid, and put the big bowl into the fridge. He picked up two of the little dishes, offered them to her. She took them, running her hands over his as she did. Dammit, there was a devil inside making her do things she wouldn’t normally do.
She thought his breath hitched when she touched him. She had the bowls in her hands then, palms up. Ethan cupped his hands around hers from below, then pulled them slowly way in a matching caress. Then he turned to pick up the other two bowls, and headed outside once more, moving around behind the bunkhouse with her following him.
Everyone yelled greetings, but she was lost in the whirlwind inside her mind. He did that, caressed my hands like that. On purpose, he did that. Okay. He likes me back. I’ve been right all along. Ha! I’m not crazy. He likes me back. She couldn’t keep the smile from her face for a moment until the next logical thought jumped in.
So now what?
When Ethan asked himself why he had done that, rubbed his hands across the smooth backs of hers, he already knew the reason. It had been either that or kiss her, something he’d been avoiding since the day he’d first met her. It wasn’t a fling he saw when he looked into Lily Ellen’s eyes. It was the whole shebang, and the thought of it scared the daylights out of him. The thought of being with someone so good, so light, when his blood was stained dark.
Besides, he couldn’t give her what she wanted. His life was on the road. So he’d determined early on he’d best leave his cousin-in-law’s younger sister alone. The problem was, it was getting harder to do that every time he saw her.
And now he’d kindled the spark in her angel-blue eyes into a burgeoning flame with no more than a touch of his hands across hers. And no wonder. He’d felt it clear to his toes when she’d run her petal-soft palms over the backs of his hands, soft on his knuckles, and slow all the way along his fingers to their very tips, leaving a trail of electric sparks in their wake.
There were makeshift tables between their lawn chairs, a tall spool that had held a cable, a tree stump sawed off flat, an upturned five-gallon bucket. Each “table” held a bowl of chips, and he added dip to two of them and looked around for a place to sit.
There were two empty folding chairs, side by side. He headed over to the big table, where the pizza boxes were, helped himself to a slice, and stood there to eat it. Lily placed the remaining two dips, putting one of them on a short, wide, upright log between the two chairs, where a bowl of chips already waited. Then she helped herself to a beer and took a seat. Ethan ate his pizza standing up, then wiped his mouth with a napkin and got a beer. He still hadn’t sat down, though. He cleared his throat and said, “So the reason I called you guys here is—well, it’s about my birth father. He um…he’s dead. Burnin’ in hell, I hope.”
The cousins exchanged looks, and it was clear they didn’t know how to react.
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Ethan went on. “I wish he’d gone out harder than he did, though. They said it was peaceful.”
“Still,” Baxter said, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “It’s a lot. It’s your father, man.” He wore khaki trousers instead of jeans, loafers instead of boots, and a short sleeved, button-down shirt without snaps. There was an olive drab jacket over the back of his chair. He was the eldest of the cousins at thirty-one.
“A technicality,” Ethan replied. “I have no problem with his death, other than that I wasn’t the one who brought it about. But there’s a will.”
“Oh, shit,” Maria said, her head coming up off her new husband’s shoulder. Harrison watched Ethan, his eyes concerned. His sharp mind was probably already ten steps ahead. His sister was just as brilliant, he thought, sliding a look Lily’s way.
Her eyes were on him. She smiled, gave an encouraging nod.
So he went on. “He left me a lot of stuff. And most of it I can just disclaim. I have an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow on that.”
