His Holiday Heart by Jillian Hart Page A

the street. Spence shook his head, sweeping the last of the ice flecks from the glass. He must really have been lost in thought not to notice his brother-in-law drive up. It just showed how much this thing with Lucy bothered him.
    He waded around the side of the car, working on windows and wrestling down thoughts of her. Of how lovely she looked when she laughed, how nice she was to his family, how everyone loved her.
    You don’t have that crush on her any longer. He took up the shovel and dug into the snow in front of the low-slung VW. Every strike of his shovel into the hardpacked snow was a reminder he was only fooling himself. He wouldn’t be out here frozen to the bone and so cold he could no longer feel half of his face for any other reason.
    Maybe he was sweet on her, but he wasn’t going to let a woman like Lucy get anywhere close to him. He would not be lulled by the sadness he’d seen in her eyes or by the bite of his conscience.
    Once he’d cleared a path in the snow, he tossed the shovel in the back of his truck and folded his big frame into her little front seat. He shut the door, and everything Lucy surrounded him—her sweetness, her sunshine, her memories. His chest tightened, but it wasn’t the feel of his heart longing.
    No, it couldn’t be. He had grown too hard for that. A heart made of stone could not love. It was as simple as that. He put her car in gear and guided it out onto the street, closing down every thought of her. Every feeling.
    It was the smart thing to do.
     
    With her laptop on the coffee table plugged in to the Internet and the TV blaring the dialogue of a romantic comedy, she shoved the dessert plate away. That chocolate cream pie was heavenly, but her waistline was not going to thank her tomorrow.
    She took a sip of tea and frowned at the screen. She had e-mail waiting from friends she had left behind in Portland. She knew every one of them was going to ask why she didn’t come visit for Thanksgiving.
    She thought of Jim and his son, and it was like jumping off the edge of the earth. It was easier to be here, where there were no memories of happier times and of sadder ones. It was why she was putting off reading her e-mail.
    “Rrowr.” Bean nosed in and stood awaiting attention.
    “Oh, so now you’re talking to me.” Lucy obliged by running her fingers through the soft long hair. “I’m sorry I left you.”
    The cat slitted her eyes and hopped away to the window seat. The blinds were drawn, but a sudden ray of light glanced between the slats. Strange. Nobody ventured down her driveway, especially in this weather. She would have dismissed it as the neighbor kid, whom she paid to plow her driveway, but he had already come and gone. She set her cup on the coffee table, uncurled her legs and crossed the room.
    She lifted a slat and peered through the blinds. It was dark out and a truck’s headlights sliced through the inky blackness with eye-hurting brightness. A door slammed shut, drawing her attention toward the garage. She recognized the curved hump of her car, dark as the night, and a tall, broad-shouldered form hiking away from it.
    Spence McKaslin. Her pulse skipped five beats. Shock drew all the air from her lungs. Rooted to the floor, she couldn’t move as he swung up into the passenger seat. For a moment, the overhead dome light haloed him. She could see the cut of his high cheekbones, blade-straight nose and the snow dusting his dark hair.
    He really was a handsome man with classic rugged good looks combined with a masculine strength of character that gave him a hero quality. Her soul sighed against her will. She thought of what Dorrie had said, how he pushed women away on purpose. She was deeply sad that his ploy had worked.
    She should let go of the blind slat and step away from the window, but some unknown force held her in place. It wasn’t curiosity. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she watched as the passenger door swung shut. The dome light