A Weaver Beginning. Allison LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

      “Sloan, it’s New Year’s Eve. You shouldn’t be spending it alone,” his sister, the voice of reason, said through the phone at his ear.

      “I’m not interested in crashing your evening with Axel.” Even though Tara had been married to the man for a few years now—had two kids with him, even—it was still hard for Sloan to say his brother-in-law’s name without feeling a healthy dose of dislike. Axel Clay was part of the darkest time of Sloan’s life. His sister being happily married to him made the situation tolerable. Barely. If not for that, Sloan could have gone the rest of his life hating the man. No more than he hated himself, though.

      “You wouldn’t be crashing anything, Bean.” Tara laughed. “Most of the family’s going to be here. It’s not like Axel and I will have a chance to be romantic while there’s a half-dozen kids chasing each other around.”

      Bean. The nickname she’d called him when they were kids. Considering everything that Sloan had put her through—the disruption he’d caused in her life by the choices he’d made in his—it was a wonder that she could even recall the days when he’d been her Bean and she’d been his Goober.

      They were twins. And they’d grown up in a family that never stayed in one place for more than a few months at a time. As an adult, all Tara had ever wanted was a stable place to call her own. While Sloan had kept right on with the rootless lifestyle.

      Which was why he was living here in Weaver at all. Trying to make up for the acts of his past. Trying to make things right with the only female left in his life that he loved.

      “Fine,” he said. “I also don’t want to crash your evening with the entire Clay clan.” He looked out the front window of his house again. Abby had finally moved her car into the driveway. “Maybe I have plans of my own.”

      He could almost hear Tara’s ears perk. “What plans would those be? Sitting in the dark, staring morosely into a beer while you dwell on the past?”

      Almost guiltily, he set aside the frosted beer mug he was holding. “You don’t know everything, Goob.”

      She sighed noisily. “Oh, all right. But you’re not getting off the hook tomorrow. Dinner at the big house. You’ve already agreed, and if you try to back out, I’ll call Max and sic him on you.”

      “My boss may be your cousin-in-law, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna let you tell him what to do.” In Sloan’s estimation, nobody told Max Scalise what to do, not even the voters who put him in office term after term.

      “We’ll see,” Tara countered. “Squire’s expecting everyone for New Year’s dinner, and nobody wants to cross him. Not even the mighty sheriff.”

      Squire Clay was Tara’s grandfather-in-law and the patriarch of the large Clay family. He was older than dirt. Cantankerous as hell. And one of a few people in Weaver that Sloan could say he genuinely liked.

      “I said I’d be there tomorrow and I will.” A flash of red caught his eye, and he watched Abby bounce down the porch steps. But instead of heading toward her car, she started crossing the snow separating their houses.

      “But tonight is mine,” he finished. Up close, Abby had looked even younger than he’d expected, but she’d also had the prettiest gray eyes he’d ever seen.

      “Okay. Happy New Year, Sloan,” his sister said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

      He pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished he could say the same, but he didn’t know what he felt. If anything. “Happy New Year, kiddo.”

      Then he hung up and watched Abby cross in front of the window where he was standing. A second later, she knocked on his front door.

      He left his beer on the table and answered the door.

      “Hi.” Those gray eyes of hers looked up at him, carrying the same cheerfulness that infused the smile on her soft, pink lips. “Sorry to bother you.”

      “You’re not.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. He ought to feel like a letch, admiring her the way he was. But he didn’t. He felt...interested.

      The first time he’d felt interested in longer than he cared to remember.

      “What d’you need?”

      “Wood, actually.”

      The devil on his shoulder laughed at that one. No problem there. The angel on his other shoulder had him straightening away from the doorjamb. “It’s back behind the house.” He pushed the door open wide. “Come on in.”

      The tip of her tongue peeked out to flick over her upper lip. “Thanks.” She stepped past him into the house, and he saw the way her gaze took in the sparsely furnished living room. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

      “Nope.” He led the way through the room to the kitchen at the back of the house and outside again. He gestured at the woodpile stacked next to the back steps, protected from the weather by the overhang of the roof. “Help yourself.”

      She went down the steps, her shiny hair swaying around her shoulders. He shoved his fingers into the pockets of his jeans and tried not to think how silky her hair would feel.

      “Thanks again.” She stacked several pieces of wood in her arms. “I’ll restock as soon as I can.”

      “No need.” Thanks to his connection to the Clay family and their gigantic cattle ranch, the Double-C, he had a ready supply of firewood, whether he wanted it or not. “House warming up okay over there?”

      She nodded. Her hair bounced. Her eyes smiled.

      She’d have the boys at the elementary and junior high schools sticking their fingers down their throats just to have a chance to visit her in the nurse’s office.

      The devil on his shoulder laughed at him again. Wouldn’t you do the same?

      “Your brother live with you all the time?” Sloan was betting the “brother” story was just that. The boy looked just like her. He was probably her son. Which would mean she’d had him very, very young.

      “Yes.” She lifted the load in her arms and started backing away, making fresh tracks in the snow. “Thanks for this. Hope you and your wife enjoy the rest of your evening.”

      Interesting. “Who said there’s a wife?”

      Her gaze skipped away. “Just assuming.” She smiled again. Kept backing away. Right until she bumped into the side of her house. She laughed and began sidestepping instead.

      “Assuming wrong.”

      She hesitated. Just for a moment, before continuing right along. But it had been long enough for him to notice.

      Definitely interesting.

      “Ah. Well.” She clutched the logs to her chest. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, then.” Her smile never faltered.

      He wondered if it ever did. She had a face made for smiles.

      “You, too.”

      She reached the end of the fence and finally turned away, crossing into her front yard.

      Her hair swayed and bounced.

      Sloan shook his head and went back inside. Whether or not the boy was her brother or her son, a young woman like Abby Marcum didn’t need something temporary in her life.

      And temporary was all he had to offer.

      * * *

      The car was unloaded. Most of the boxes unpacked.

      Abby sat