The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother - Kat Martin Page 0,28

you?”

He popped his seatbelt and, before she could say a word, slid a hand behind her neck, pulled her toward him, and covered her mouth with his. The past came rushing back, the texture of his lips, the way they seemed to meld so perfectly with hers, the taste of him, the familiar scent of his cologne. The kiss wasn't soft and sweet. It was deep and burning, the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted.

“Nothing's changed for me, Syl,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “I thought it had but I was wrong. I still want you. I still need you. I'm trying to be patient, to give us both time to see where this leads, but for me, I already know.”

He kissed her again, softer this time, and she let him. Her insides were heating up, melting and a sweet yearning bloomed in her chest.

“Let's skip the football game,” he whispered between soft, sensual kisses. “We were kids before. We didn't know what we were doing. We're adults now. We both have wants and needs. Let me make love to you, Syl.”

Her breathing stalled. She eased back, pressed her trembling hands against his chest, just hard enough to make him move away. Her heart was hammering, trying to pound its way through her ribs. “I—I'm not ready for that, Joe.”

There must have been something in her voice because he started frowning. “It isn't because of the cancer? Something that happened to you back then?”

“No, I... it isn't that.” She looked up at him, tried to think if she should say it, decided that she might as well. “It's been years, Joe. If the right man had come along, it would have happened but first I was sick, and then I was busy with my education, and then Aunt Bess fell ill. The timing was just never right and now ... well, I'm not quite ready to jump back in.”

Joe was studying her in a different way than he had before, his eyes moving over her face. “Are you telling me ... are you saying I'm it? I'm the only guy you've been with?”

She glanced away, embarrassed and feeling the way she had when she was a gawky young girl the guys always seemed to overlook. “I didn't plan it that way. Time just sort of slipped past.”

Joe leaned toward her, framed her face between his big hands, bent his head, and very softly kissed her. “God, I’m crazy about you. And I’m scared, Syl. Scared to death.”

She pressed a kiss on his lips. “I’m scared, too, Joe.”

On a shaky breath, she sat back in her seat, her heart still thumping wildly. “We'd better get going. Charlie and Betty Ann will be waiting. And we don't want to miss the kickoff.'”

“No,” Joe said softly, his beautiful blue eyes on her face. “We wouldn't want to miss the kickoff.”

9

It was another cold day, the temperature down in the thirties, an icy wind blowing through the barren trees. Floyd rubbed his hands together as he shoved open the door and stepped inside the back porch. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, stew, he figured as he inhaled the succulent aroma. Doris made really good stew.

He moved toward the door leading into the kitchen, spotted her behind the wooden table, which was protected by sheets of newspaper. All her little paint pots sat on top: red, green, yellow, pink, every color he could think of. The entire house was filled with decorated plates and knickknacks and those damned little figurines she gave away as presents no one really wanted.

Too damned bad she couldn't sell them. Maybe they'd have a little more room in the house.

“Floyd!” She turned, for the first time realizing he stood in the doorway. “I didn't hear you come in. I guess my mind was busy working.” She set her brush down in front of the useless little plate she was painting, wiped her hands on the apron tied over her jeans, and came toward him.

“Are you hungry? I've got a pot of stew on the stove. I thought I'd make some biscuits to go with it and we'd have it for supper, but there's plenty if—”

“I'm not hungry ... not yet.” He took the little wooden birdhouse he carried beneath his arm, walked over, and set it on the table.

“Teddy Sparks bought this. Wants to give it to Syl for Christmas.”

“Well, isn't that nice. I hope you didn't charge him much for