Yuletide Hearts by Ruth Logan Herne Page B

wear and tear on your flannel shirts.”
    She didn’t answer right away, and when he balanced the window and glanced down, she wasn’t smiling.
    â€œHey, I was kidding. You can get your flannel shirts dirty if you want to. They’re washable.”
    Something flashed in her face, the pain he thought he’d seen the week before, as if…
    He had no idea, but he felt bad. And stupid. “Hey, Cal, you don’t have to cook.” Was her lower lip trembling?
    No. She wouldn’t do that, would she? Get girly on him?
    â€œActually, I’ll cook,” he added hurriedly, anything to put off the possibility of a woman’s tears. Nothing in the Corpstaught him how to deal with those, and that seemed downright wrong and maybe dangerous because he didn’t know a male soldier that muscled up to a crying woman. “And put up the Christmas lights. And finish the windows. Just don’t cry, okay?”
    She scowled, blinked and shrugged, eyes down. “I don’t cry.”
    Right. Matt refused to argue the whole shaking-lip thing. He knew what he saw, but God had also given him a working brain and arguing with an emotional woman? Not smart. “Well, good. So I’ll cook…”
    â€œI’ll be glad to cook.” She finished the shims, assessed the level, then whacked the excess shim board away with more energy than required. Like double that. “I like cooking. Occasionally.”
    Something wasn’t adding up. “Then why the long face?”
    â€œNo long face.” She straightened and sent him a reassuring look. “See?”
    Oh, he saw all right. He saw a soldier that knew how to draw down the shield, a gallant woman who’d learned to quell emotion. And normally he’d praise that talent, a skill not easily attained, but here? Now?
    He wanted to help. He longed to ease the flash of hurt and insecurity. Inspire her laughter. But seeing Don face to face left him fresh out of funny things to say.
    Â 
    Cut him some slack, Callie’s inner voice advised. That meeting with Don couldn’t have been the easiest thing in the world. And something she’d like to know more about at some point in time. But not now, when she’d already gone girly and emotional over an innocent comment about her work clothes that should have been funny.
    But it wasn’t.
    Callie moved to the next window, then drew up short. “Oh, I forgot.”
    Matt checked the frame size before he looked up. “Forgot what?”
    â€œYou got a call on the house phone.”
    â€œOh. From?”
    â€œReenie.”
    He sent her a puzzled look, one that almost looked sincere, and it wasn’t as if Callie cared who called him. Or what they looked like. How they dressed. Really.
    â€œWhat did she want?”
    â€œDoes secretarial pay come with the job?”
    He grinned, which meant she let too much emotion creep into her voice, a trend that occurred regularly around Matt Cavanaugh. “Under ‘hazard pay’ in the fine print. Better read your contract more carefully next time.” He held the window in place while Callie leveled it. “So?”
    Silent, she winged a brow through the glass.
    Matt heaved an overdone sigh, playing along. “Did Reenie leave a message?”
    Callie was tempted to pretend she hadn’t, except because she had no vested interest in Matt Cavanaugh, why would she even consider such a thing? “That she’s fine with next week and your cell phone was out of service.”
    He pulled out the phone, scanned his bars and made a face. “Signals get choppy down here.”
    â€œSometimes. That’s why we kept the landline. Something to think about when you get your C of O on the model.” She bent low, then made a quick sure cut, her home-building confidence intrinsic. Her self-confidence?
    Whole other kettle of fish, but she wasn’t going to get into that with Matt. Hopefully he’d chalk it