12 Borrowing Trouble by Becky McGraw

cry, she blubbered as she worked the burnt cookies off the second sheet.
    The back door of the kitchen flew open and fresh air poured in.  Backlit by the sunshine that cut through the smoke was Dylan, shirtless and in pajama pants.  With a cough, he ran across the room and turned off the oven, then picked up a dishtowel to fan it at the blaring smoke alarm.  It finally hushed, and he grabbed her arm to drag her toward the kitchen door. 
    “It’s a wonder you didn’t pass out in there!” he shouted as he pulled her out into the fresh air.  “What the hell were you doing?” He turned his head to the side to cough again.  “I’m messed up on pain meds and could hear that damned alarm all the way at the med shack.”
    “I was baking,” she replied, folding her arms and turning away from him.
    “ Why the hell would that make you cry?” he demanded with frustration.  “Do you always cry over burnt cookies?”
    In the last three years, Carrie had cried over cookies often, but not burnt ones.  That never happened.  Except when she forgot to set the stupid timer on the ove n, like she had this time.  Dreaded tears burned her eyes again.  She sucked in a deep breath of clean air, hoping that would stop them.  Not at all sure it would work, she jerked her arm from his grasp, stiffened her shoulders and spun to stalk back toward the kitchen. 
    The last thing she wanted was this man to see her crying.   She prayed he would just go back to the bunkhouse and leave her to her baking and bawling.  Storming back into the kitchen, she grabbed the spatula and went back to work on cleaning up the mess she had made. 
    After she finished scraping the last sheet, she carried the sheets to the sink and ran water so they could soak.  When she turned back around, she bumped into Dylan’s broad, bare chest.  Because she didn’t want to stare at his spectacular chest, she looked up, which was a mistake. 
    His eyes pinned hers, as his hands gripped her shoulders.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked this time with concern and a note of sympathy in his voice.  There was something else there too.  Understanding?  Maybe a hint of fear?
    “What’s right would be a shorter list,” Carrie replied with a short laugh.  She swallowed the lump in her throat, and finally admitted, “My life is a fucked up mess.”
    “You can change that, if you don’t give up,” he said, and Carrie wondered at his grave tone.  He didn’t know her or her situation.  This man didn’t know she was desperate and her head was just as messed up as her life.  But from the look on his face, he knew.
    Her lower lip wobbled, and she bit it , waiting until she thought she had control.  “I’ve been trying to do that since Sean died, but it’s not working.”  Carrie tried to step around him, but he stopped her, and trapped her against the counter with his body.  He put his finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no choice but to look at him. 
    His beautiful, caring brown eyes held hers captive as he studied her intently.  “There’s always hope, as long as you keep trying,” he said with conviction.  His fingers tightened on her chin.  “Promise you won’t give up, Carrie.”  The intensity of his expression and words were a little over the top for the situation. 
    Carrie pulled her chin from his grasp and laughed.  “Don’t think you’ll find me face down in my cake batter.  I’m not suicidal over the cookies or anything, just frustrated.” 
    She was just having a meltdown, one of many she’d had since Sean died.  Releasing her grief and frustration when she hit a boiling point was a good thing.  The therapist she’d seen after Sean died said so.  People who hadn’t been through what she’d been through, was still going through, just didn’t understand.  When she had a meltdown, instead of giving her space to work things out, they thought they needed to fix things.  She didn’t want