 
# Your Heart for Mine

## Joanne Markey
Copyright © 2020 by Joanne Markey

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

**Cover art:** Joshua Markey

**Edited by:** Haug Editing

This is a work of fiction, the people, places, and events are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real people or places is purely coincidental.

Find me online:

Website: <https://joannemarkey.com>

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/Joanne-Markey-311191563101869/>

Instagram: <https://www>.instagram.com/joanne.markey/

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
To lovers of romance...

This book is for you.

# Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Also by Joanne Markey

# 1

"Well, there you go. She's all yours."

Smith Johnson watched as local rancher and his longtime friend, Clay Barrett, pushed his hat back on his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He nodded. "Thanks for dropping it off. I owe you."

"Not at all." Clay shook his head then reached out to shake Smith's hand. "You're doing us a favor. Moving Pappy out to the ranch hasn't been easy. Having you take this old girl off our hands is a blessing, really. Saves us from having to figure out what to do with it." His eyes ran over the old truck one last time before he waved to the little boy standing under the big tree in Smith's front yard.

They said their goodbyes, but Smith hardly paid any attention to what they were saying. At long last, the truck he'd been dreaming about since he was fifteen was finally his. It needed a bit of work, but he didn't mind the challenge. _A new paint job too._

Running his hand over the fender, he eyed the detached two car garage sitting just off from the end of his house. He'd have to clean it out if he wanted to fit the old girl in there. And he did. So––

"Sweet." The feminine voice came from somewhere behind him, and Smith turned to find his neighbor and best friend, Carla Davenport—Carlie to her friends—sitting astride her gelding at the end of his driveway. With the noise of Clay's leaving—the tow truck he'd borrowed was still a hum in the distance—he hadn't heard Carlie ride up. "I know what you're gonna be doing for the next six months."

Cellphone in hand, she was either taking photos of the old girl, or about to take a photo, when her horse snorted, jerking his head up as he tried to sidle away from the truck.

Smith wasn't one for riding. Not much. Most times his size made him feel too big for the horse. Generally speaking, he preferred having both feet on the ground anyway, or working the pedals of a reliable—aka, not slippery and prone to biting or kicking—mode of transportation.

Horses seemed to like him though, and when Rumble, Carlie's horse, threw his head in the air again, Smith walked over and ran his hand over its nose. A few quiet words later, even though Rumble still didn't like the old truck, he stopped trying to make a break for it.

"Thanks." Carlie reached down to rub Rumble's neck. "He's been a bit flighty today. I'm not sure, but I think something might've spooked him last night."

Smith's hand moved over the horse's face, and he rubbed around its ears. They lived next door to each other, and he hadn't heard anything through the night, but that didn't mean something hadn't been out there. "See any tracks?"

"Nothing around the barn. He's been acting weird all day though, so..." Letting her voice trail away, Carlie pulled her hat off and used it to fan her face. Her eyes moved from the horse's head to the truck in the driveway. "Need a hand getting it in the garage? Assuming that's where you're gonna put it while you're fixing it up."

"Gotta clean up first."

Carlie suddenly sat up straight, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Well, then, seeing as I just remembered a dozen very urgent things I need to do at home, I'll leave you to it."

"Traitor." But a huge smile accompanied his words, and Carlie rode off laughing.

Smith didn't mind. He enjoyed her company—they were best friends after all—but a bit of peace and quiet would be good. He'd have time to think about the restoration project uninterrupted. One didn't just dive into fixing up a 1940s era truck without putting a little bit of thought into the matter.

And think he did. While he moved bits and pieces of junk—some of it dating back to his teen years or further—to make way for the truck. As he cleaned off the workbench his father built when he was eight. And even later, when he went inside to fix himself a sandwich for a very late lunch. He even stopped several times to look something up on his phone, and while he was eating lunch, he planted himself in front of his computer, reading up on vintage trucks. _Because an eighty-some year-old truck isn't just old. It's vintage._

By the time he'd made enough room to fit the truck in the garage, he also began to think about the reasons for letting Carlie go and decided that they were no longer valid. He could've used the help. Probably more than he needed the peace and quiet.

It was too late for that though, and he eyed the truck while trying to gauge whether or not he could put it in the garage himself. Getting it moving probably wouldn't be too hard, but stopping it once he got it inside...

"Might need help after all," he muttered to himself as he walked all the way around the truck and came to a stop by the driver's side door. "Unless..."

Opening the door, he rocked the truck back and forth a couple of times. If he held onto the door frame and got it moving... So long as it didn't hit a patch of ice, he'd be okay. Maybe.

Before he could decide what he wanted to do, the sound of tires crunching on snow caught his ear. A quick look down the road put aside all thought of rolling the old truck into the garage. At least for now. Because from the look of it, he was getting a personal visit from the sheriff.

As an EMT with the fire department, he worked with the local sheriff all the time. But in the five or so years he'd been doing that, he could count on one hand the amount of times either sheriff had stopped by in his squad car.

First, Grant Baker, and then after he retired two years ago, Cole Saunders. A few dissenting voices said Cole was too young to be sheriff, but no one else wanted the job, and he got the promotion he hadn't really wanted. And over the past couple of years, he'd proven himself worthy of the trust the town had placed in him. So, when he rolled up to your doorstep looking all serious-like, you paid attention.

Smith wasn't much given to speculation, but from the look on Cole's face, whatever he'd come to say wasn't good. Smith could see it, could sense it, he just—

His mind raced in all directions, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out any reason for the sheriff to stop by to see him. He had no family in town. His closest friend was just now turning her horse out to pasture. He knew a bunch of people in town, but none so well the sheriff would be stopping by to see him about anything they'd done. The truck—

That could be it.

Well, no matter what anyone thought, and he could easily name at least one person who'd assume the worst, he'd paid good money for it and had a bill of sale to prove it belonged to him. So—

"Smith." Cole's voice reflected the sadness in his eyes. "I have bad news."

It wasn't as though she'd been spying on Smith. From where she was standing—by the gate near the barn—Carlie had a clear line of sight over to the road that ran in front of his house. Anyone coming or going along that road could easily be seen from anywhere in her front yard. His too, for that matter.

So, it was simply a matter of course that she spotted the sheriff's car rolling to a stop at the end of Smith's drive and immediately felt a pique of interest. Cole rarely came out that way on official business—Smith and Carlie being the only people who lived out that far. Now. At one time there was another house across the road, but it fell into disrepair after old Mr. Fernandez died, and no one had ever come to reclaim the property.

Which was odd, it being a nice parcel of land and all, but maybe his family weren't as keen about ranching as she was? After all, Smith hadn't kept his ranch going after his father died. He'd sold his cows to her and reduced his livestock production down to nothing within a year or two. _Too busy fighting fires—or rescuing people._

Ignoring the interesting conversation going on in front of the neighbor's house, she turned to stare out over the field behind said house. She already had more to do than she had hours to do it all, but if Monty, the retired cowboy who acted the part of hired hand, was interested in adding more hours to his work week, she might be able to stretch it...

Monty liked to let her think she was in charge, but a few well-worded questions always seemed to direct her down paths she hadn't been thinking about taking. Like turning her dad's cropland into pasture so she could increase her breeding operation. Maybe she should talk to him first, but that seemed a bit backward when she didn't know if Smith would lease his land to her or not.

Besides, when had she ever talked to anyone else about anything before she talked it over with Smith?

"Nope. And yep," she muttered to herself as she pushed the gate all the way closed with her booted foot. Rumble had already disappeared, making a break for the back of the pasture the moment he'd slipped through the gate. "I'll talk to Smithy and see what he thinks."

Cole was still hanging out talking to Smith, so Carlie headed into her barn. There were always chores to be done, and even if she was curious to know what brought Cole out here, she could wait. Smith would let her know—if it was something he could share. _Probably work stuff. Boring, in other words._

Grabbing a rake, she went to work on Rumble's stall. Pretty soon, it'd be warm enough to let him out to pasture more. Until then, she had to try to keep his stall clean, even if it was dirty work.

She was sitting on the edge of the hayloft picking pieces of straw from the thick braid hanging over her shoulder when a shadow darkened the door.

Idly kicking her feet back and forth, Carlie watched as Smith paused just inside the door. One hand scrubbed at his eyes and she grinned. After the bright sunshine glittering off the snow-covered landscape outside, coming in here was like stepping into a cave.

"Up here," she called as soon as he started moving forward. When he lifted his head, she waved. Not that he needed help picking her out of a crowd, but it seemed the thing to do.

Instead of scaling the ladder like she expected, he stopped by the bottom. "You might want to come down."

Cole. Official business. _Doesn't sound good_.

Swinging herself over to the ladder and starting down wasn't hard at all. What was hard was the mental scramble her brain decided to do as she frantically tried to figure out what Cole would be coming out here to tell Smith that was so bad Smith wanted her on the ground before he shared it with her.

Nothing came to mind and she skipped the last few rungs in favor of jumping down to land in a small cloud of dust. She almost apologized for her ungraceful entrance, so to speak, but one look at Smith's face wiped any thought of humor from her mind.

"Is everything okay? You look—" What, exactly? Shocked—bowled over—no—shattered was more like it. Something _really_ bad had to have happened to make Smith-the-impenetrable-rock look like his whole world had come crashing down.

Carlie felt the color drain from her face, and almost for her own support, she reached out to grab his arm. "Smithy, what's wrong?"

Pain-filled eyes stared down at her. "It's Em and—" His Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times, and it took longer than that before he could get anything else out. "—Rick. They were killed."

Carlie could never remember what happened after that. She knew she said something, but not what she said. She moved but didn't know how. Somehow, she ended up tucked firmly under Smith's arm as he told her—in a broken, choked voice that she barely recognized as his—how his only sister—younger by one day short of a year—and her husband had been killed.

Shot.

Caught in a shootout between the cops and someone who'd been blackmailing Emery.

Carlie could barely keep the facts straight. All she knew was that one of her dearest friends was gone. And Smith—

Her heart ached for her best friend. The three had grown up together, spent all their summers here on the adjoining ranches, had been together until the day, first Smith, and then Emery, went off to college.

Smith came back and their friendship continued as though they'd never been apart. But by her sophomore year, Emery had met Rick and the two married within a week of graduation. They went on to start a family, and Emery never really kept in touch after that. They still talked occasionally but no longer shared the same connection they once had. Still—

Emery gone. And Rick, too. A great void filled her being, threatening to choke her. Poor Smith. Poor—

"The kids?" Now it was her voice that sounded strange. She couldn't imagine the pain of losing a sister... Her arms wound around Smith's waist, and she clung to him, almost not hearing his quiet reply.

"I've been named guardian."

# 2

**_S everal months later..._**

"Goodbye, Uncle Smith! Goodbye!" Two thin arms waved from the window of the bus until it disappeared around the corner. Smith knew that because he didn't move from his spot by the mail box where he'd gone to see the kids off.

For the first time in weeks, he watched without fear as they drove away. The fear of retaliation was gone. The gang that killed their parents––his sister and her husband––were safely behind bars. The nightmare was over.

The warm rush of relief followed him back to the garage, and he paused by the door to offer up a silent prayer of thanks that life could return to normal.

For a moment he was tempted to skip out on the day entirely––go do something fun––but working on his old truck was just as enjoyable as doing whatever it was that most people thought of as fun. At least to him.

Rolling the door up, he let the warm sun beat down on his back for a moment longer and then ducked inside. If he got bored here, he could always go clean house, or do laundry, or any of those other fun things the adult of the house needed to stay on top of.

And... _Nope. Didn't think so either. The truck it is._

He could have turned the stereo in the garage on but didn't think about it until he'd been under the hood for a good hour or so. By then the grease and oil reached beyond his elbows to the point where he no longer touched anything he didn't have to. He'd have to make do and––

"Mr. Johnston?" The voice shattered his thoughts like a hammer turning an ice block into a cold shower of tiny shards that reached to the innermost regions of his heart, chilling him to his very bones. "Do you have a moment? I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

Smith Johnson, Smith to everyone who knew him, straightened up. He struggled to keep the surprise from showing on his face as he frowned at the strange woman standing in the door of his garage. Tall, thin, red hair. Just what he needed.

Or not.

The notebook in her hand was a dead giveaway. Reporter. No casual neighborhood visitor this one. She got his name wrong, too. Wouldn't be the first time, but people usually got hung up on his _first_ name, not his last.

"What are you? Some kind of reporter?"

Smith took a moment to wipe the grease off his hands before he looked back over at the woman who now stood beside the bed of his truck. He should have known better than to leave the garage doors up, even if it was the kind of day that made you want to kick your shoes off and go wading in the creek that ran along the back of his little farm.

It wasn't a farm as such. Most of his land was lying unused at the moment, but he did have chickens––for the kids mostly––and hoped to get a few goats and maybe a pig or two sometime. He wasn't in any hurry; he wasn't going anywhere. There'd be plenty of time for that in the next year or two. This was home, always had been, always would be.

But... that wasn't helping him figure out what he'd gotten himself into by leaving the door open, making it look like he was willing to talk about his private life. Small-town gossip had spread the news he'd taken in his sister's kids, but so far he'd been able to stop anyone from finding out why. That was between him and the kids. No need to make their life harder than it already was.

"Yes."

Smith frowned, and it took a moment before he realized she was answering the question he'd forgotten he'd asked.

The red-head took a step further into the garage, gingerly picking her way around the open toolbox and ducking under the wire he'd strung across to the light he had hanging from the hood. She looked about as pleased to be there as he was to have her, but determination kept her coming.

"Yes, I'm a reporter. Just started at the Rhodes Crossing Periodical two weeks ago. We––ah––heard about what you did, taking those kids in, and wanted to run a story on you in next Sunday's paper."

"Nope. Sorry. No can do."

Two big blue eyes stared up at him, thick lashes fluttering like a kite in the breeze. " _Please_ , Mr. Johnston. You deserve your moment in the spotlight. What you did––taking in those poor little strays––"

"My niece and nephew, you mean. Hardly strays. You can show yourself out. I'm not interested in being interviewed. Not today. Maybe never." Turning his back, Smith leaned over the motor again. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

But she was persistent. He had to give her that. Taking another step forward, one of her ridiculous high heels caught oh, so, conveniently on thin air, and stumbling forward, with a shriek that probably scared the neighbor's cows, she fell into his arms.

Almost.

If he hadn't reached out to stop her headlong flight and held her at arm's length while she righted herself, she would have landed in his arms. But he did stop her, and she didn't succeed. When she righted herself, he stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides as he eyed her with increased wariness and more annoyance than he let on. It looked like this one wasn't going to stop until she got her story.

Breathless, ignoring the grimy mess he'd made of her shoulders, the reporter looked up at him as though he was some caped crusader. "Oh, my. You _are_ amazing. Look at the way you jumped to my rescue! Like a––a hero! I will _definitely_ be adding that to the story! I––I'm positively _speechless_. I can't believe how you jumped across here in front of me and stopped me from crashing into that––that _monstrosity_." Her arm waved towards his truck, and if he hadn't been busy trying not to laugh in her face, he would have been offended. The old girl might not look the best anymore, but she still ran like a top—or would when he was done fixing her up. "I––I could have gotten _hurt_ ––probably would have––if you hadn't saved me like that."

"I'd hardly call that saving." Smith's voice was dry. For someone who was "positively speechless," she wasn't doing too bad. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Oh, sorry." She giggled in a way that made him think of his niece and held out her hand. "Dinah Alfred. I work for the Periodical."

Smith nodded, ignoring the hand she held out for the simple reason his were caked with grease and dirt. He'd done enough damage when he stopped her headlong flight. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Alfred."

Dinah giggled again. "Please, Mr. Johnston, if we're going to be working together, shouldn't we dispense with the formalities? It's Dinah to my friends."

"We aren't. Working together, that is." Smith shook his head, ducking back under the hood before she could throw herself at him again. "And it's _Johnson_. Smith Johnson."

"Johnson." Dinah whispered his name, almost testing it to see how it sounded.

If he was a betting man, he'd probably drop a million bucks on her having stuck "Dinah" in front of the Johnson a few times to see how it sounded. Well, he wasn't going there, and he wasn't giving her an interview. No matter how pretty she was. Or how much she begged.

Young too. Almost too young and too pretty for his liking. The kind of girl he expected his nephew to be hanging around in another ten years or so. As for himself, Smith preferred a more down to earth kind of girl. Golden brown hair, brown eyes, that sort of thing.

Not that he had anyone in mind, but if he did ever start dating, he'd like to find a girl like that. Someone like Carlie.

"Hey, Smith. Busy?"

Speaking of whom... Smith turned his head to look over his shoulder, smiling at the newcomer.

Carlie wound her way through the garage from the back door and came to a stop beside him, leaning against the side of the truck like she'd been there before.

Because she had.

Dinah sniffed, but standing on the other side of him like she was, Carlie didn't seem to notice.

"Busy?" Carlie asked again, reaching out to hold one finger against the bolt he was trying to get into place until he could get his fingers in a position to start turning it. They brushed hands and she didn't seem to mind the streaks of dirt and grease he'd left on her arm. "I need help with that stupid horse of mine. He got his foot tangled in a coil of barbed wire, and I can't get it off." Carlie leaned closer to see what he was doing. "Well, he won't let _me_ get it off. I tried."

"Sure. Give me a minute and I'll be done."

"What about your pretty lady friend?" Carlie jerked her head to the side as she spoke. So she had noticed. Just didn't let on that she had, which was all kinds of interesting. "Will she be upset if I steal you away?"

"Nope." Smith grinned at Carlie, his arm still reaching down into the depths of the motor as he worked the bolt further into place. "She was leaving anyway."

Dinah spluttered and looked about ready to stomp her foot but caught herself at the last minute. The look on her face though––it wouldn't have surprised Smith at all if she only stopped herself because she didn't want to look foolish in front of him. Or Carlie.

He watched as her eyes ran over Carlie, taking in the jeans, the flannel shirt, the cowboy hat, and the scuffed boots––and she smiled. The kind of smile you wouldn't want to see on the face of your enemy if they were holding the rope. _Jealous, much? Weird._

Instead of leaving like he wanted, Dinah straightened to her full height and casually laid a hand on his shoulder like they had some sort of agreement.

"I can always come back, Mr. Johnston."

# 3

Only mildly curious until that point, Carlie gave Dinah a long, hard look. Was the woman going to purr, or did her voice only sound like she would? It was weird. She was––

Their eyes met, and if there hadn't already been several feet between them, Carlie might have taken a step or two back. Just to be on the safe side. The woman might sound like a kitten with her soft, purring voice, but she had claws. And they were out.

Two could play that game. Although Carlie wasn't sure why, or whether she even wanted to. Being friendly seemed the better choice. Except––

"It's John _son_." Carlie infused her voice with as much cheerfulness as possible. "I'm Carlie Davenport. I don't think we've met."

Dinah gave a stiff nod. "Dinah Alfred." Then she turned pleading eyes back to Smith. "Please, Mr. John _son––_ " the look she gave Carlie was almost venomous, "––won't you reconsider? I'm certain a lot of people would love to hear the true story of how you came by those––those darling children."

Carlie's eyebrows shot up. "Darling children? Smith's brats? Are we talking about the same kids here?"

Dinah looked horrified. And thoroughly annoyed. "I assume when you refer to them as brats, you actually mean Mr. Johnson's sweet little niece and nephew?"

"Yep." Carlie grinned. "Can't be anyone else. They're the only kids out this far." She leaned forward again to see what Smith was doing. "Almost done? Rumble isn't going to wait all day."

She wasn't sure what she wanted to achieve––other than getting her horse out of the pickle he'd gotten himself into––but having Miss Alfred shove between herself and Smith wasn't what Carlie had in mind.

Carlie took a step back to make room for the three of them at the front fender of Smith's truck—a move that dragged a muted but triumphant smile out of Dinah. "I'm _so_ sorry, Miss Davenport was it?––but _I_ was here first. Mr. Johnson _needs_ to talk to me. It––it's for the good of the community."

"Really?" Carlie caught herself before she rolled her eyes for real. Dinah acting the way she was would only make Smith more determined than ever to maintain his privacy. It wasn't her place to say so though and––

Stepping back further, she let Smith move away from the truck. He must have gotten the bolt in place, which meant he might be done. Or almost done. Which meant––

Smith's eyes narrowed as he looked from her to Dinah and back. Carlie felt her cheeks start to warm, and she glanced at Dinah herself, ashamed that she'd been tempted to bait the woman.

Dinah stared up at Smith, obviously impressed by his massive size. She was probably the kind to go gaga over a couple days' worth of stubble on a man's chin, a lazy grin, and muscles in every direction. The kind of imagery that made Carlie want to puke. That thought brought a wicked grin to her face just as Smith glanced over at her. Their eyes met, and, even though he didn't know what she was thinking, he grinned back.

Almost as though he only just now remembered her question, he snorted. "Hardly."

"It's true." Dinah took a step forward, laying her hand on Smith's arm again. "I've been asking around town, and everyone I spoke with had nothing but praise for how you took those kids in and gave them a home. Don't you think we deserve to hear the rest of the story? Why they came here, what you rescued them from, where their parents are?"

The look on Smith's face darkened, and pulling his arm free, he walked across to the sink at the back of the garage and pumped a squirt of pumice soap into his hand.

Carlie watched him go, the sparkle in her eyes dying. "You'd do best not to go there," she said, keeping her voice low. "But look, if you'll back off a bit—stop pushing him so hard––I might be able to talk him into giving you that interview."

There was nothing quite as effective in reminding her she was just the tall, dirty cowgirl from next door than the skepticism on Dinah's face when she looked Carlie up and down. "You?"

Carlie nodded. "We've been friends since we were kids. If anyone can talk Smith into opening up about those kids it's me." She turned pink and ducked her head a little. "Not because I'm someone special or anything. I just know how to get him to listen to reason."

"Reason?"

Carlie shrugged. "Yeah. I think it'd be nice if people here knew the truth, too. It'd put a stop to the gossip and speculation. But Smith doesn't think so. If you want him to start talking, you're going to have to let me work on him first." She turned to go, shoving her hands in her pockets as she started picking her way back across the garage. "And back off a bit. Nothing is more likely to send him underground than someone badgering him to talk."

"He's a bit stubborn then?"

Carlie shook her head, pausing to look back at Dinah. "No. He just doesn't like nosy women."

"Oh." Dinah took a step back, reached up to brush the hair off the side of her face with one perfectly manicured hand, and took another step back. "It looks like I have a couple of calls to make, so I should probably go. It was nice talking to you both. Um––maybe I'll come back another day?"

"You do that," Carlie grinned. "Maybe then I won't need to steal Smith away."

Carlie watched as Dinah walked away—red hair gleaming in the sun, her hips swaying with each step—and then turned to find Smith doing the same thing.

Mischief flashed in her eyes as she picked her way back across the garage and came to a stop beside him, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb while she watched the red creep the rest of the way up his neck.

"You were totally checking her out."

His ears bright red, Smith spun away and started digging through his tool box. "Shut up."

"Don't worry," Carlie laughed, "your secret's safe with me. She's awfully pretty."

"So're you."

Pulling her hat off, Carlie ran a hand back through her hair, holding it up to cool off the back of her neck before letting it fall into place again. "Whatever. I'm a wreck, but thanks all the same. It's hot out there. I almost didn't bother walking down to the back pasture, but Rumble didn't come up to the barn when I went out to feed the chickens, and he never misses out on a bit of attention." She sighed and stuck her hat back on her head. "I'm glad I went."

"So he really does have his hoof stuck?"

Carlie nodded. "Yeah. You should know I wouldn't lie to you." Pushing herself away from the doorway, she shoved her hands in her pockets and started to leave "I need to get back over there––make sure he hasn't done anything stupid. Don't bother––I'll figure something out."

"Carlie––wait." Smith finished whatever he was doing and hurried to catch up to her. "Sorry. The way you women were talking, I wasn't sure––"

"Don't be silly." Scuffing her boot on the gravel path, Carlie turned pink. "We're just friends. I––I don't think of you that way." She wrinkled her nose up at him. "And I doubt you think of me like that either."

Smith didn't have to say anything, because she knew she was right. He never had. She was just the girl next door. The friend he'd grown up with. The one he called on when he needed help––which seemed to happen a lot now that the kids were living over here with him.

Not that she minded at all. That didn't mean he didn't care about her, he just––well––they were friends, nothing more. And he didn't argue with her, which was as good as saying she was correct.

"Did I mention I'm on call this week? If you don't mind, could you watch the kids for me?" Smith shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked a stick off the path. The way he hesitated, the way he avoided looking right at her when he asked––she knew he hated having to ask at all. Hated having to rely on someone else instead of being the one everyone called on. "If you need to stay over, you can use my room."

Carlie shrugged. Of course, she'd watch the kids. He should have known he didn't need to ask, but it was nice of him not to take her help for granted. Using his room, though? That wasn't something she needed to even think about until the time came. Schooling her features to hide her inner turmoil, she shrugged again. "Sure." She took a few steps, then stopped, a grin slowly spreading across her face. "You owe me, though."

Smith's eyes narrowed. "Owe you––how exactly?"

Holding up her index finger, Carlie tapped him on the tip of his nose. Being as tall as she was had its disadvantages––until Smith came along, making her feel almost small by comparison. At least she could still tap his nose like she'd done when they were kids. Only because she knew he hated it and was too polite to tell her to stop. The kind of thing good friends would do...

"One interview. Just one. For me. I hate the speculation that's been making the rounds. Emery was my best friend and I'd like to see her reputation restored."

Smith hesitated, his eyes suddenly distant and cold. Carlie didn't let him pull away, though, she simply slipped an arm through his and dragged him towards her back pasture.

"And don't be a goof about it, either. All you need to do is keep it simple, stick to the facts, and tell the truth. Then people will be off our backs, and we can go back to our normal––if not boring––lives." They came to a gate, and she stepped in front of him to throw it open. "Oh, and while you're at it, ask that hot reporter out on a date."

"I'll do no such––" Red crept up the back of Smith's neck as he stepped aside so Carlie could close the gate. He was silent until they started walking again then gave a nod so slight, she almost missed it. "I'll see."

"As good as done." Carlie grinned at him, her brown eyes twinkling with laughter. "I knew I could count on you, Smithy."

"Don't Smithy..." Smith growled and then had to grin at the peal of laughter that rang across the small valley.

In no time at all, it seemed, they were standing beside Rumble. And a few minutes after that, Carlie was holding the horse by the head, trying to keep him from shying away while Smith hunched over, the trapped hoof caught between his knees. "Hold him steady if you can. I'm going to have to try to cut this off."

"You actually thought to bring pliers?" Impressed, Carlie leaned to the side to get a better look, but all she could see was Smith's back. Well, his butt really––which wasn't too––um––hard to––

Swallowing, Carlie turned her eyes away, focusing her gaze on the horse as her face started to burn. What was she doing, checking out Smith's butt like that? He was practically her brother, which made looking him over kind of gross. No, worse than gross.

It was a shock though and she couldn't understand why she felt this way. Why, all of a sudden, after years of knowing the man, she suddenly noticed—

It had to be a weird occurrence. A glitch of the brain. Her seeing him in a different light because another woman had noticed him.

Or something.

Just to be sure, Carlie glanced at Smith again. His back was still turned toward her, he was still hunched over Rumble's hoof, and yes, all she could see was— _Um, yeah. Okay. That's weird. And—_

Turning her face, she pressed her cheek against Rumble's nose and took a deep breath. It didn't matter anyway. Smith had his eye on the pretty red-headed Dinah Alfred and she didn't stand a chance.

That is, she didn't stand a chance even if she thought of him in a not-brother kind of way, which was weird in a gross kind of way. And she'd already established that.

Except... knowing it was weird didn't stop the ache that wrapped around her heart at the thought of Smith seeing someone else.

But why? She'd never thought of him that way before. She hadn't been thinking of him that way five minutes ago—so why now? It was silly and––maybe she was just jealous because she didn't have a special someone of her own.

Carlie sighed at the exact moment Rumble shifted on his feet, blowing air through his nose as he tossed his head and tried to pull away from her, bringing her thoughts back to what they were doing and muffling her sigh in the process. A good thing really. It wouldn't do for Smith to start asking questions.

Her face burned at the thought, and she issued silent orders to herself. _Get the horse free and get away from Smith until you can figure your wayward heart out_.

Friends. They were just friends and had been friends for so long they might as well be related. "Steady boy." She ran her hand down Rumble's neck, feeling thankful that her voice was the same as always. "We're just trying to help."

"Looks like we got it," Smith muttered as he checked the cuts on Rumble's leg once more and then let the hoof fall to the ground as he straightened. Stretching, he rubbed at his lower back, something that caught Carlie's eye and drew her gaze to––

Cheeks burning, Carlie busied herself with Rumble's head, rubbing his nose and doing everything she could to avoid looking at Smith. If he knew what she was thinking, he'd be disgusted with her, and the last thing she wanted was for him to lose his respect for her. His opinion mattered more than anyone's. It would be hard, but there was no way he could know.

Except––they'd always tried to be completely honest with each other. How was she going to get by without him knowing she was jealous? Unless...

With a sigh, she stepped back and gave Smith her best attempt at a smile. "Thanks." The immediate concern she could see in his eyes warned her he knew something was wrong, but all she did was shrug one shoulder. "I'm fine. Just jealous." Smith's eyebrows shot up and Carlie sighed. "So sue me. It's not fair that you found someone before I did."

"Thinking someone's pretty doesn't equal 'finding someone.'"

"Whatever." Carlie turned her back on him, scratching Rumble's nose again as she fought the tears that suddenly threatened to fall. Even though she'd never thought about it before and didn't know why it bothered her so much now, it wasn't fair. It just wasn't. But Smith didn't need to be so nice about it either. "Thanks, Johnson, you can leave now."

"Oh, so we're on a last name basis, are we?" The laughter in Smith's voice didn't make her feel any better, nor did the arm he draped over her shoulders. "I should warn you, Carlie, my friend, I'm a hard man to get rid of. Especially––" He leaned forward so she could see his face––exactly what she didn't want him to do––and shook his head. "Especially when you're about to cry."

Moving his hands to her shoulders, he turned her to face him, then pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. Carlie didn't stop him. She wasn't a hugging kind of girl, but there were times––like this––when she really missed having family around. Smith was as close to family as anyone got nowadays, and having him there to comfort her felt good.

And right.

His hand moved over her back like he understood how she felt. "Hey, Carlie, it's okay. I happen to know you're sweet and kind and gentle."

He brushed the hair back from her face, and she vaguely wondered where her hat had gone before she remembered hanging it on the top of a fence post. She'd have to get it before they went back to the house, or she'd be coming right back out here as soon as Smith went home.

His hand moved over her hair again, smoothing it down this time, and maybe letting it run between his fingers. At least, that was what it felt like he was doing. Carlie couldn't see.

His voice dropped. "You're also pretty, funny, and smart. One day, the right man will come along––I know it."

# 4

As soon as the words were out, Smith felt like kicking himself down the hill and back to the house, because it felt stupid to say something like that. Of course, the right man would come along, but so far, he hadn't, and that's why they were standing here talking about it in the first place!

Carlie must have agreed with him, if the deep sigh she let out was any indication. "I'm twenty-seven, Smith, and all the good ones are taken."

"That doesn't mean someone new won't come along." Yeah, like that made things better.

Right in the middle of the embarrassment of digging himself deeper into this never-ending hole, Smith felt a stab of worry. Which "good one" had she had her eye on? Was there someone among their acquaintances she'd hoped would notice her?

That thought was unsettling at the very least. Especially after his mind ran over every man he knew that was his own age—or thereabouts—and dismissed them all as not being worthy of his Carlie.

Not that she was "his." He was just––well––the closest thing she had to a brother, and he took that responsibility seriously. If anyone came along, now that her dad was no longer living, it was up to him to check the guy out and make sure he was okay. Something he wasn't looking forward to. The guy'd have to be something pretty special to meet his expectations.

Running his hand over her hair again, he was struck by how soft it was. And how pretty it looked hanging loose like this. Carlie didn't leave it down often––ever, really––which meant she must have been in a hurry to check on her horse.

Smith didn't mind. It felt––he almost didn't admit it to himself, but it was true––it felt good running through his fingers. Which was weird, coming so soon after he'd all but admitted he thought the reporter was cute. Not that appreciating a beautiful woman classed him as taken. It was just the idea of him having his eye on someone else and finding Carlie attractive at the same time. _Yeah, totally weird._

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he'd always thought of Carlie as a friend. _Nothing at all._

With a sniffle that betrayed her tears, Carlie pushed herself away, and Smith let her go with more reluctance than he'd expected. He definitely hadn't thought he'd feel bereft without her snuggled against him, but he did and... He shrugged it off.

This was just weird. They were both getting emotional for no apparent reason.

"Ready to head back to the house? I need to get back to work on the truck." Smith looked at his watch. It was just an excuse. He knew that, and she probably did too, but the sooner they got back to neutral ground, the sooner he could figure out what was messing his head up.

"If I get it done in time, I might even take it for a spin." And with the natural––typical––response to that thought being to ask Carlie to hop in and ride along, he latched onto the first excuse he could think of not to do that very thing.

"The kids'll be getting home from school about then, though. You don't mind watching out for them, do you? Maybe help with their homework and such? Audrey likes to think she's all grown up, but she could use a bit of help." Remembering a rather unpleasant conversation from the night before, he added a muttered, "She's still a kid even if she thinks otherwise."

"Sure, I'll watch them. But Smithy... trouble in paradise?"

Smith grinned. It was good to hear the laughter back in Carlie's voice again. Maybe things weren't all that weird between them after all. It might've been him, too, feeling weird because of having Carlie there when he had a pretty woman hanging around. Or something. "Of course not. Just a few––um––hiccups is all."

"You're not struggling to understand the female mind are you, Smithy?"

"No, Carnage, I'm not."

Carlie wrinkled her nose at the mention of the old nickname he'd come up with when she started calling him Smithy, but the look on his face seemed to prove her point and she laughed. It was either that or let him see the stab of pain that memory from their childhood brought. They'd always done everything together. Having him go off and find someone else when she had no one––well––it hurt, that's what.

She sighed and reached up to brush the hair back from her eyes, then went in search of her hat. "Well, let me know if I can help at all––you know––with that problem you're not having. I do have a bit of experience, having been a little girl myself a long time ago."

Holding her fingers up, thumb and forefinger almost touching, she peered at him through one half-closed eye. Her emotional breakdown aside, it felt like things were a bit odd between them. Like maybe they were both a little uncomfortable.

Which hurt because, until that very morning, they'd never been uncomfortable around each other. Ever. They laughed, joked, fought, reconciled––name an emotion and they'd experienced it. All except this.

This was something different. Something––

And Smith was studying her as intently as she was studying him, so he must have felt it too.

"I'll let you know." Smith ran a hand through his hair and studied her face a moment longer before he turned away. Knowing him, if it was something he couldn't figure out, he'd be praying about it. Which was what she needed to do, too. As soon as she was alone.

It took a moment, but Smith finally looked her way again. And smiled. Relief summoned an answering smile of her own, but all he said was, "You going to church tonight?"

"I'm planning on it."

"Want a ride?"

_Oh._ Carlie frowned, not sure if that was a good idea or not. But there didn't seem to be a good way to say no without making Smith think something really was wrong. Which would bring more questions than she was ready to answer.

Those arms around her had felt better than good, and she was starting to think she wasn't jealous that he had his eye on a girl before she found someone for herself as much as she was jealous he had his eye on another a girl. Period.

"Sure." Great. _Totally not what you wanted to say._

"Want to come for supper, too?" Carlie's eyes narrowed, and she couldn't help but snicker when the red started creeping up his neck. Smith tried to ignore her––and it––and look nonchalant. Like he wasn't asking her over for ulterior reasons. Which she knew because she knew Smith. "I heard Audrey crying the other day because she couldn't get her hair fixed the way her mom used to do it. I thought," he shrugged, looking almost desperate, "well, it might make her feel a little better if she had someone to help her out with that stuff occasionally."

Carlie liked being needed. More than that, she liked being the kind of friend that Smith could call on anytime, day or night. In a vague way, she wondered how that would change if Dinah, or any other woman, was in the picture permanently. Carlie would definitely be taking a long step back, but it wouldn't be easy. She'd lose her best friend and––

_Just stop. You already cried all over him once. Don't make a habit of it._

"I'll be there early." Carlie slipped her hand through his arm the way she always did and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I've been praying for all of you. Is it getting any easier? I mean––are the kids talking about what happened at all yet? Pastor said it might help if you were able to talk about Emery and Rick, and I don't know if..." Letting her voice trail off, Carlie shrugged. Smith would know what she meant.

# 5

Smith was silent for a while, walking along with Carlie leaning against him. Her arm tucked through his like that just felt–– _right_ ––and every once in a while, her head leaned against his shoulder in a way that made him want to stop and pull her back into his arms again. She was so _alone_ in the world and––

He was feeling awfully protective of her right now, which worried him some. If she was ever going to find a man of her own, he was going to have to figure out how to let her go.

"Some," he said at last, finally remembering her question. "I pulled up some photos on the computer the other night, and both kids ended up hanging over my shoulder. I think they cried more than they talked, but it's a start. When they first came, they wouldn't let themselves cry, so that's a step in the right direction."

"Would it help if they had a distraction? Something to take their mind off what happened––like a puppy? The Vincent dog has a bunch of pups Abel is trying to––"

"No dog." Smith's sigh sounded almost like a groan. "Please. I'm having enough trouble keeping up with the kids as it is. The last thing I need is a puppy..."

Thankfully, Carlie seemed to understand. She nodded, her head brushing against his arm. Her concern––the easy comradery––he didn't want anything to change, but if either of them started seeing someone else it would.

Smith slowed his pace a little more and noted with relief that Carlie did too. He could only hope she wouldn't ask why he was in no hurry to get back to his truck. He had been, but this... this was too special to rush. He could figure the other out later. For now, it was just him and Carlie, the way it had always been.

Unaware of his inner turmoil––and he was only too happy to keep it that way––Carlie tipped her head back to look up at him. "Do you think it's the right thing to do––telling everyone what happened? I guess I wasn't really thinking of the kids when I was pushing for you to do the interview. Will having people know what happened make it harder for them?"

Smith took a deep breath, letting his eyes wander to the house in the distance while he thought of the two kids, just little tykes, really––six and eight––who'd lost both parents. "I don't know. I guess I could ask them tonight. Maybe after church."

"Want me to be there, or would you rather do it alone?"

Pulling his hand from his pocket, he caught her hand and wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it gently. "Would you mind? Having someone there who isn't going to break down would be nice."

Carlie's head dropped to his shoulder. "I can't promise I won't break down, Smith. Emery was my friend, too, remember?"

Yeah, he remembered. And he knew it hadn't been easy for her either. When he told Carlie the news, she didn't say much, but later... He was just glad he'd been there for her.

Like she'd been there for him. Carlie was his lifeline—even down to the everyday practical things. Without her, he wasn't sure they would have even survived the last couple of months.

It was Carlie who'd gotten the house ready. Carlie who'd set up the kids' room. Carlie who'd gotten them enrolled at school. She'd even made sure he had a steady stream of meals coming in those first few weeks, keeping them fed until he could get his feet under him again. She was the aunt the kids never––

Seeming to know just when he needed a lifeline to pull him back from the depths of wherever his thoughts were taking him, Carlie's voice sounded. Clear. Concerned. "Has there been any word on the investigation? Did they find who was blackmailing Emery?"

Smith's jaw clenched, and it was all he could do to stop himself from breaking something. He was that angry. Still. "Yeah."

If his voice trembled a bit, he could only hope Carlie didn't notice. But this was Carlie. "No secrets" had been their motto for years. At least on his part. And it wasn't like he was trying to hide the fact that he thought all the red tape and loopholes were just a ruse to delay matters for as long as possible. The guys they'd caught deserved justice. And running people around in circles didn't feel like justice at all.

"We got word this morning. The two guys behind it all were caught out in California. They're waiting extradition back to Arizona, but it's not clear who's gonna end up with them, because they're wanted out there too. In California, that is. And I only found that part out because the detective needed to ask me something and had to explain why." Carlie's head lifted, but he just grinned at the curiosity in her eyes. "Even if I did, I'm not permitted to tell, so keep your questions to yourself, young lady, and invite me over for lunch."

"Lunch?" Carlie's eyes widened, and she blinked at her house, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she managed to get any words out. "Isn't it a bit early for lunch? Anyway, I was just planning on toasted ham and cheese sandwiches."

"Sounds better than whatever I could rake up at home." The look Carlie gave him said it all. _Busted_.

She didn't say as much, but she did roll her eyes. "Need me to pick anything up at the store when I go into town? Which, I might add, I was going to do _before_ lunch."

"I suppose I can wait." Smith's grin was slow, but it didn't hide the red that crept up his neck. "Can I give you a list?"

Carlie's laughter echoed off the old barn. "Smithy, you _really_ need someone to take care of you."

Smith just grinned. "Hardly. We're doing fine. We just misjudged how much food we'd need this week." What he didn't say, what left him feeling more shaken than he'd care to admit, was that they already had someone taking care of them. A girl who'd drop anything and everything she had planned to run to help a friend in need. A girl who'd probably never sashayed her way down a driveway just to get a man to notice her.

Carlie. The same girl who... obviously wasn't feeling the way he was, because it was her idea for him to take the red-head out.

The red-head. She had a name––what was it? Smith frowned, trying to remember. _Deena—no, Diana—no, not that. Something like it though. Di-somethingorother. What—oh, yeah. Dinah._

His memory of her was overshadowed by the thought of Carlie. The way her eyes twinkled when she laughed. The way she leaned her head against him. The way she liked to tease him and call him Smithy.

Carlie—the girl who... didn't think of him as anything more than a brother.

A little piece of him died inside as he swung the door open so she could go in. It was probably for the best that Dinah was around. She might help take his mind off Carlie until he could figure out where things had gone wrong. And— _List. You'd better get that list._

# 6

At five o'clock sharp, Carlie let herself in the back door of Smith's house. She knocked first, but either no one heard, or no one was home. With Smith's truck—the one he wasn't restoring—parked out front, he had to be there somewhere.

A lone pot sat on the stovetop. Whatever was inside smelled––almost burned––so she quickly grabbed the spoon and stirred. Mac and cheese. Sticking on the bottom.

His forgetfulness aside, when it came to meals, Smith was a tolerably good cook. Burned food wasn't his specialty, so he must have been called away rather suddenly. For—

Voices sounded down the hallway. Two children. One defensive and the other almost hysterical. A deeper voice joined in, and a moment later the rising childish voices died away.

Not wanting to intrude, Carlie tried not to listen. She did pray for Smith, asking for wisdom and patience and everything else he'd need to raise his sister's kids.

She prayed for the kids, too. It wasn't easy, losing both parents and being sent off to another state to live with an uncle they'd seen maybe two or three times a year. They knew him, but they hadn't lived with him before. Not for an extended period of time. That couldn't be easy either.

Learning a new way to do things. Having someone entirely new taking over the discipline, the training, the comforting––the parenting. _Nope. Not easy at all._

Her words from earlier in the day came back to haunt her. " _Brats_ ," she'd called them. Joking, of course, and they could be difficult at times, but they'd been through a lot. People—herself included—needed to go easy on them. Let them grieve. Adjust. Learn to cope with their new normal.

More than most, she could sympathize with how they felt. She knew what it was like to lose a parent—both parents, actually. She'd been much older than the kids, but the pain wasn't any different. The longing to see them, to talk, to be able to go to them to show them something...

Tears clouded her vision, and as footsteps sounded in the hallway, she leaned over the pot and hoped the steam would give her an excuse to wipe her eyes.

A hand touched her shoulder a fraction before Smith's voice sounded in her ear. "Please tell me there's adult food in that box on the table."

Carlie glanced over her shoulder at the box she'd all but forgotten she'd brought with her and frowned. "Beef stew. Biscuits. Cookies..."

Something that felt an awful lot like a kiss touched the top of her head. "You're my new favorite person. I've eaten enough mac and cheese, hotdogs, and pancakes this month to last me a lifetime." His voice dropped to a level the kids––wherever they were––couldn't hear. "It's all Zach will eat now."

The pain in his voice tore at Carlie's heart. He was hurting as much as the kids were, yet all his efforts went into looking after them; making sure they were happy, well-fed and everything else in between.

After those odd moments that morning, she hadn't been sure what tonight would be like, but looking at Smith now, all she saw was the same dear friend she'd known all her life. One hand touched his arm in a move so natural she didn't know she was doing it until his hand covered hers.

It was normal though. Natural. Understood. One friend comforting another. And if she also realized the appeal of a pair of muscular shoulders on the right person, well, that was just a fleeting thought, quickly filed away for another day.

Her cheeks did turn a little pink, though, so she quickly moved to open the box. The pot went to the stovetop to reheat. The biscuits stayed on the table to await meal time. And the cookies... Smith assured her they _did_ need to be sampled while the kids were still cleaning up their room.

"As their guardian, I do need to approve any food strange people offer them."

Carlie's laugh was like a bright gurgle of happiness. Why he'd never noticed that before, Smith couldn't say. Except... he _had_ noticed. He just hadn't appreciated it before. Not fully.

He grinned as she shook her head, and grabbing another cookie the moment she turned her back, he wandered down the hallway to check on the kids' progress.

He wasn't sure that the punishment fit the crime, but that was the only resolution he could think of at the time. They'd been bickering since the moment they stepped off the school bus, and it'd finally escalated into pushing and shoving until Zach pushed too hard and Audrey tripped over a pile of toys, hitting her head on the corner of the toy box on her way down.

Not a major crime by any stretch of the imagination, but not something he wanted to let slip through the cracks, either. As much as they all were hurting, violence was never the answer.

Quiet voices sounded in the room, and he stood by the partly opened door for several minutes, watching and listening. Audrey's tears had dried up, and the sullen look was gone from Zach's face. Instead, the pair had turned cleaning into a game of sorts.

Something he and Emery used to do way back when they were kids.

A lump formed in his throat, and tears burned the back of his eyes. As silently as he could, he made his way back to the kitchen where Carlie was bent over the stove again. This time not trying to hide a suspicious level of wetness pooling in her eyes.

As hard as she tried to hide her tears, he hadn't known her all her life for nothing.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leaned against the counter and watched her work. His attention was elsewhere though.

Half focused on the two kids down the hall, half a million miles away where–– "Remember how much trouble Em and I got into that year we tried jumping off the bunk bed in my room? We were supposed to be cleaning, but we decided it'd be more fun to climb up there, throw the toys in the box, and jump down to get more."

The spoon in Carlie's hand made a slow loop of the pot. "I remember. You landed on Em's dollhouse, smashed it to smithereens, and ended up getting grounded for what—a month?"

"Pretty much." The mixture of emotions was almost overpowering. Bittersweet, Smith had heard it called. All he knew was that if hurt like crazy, and at the same time he wanted to laugh. "Did Em ever tell you she moved that dollhouse at the last moment to where she knew I was going to land? We'd been careful not to jump on anything until then, but it was ugly, and she figured if it broke, she'd get the new one she wanted."

The spoon clattered against the side of the pot as Carlie turned. One hand covered her mouth, the other touched his arm. Something else Smith was only just noticing that he liked. If this weirdness kept up much longer, Smith felt certain he was going to learn a whole lot about Carlie that he'd never noticed before.

Like the way her eyes grew really big as she stared up at him. "You mean, you were grounded for a month for breaking something by accident and––" Eyes still wide, she shook her head. "Em never said anything. _You_ never said anything. And while you were stuck inside, she was going off with her friends and––" Carlie turned back to her pot, fighting tears if he knew her at all. "That was one of the longest months of my life. I twiddled my thumbs until they hurt. All because––"

This time the spoon slapped the mac and cheese so hard he half expected the pot to overflow. Obviously, there were certain unpleasant memories attached to the period of time in question. For Carlie.

She finally turned and crossed her arms with a huff. "Your chivalry is commendable, Johnson, but making both of us suffer wasn't the best idea you ever had."

Smith wasn't sure a smirk was the best response, but he didn't care. Not really. "What would you have me do instead? Betray my only sister?"

"No!" Carlie's eyes narrowed. "Yes." Her expression changed again, uncertainty and a touch of humor in her eyes. "Maybe." His smirk turned into a full grin, and she threw her hands in the air. "It was summer! We spent a _month_ moping about the house because you had to go and take the punishment your sister deserved. She _used_ you, Smithy."

"You didn't have to mope about. You could have gone off and gotten yourself into mischief like always."

Hands on her hips, standing almost nose to nose with him, Carlie's eyes shot daggers into his. "No, I could not. There was no way I was going to leave you behind."

"So, you _chose_ to ruin your own summer?"

"It wasn't a choice!" Tossing her head, Carlie sent her hair flying as she spun away. "I needed your help to cross the creek."

# 7

All afternoon, Carlie had debated the wisdom of spending the evening with Smith. Never before had she even considered staying away, but with how weird things had gotten that morning, she wasn't sure she wanted to see what would happen next.

Smith had noticed it too. Several times during lunch she'd caught him watching her. And he'd caught her doing the same thing. It was almost as though they were suddenly seeing each other in a different light.

Except, neither had changed. Smith was still the same fun, easy-going guy he'd always been. And she—

Well, Carlie could only hope she hadn't changed either. Those moments of jealousy were so out of character, she felt bad they'd ever happened.

And as she followed the kids out to Smith's truck, she had to admit the evening hadn't been so bad after all. She hadn't once felt like things had gotten weird between her and Smith. There was no awkwardness, no strange looks. And they'd looked at each other a lot. It was hard not to when supper time was one continual memory fest of sharing tidbits of their childhood with the kids.

One funny story followed after another. From the time Smith dropped her in the creek in her fancy Easter dress, to the time they'd found a rickety, old, wooden chair tucked away in the corner of the barn and used it to play musical chairs. Until the legs broke off when Smith threw himself across it to stop her from getting there first.

Zach giggled as he told Audrey something about Uncle Smith being as big as a giant and laughed outright when Smith tried to convince them he was actually a very small person and they were all teensy-tiny ant-sized people.

"We are not!" Audrey cried, laughing so hard she almost couldn't speak. "We're normal. You're just big!"

"Really big!" Zach yelled, holding his arms out as far as they could go. "I want to be as big as you when I grow up, so I have to eat lots and lots and lots of stuffs so I grow big and strong! I'm not big and strong yet, but I'm working on it!"

"That you are, buddy," Smith said, half under his breath as he closed the front door. "And you're doing a great job, too."

"You all are," Carlie murmured, as the truck pulled away from the house.

She didn't say this out loud, but if she'd learned one thing tonight, it was that Smith was made for this role. He would— _had_ —become a wonderful father, and if she hadn't admired him before, she'd be a fan now.

It wasn't any one thing he did but the combination of how he interacted with them. Always the authority figure, but a friend and companion too. Assuming the role of father without forgetting to be the fun-loving uncle at the same time. _Or something like that._

He was just a really nice guy. Something she'd always known, but seeing it in action made it that much more real. _Whoever he marries is going to be one lucky girl._

And if the way her stomach twisted at that thought was any indication, she hadn't quite overcome her jealousy. It wouldn't be easy to give him up when the time came, but she might want to start working on getting her heart in the right place. Because, surely that day would come. Someone, someday, would see his worth and when that happened...

Before she forgot where she was and said something embarrassing, she refocused her attention on the kids. She could continue her secret admiration of their uncle later. "They've come so far already, thanks to you."

Smith shrugged her praise off, ignoring the fact she'd spoken until they were halfway down the road. "It's not just me. I've had help."

"But you're the one influence they can rely on to always be there. That means something."

"Maybe." Smith glanced in the rear view mirror, briefly watching something—possibly the kids?––before his eyes moved back to the road. "I'll never replace their parents."

"No one expects you to. What you're doing though—what you've given up to take them in, how you're helping them—it's... inspiring."

"Inspiring, huh? Next thing, you're gonna tell me to write a book and post it online to raise awareness of the challenges unwitting guardians face."

His gaze met hers, challenging her to refute his claim. Which she couldn't. _Oops._

But before she could do more than squirm, he grinned. "In case you're wondering, yes, I heard that from Mrs. Naylor at church last Sunday, too. She was quite certain I had a fountain of knowledge to share."

"Cool. Do you? We could strike it rich. We—"

Smith's laughter filled the truck. "We? You mean _me_. If anyone here's going to make a fortune off my extensive knowledge of child care, it's going to be me. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Carnage, but I'm afraid there is no _we_ in this situation." He paused as they made the turn onto the main road leading into town and then gave her the most unrepentant grin imaginable. "When it comes to money, it's every man for himself."

"Meanie. And here I thought you could use my superior marketing skills to promote your brand."

"Marketing skills? Since when have you done any marketing? The last I heard, you couldn't even talk Monty into selling you another horse. How are you going to talk anyone into—" He broke off, took a slow breath, and started over. " _I_ don't have a 'brand' to market. But if you want to practice, try talking me into something—sell me something—whatever."

Carlie frowned. She could say no. She _should_ say no. It felt like he was baiting her, but this was Smith and he didn't do that sort of thing. He didn't toy with a person's feelings, and he wouldn't tell her to do something unless he was serious about her doing it.

At the same time... it also felt as though Smith was just trying to change the subject. Which made sense because he never did like hearing people sing his praises. If that was the case, fine, she'd drop the subject, and while she had the chance...

"What do you think of the idea of me running cows on your land? Only the areas you're not using, and I'd pay, of course. If I did, I might be able to double the size of my herd by the end of the year. And before you say anything about it being too much work for a woman, Monty asked me the other day if he could work more hours."

Carlie leaned back as soon as she was done. Smith would want to think it over, and she was content to wait and watch. Because, honestly, he wasn't hard to look at at all. _Yep, some girl..._

The truck moved out into the center of the road to avoid a pile of something Carlie didn't want to identify. Road kill. _Gross_.

When they were back in their lane again, Smith glanced over at her. "More cows means more money right off the bat. Where would it come from?"

"I have part of Dad's life insurance saved up. Remember? You were the one who told me to put some of it aside."

"Hmm. That rings a bell. Smart piece of advice there, if I do say so myself."

And... other people singing his praises might not be something he liked to hear, but Smith was quite capable of doing that himself when the time was right.

"It goes well with all the other brilliant pieces of advice you should be selling so we can make our millions. And before you argue with me, it doesn't matter what you say, we're in this together."

"We are?" Smith gave her a sideways look as he turned onto the street leading to the church. "Who are you again?"

# 8

Church was the place Smith went to for quiet contemplation of the scriptures. Every other thought was set aside as he focused all his attention on what Pastor Barnes had to say. No matter how pressing the matter was, it could wait until the service was over.

But this time... they hadn't even made it through the opening prayer before his mind skipped to the disturbing idea of Carlie's dating habits.

Carlie, of course, was quite unaware of where his thoughts had strayed, and he hoped to keep it that way. If, however, his eyes followed her gaze every time she turned her head, he couldn't be faulted for trying to gauge whether she was stealing glances in any one particular direction more often than any other. Even if she hadn't asked for it, it was his job as her pseudo brother to determine where her thoughts and interests lay.

And who she had her eye on.

Giving up on getting his cue from Carlie, Smith took to studying the congregation, thankful he'd chosen to sit in the last pew for a change. The kids did better back here, and it gave him the vantage point to study the other occupants. His eyes moved around the room, picking out a head here or there to add to the list or dismiss as the situation called for.

Not Clay. For obvious reasons.

Gaines looked to be sitting with a girl.

Dax and Dane sat together, neither in uniform, making it impossible to know which was the deputy and which was the cowboy. Identical twins and all. Except... one had his head down, and the other sat back in his seat like he hadn't a care in the world. So, in that moment, it wasn't too hard to tell them apart. Dax being the quiet one and so on. Both made the list, and to his ever-growing discomfort, either would make a decent enough husband. _Good men, both. Can't find fault with either of them._

Eric. _Possible. Unlikely, but not a bad sort._ However, rumor had it Eric was seeing a girl up in Galloway Station. _So... probably not._

Cole Saunders. _Too close to call._ Of all the possibilities, Cole was probably the one he'd least object to, but even then, despite the respect he had for the man, Smith wasn't quite sure the sheriff was worthy of his Carlie. He'd leave that option open as a "maybe" though.

Beside Cole sat his younger brother Parker. Smith felt he could be forgiven for giving an audible snort there.

Thankfully, not loud enough to do anything other than turn Carlie's head. He could have done without her scrutiny, but as far as he knew, she hadn't mastered the art of reading minds. So, he gave her a grin and tried to reign in his thoughts.

Which lasted as long as it took for Pastor to close the service and ask them to break into groups for prayer. Smith found it a little hard to breathe—until Carlie turned to him—with a smile—and asked if he'd rather they make their own little circle of four.

"It might be a little scary if we send the kids off," was her reasoning.

Until tonight, he'd simply packed the kids up after the service ended and slipped out while everyone else was gathering into smaller groups to pray. A defense mechanism to avoid gossiping old women looking for the latest scoop on the kids. But with Carlie here...

"Sure." He scooped Zach onto his lap and breathed a two-fold sigh of relief. Carlie wasn't going anywhere, and she coaxed Audrey to move over to sit on her lap.

Despite his relief, Smith wasn't quite as settled as he'd like, so he nodded for Carlie to go first. Quietly, but with growing confidence, she took the list they'd been given and started praying. Her sweet voice broke when she came to the note about old Mr. Quartermaine's failing health, and as hard as he tried not to, he decided then and there, none of the available bachelors in the room were worthy of her.

He'd have to figure something out, because he didn't want to banish her to a life of loneliness, but rectifying the situation wasn't possible unless something changed.

Or he lowered his standards. _As if._

He could only hope that snort was inaudible, but from the flick on his arm that had to have come from Carlie, he was pretty sure it wasn't. _You're in for it now._

Both kids shook their heads when he asked if they wanted to pray, so when he was done, Carlie hit his arm again. "What was that all about?"

"What are you talking about?" He tried his most innocent look on her, but she simply narrowed her gaze.

"Snorting when I asked the Lord to work on Octavia's heart—that's what."

Smith couldn't help the muffled chuckle that escaped. "Is that what you were praying about? Sorry, I wasn't exactly—"

"Paying attention?" Carlie's head tipped to the side. "You did it earlier too. What's up with that? You're never distracted at church. We could beat you over the head with a two by four and not break the spell. So why..."

Someone walked by and Smith nodded, not really seeing who it was as he studied Carlie's face. Their knees were almost touching, but like a real lady, she kept her distance. Not trying to draw attention to herself.

And not because she couldn't. In the looks department, she could hold her own against any other woman. But she never acted that way, or dressed that way, either. The dress she wore tonight was one of his favorites—something he only just now realized. The color perfectly suited her eyes, bringing out the blue and giving her—

A finger dug into his arm, startling him and making him fully aware Carlie was still staring at him, worry in her eyes.

He frowned. "What?"

"Earth to Smithy. You're doing it again. Zoning out or something. What's up?"

Her voice was low, so the people starting to move about the room couldn't hear. Even so, Smith wished she hadn't said anything. He didn't want to lie to her, but how could he tell her that he'd been thinking about her chances of marriage? Which, from where he was sitting, were looking awfully slim right about now. The thought of her dating any of the available options left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

But, as much as he wanted to stew over the problem a while longer, he couldn't ignore her question. He had to say something. "I—"

"Ooo! How adorable!" The interruption couldn't have come at a more opportune time, but the moment Smith turned his head he couldn't have been more annoyed if he'd tried.

Dinah.

The last person he wanted to see when he was trying to sort Carlie's love-life out. It seemed cruel to have his options so blatantly put on display when hers were so slim...

# 9

"...if you don't mind. I know you're not working tomorrow, but could you stop by the house so we can work out a plan? Smith hasn't given me an answer yet, but I'd like to have the facts and figures laid out before I commit to anything." Carlie's hand twisted in the air in a kind of _I don't really know what I'm doing here_ kind of way. "It sounds good, but it might not look so good on paper."

Monty ran a hand across his chin. His facial expression hadn't changed since they'd started talking, so it wasn't exactly easy to tell whether he thought she was crazy or not. "Sure. I'll stop by around nine. From where I'm standing, it looks like it'd work, but it's gonna take a lot more man power than having me out there two or three days a week."

Carlie's grin was probably about as sheepish as it could get. "I thought of that. Didn't you say last week that you wouldn't mind more work?"

"That I did. You got me there." Under his breath he added a muttered, "What's eating him?" His gaze had moved to something over her shoulder, and as he spoke, he frowned.

As much as she wanted to, Carlie didn't turn to see who was back there. With the congregation milling about the room, he could be staring at anyone.

Of course, he was looking in the direction where she'd left Smith talking to Dinah, which gave her an added reason not to turn around. The last thing she wanted to see right then was her best friend talking to that woman.

She could support Smith's decision. She could encourage him to take the necessary steps to secure a happy future for himself. But she didn't have to like it.

She nodded at Monty as Pastor Barnes walked up. "Tomorrow then."

"Nine," Monty said with a nod of his own before he turned to greet their pastor.

It didn't sound as though they were talking about anything more pressing than the mowing schedule, so Carlie could have stayed. But intruding on one person's private conversation because she was avoiding another person's private conversation didn't seem like the thing to do.

Nodding again at no one in particular because it felt weird to just walk away without doing something, her feet almost dragged as she started to head back to their pew. Unfortunately, she couldn't avoid Smith all night. Surely his conversation with Dinah wouldn't last and––

"Hey, Carlie!"

The smiling face that swam into view was one she knew she should recognize. Scruffy hair, wide grin, well-worn jeans, rundown boots... However, even with the man standing right in front of her, it took a few rotations of her brain and some pretty mad mental scrambling skills to drag her mind back from the other side of the room.

"Hey, Bud." She smiled, relief flooding through her the moment she realized she now had a valid excuse to delay her return.

Because anything was better than being forced to listen to more from Dinah. After she'd "just happened by," Carlie hung around for all of a minute, two at the most. That was long enough to make it perfectly clear her presence was _not_ required. Besides that, Smith might be every bit as nice as the gushing platitudes claimed, but it grated on her nerves to hear Dinah be so effusive in her adoration of a man she barely knew.

Of their own accord, her eyes strayed to the spot where she'd left Smith. Dinah was still there along with two other women. But from where she stood, it looked like the two women were now talking to Dinah, or vice versa. Smith stood a little to the side, not so far away to no longer be part of the conversation if anyone spoke to him, but—for the moment—separate.

He held Zach in his arms, the little boy's head nestled on his shoulder. Audrey leaned against his side, hugging his leg. The perfect picture of the family man. Admiration welled up inside her at the amazing man he was and she smiled.

Then their eyes met. Carlie's smile faltered. Instead of smiling back, his face darkened, and she quickly looked away. A stab of pain shot through her, but she squashed it down. She hadn't done anything—that she knew of—so Smith's anger must be directed at someone else. She'd just stumbled into the line of fire. Hadn't she?

The uncertainty of the entire day still hung over her, and as weird as it had all been, she wasn't quite as sure of that possibility as she should have been. But it was Smith, and they were close enough to weather any storm, and...

Carlie took a deep breath, plastering on a smile she hoped was convincing. Bud was still standing beside her, a welcome distraction from whatever was bothering Smith. She could focus on that for the moment and leave everything else until later. "I have to admit. It took me a moment to place you."

"Drat. Here's me, hoping the whole 'separation makes the heart grow fonder' thing was living up to its reputation, and you didn't even remember who I was. That doesn't bode well for a happily ever after!"

The twinkle in his eye was so mischievous and unexpected, Carlie threw her head back and laughed. "It doesn't, does it?"

"So much for riding the range secure in the knowledge that my beloved was mourning our parting." The corners of his mouth turned down, and with a sigh to rival any truly broken-hearted soul, he motioned with his hand for her to pass by. "Off you go, then, but be careful where you tread. My poor, lovelorn heart has been shattered into a million pieces and lies broken at your feet."

"Does it hurt?" The trouble with Smith loomed in the background of her mind, but for the moment her troubles felt less weighty.

An even row of pearly white teeth appeared as Bud's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "Agony. The cruelest, most heartless––get it?––way to kill a man."

"You don't look like a tortured soul."

"I hide my pain under a thin veneer of laughter, so no one can see how thoroughly gutted I am." One hand covered his heart. "But in here, the pain––oh, the pain!"

Laughing again—what else could she do?—Carlie waved her hand at the floor. "I thought I tore your heart out and shattered it across the floor. A million pieces, remember?"

"Metaphorically speaking, it lies beneath the soles of your dainty shoes. In all practicality..." There was a slight pause and when he continued talking, the tone of his voice had changed to something more serious. "Are you feeling any better? I saw you across the room a moment ago and thought you looked like someone who needed cheering up."

"I—" Carlie's gaze darted across to where Smith stood and away again. This time he wasn't looking right at her, but the set of his jaw, the fist clenched by his side, and the emotion in his eyes all spelled trouble. Major trouble.

It wasn't necessarily anger, but Smith was one very unhappy person. Gnawing on her lower lip, she glanced his way again, trying to decide if it was directed at her or not, and... her gaze met a most disapproving pair of eyes. Her first instinct was to go to him and see if she could help soothe his anger, but no matter what her intentions, she couldn't fix whatever was eating at him.

Not here.

Not where all their friends could see or even hear what they were saying.

The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Smith in front of anyone or expose his dirty laundry for all the world to see. It might even be due to his prior conversation with Dinah, in which case, hashing it out in public would be the worst possible course of action for Carlie to take. As much as she disliked the woman—and yeah, she could admit that to herself if no one else—she didn't have the right to interfere in Smith's love life. Friends or not, that was his business and his alone.

Therefore, the best thing to do was leave it in the Lord's hands. At least until such a time as they could talk in private.

A silent prayer winged it's way heavenward as she did that same brain wrangling move she'd done before and forced her attention back to the man standing before her. "Yes, I do. I didn't realize I was so transparent."

"You aren't. I just happened to notice––" Bud shrugged, shuffled his feet like he wasn't quite sure what to say, and then grinned. "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

Carlie blinked. Then blinked again. His grin never wavered, and she wasn't exactly sure he was even serious. "Um, aren't I the girl who just shattered your heart into a million pieces and then trampled on it? And you still––"

"So that's a no?" He sounded almost relieved, and the flicker of a smile that crossed his face made her feel like he was just—what? Trying to distract her?

She tried to speak, but, "I––" said in the squeakiest voice ever wasn't much of a reply. Her mouth opened a couple more times after that fruitless attempt, but nothing else came out. She was beginning to suspect Bud would think her an idiot when a hand landed on her shoulder.

Bud just grinned, gave her a wink––of all things––and turned to go. "Don't mind me, I'll just go fetch the dustpan."

# 10

Under the surface, Smith was seething. On the drive home he'd gone full-circle, thinking over what he'd seen at church—at least four or five times or more—and every single time, his blood had boiled all over again. The nerve of the guy! To think he—

And every time, just about when he reached that point, Carlie would say something to one of the kids—they were all avoiding him, and he had a pretty good idea why—and he'd simmer down again.

In his own right, the guy was suitable enough. Well, more like barely okay, but Smith wasn't interested in delving too far into the particulars. The reasons weren't important. What mattered was the blatant flirting. The over-the-top pick-up line. The—

And... there he went again, his breath hissing as it escaped through clenched teeth.

Carlie gave him an odd look as they walked the kids to the porch, but he ignored her. Again. He'd done that a lot tonight. But how to tell her—

His hand shook as the key jammed in the lock, and he gave the door a shake. What idiot—

Carlie's hand closed over his, and, without a word, she took the keys from his hand and fit the _right_ key into the lock. It clicked, she twisted the handle, and still without speaking, swung the door open.

For some reason, that didn't help improve his mood at all. He knew he was being an irritable grouch, but the knowledge he had, the things he'd seen—they didn't sit well. The more he thought everything through, the more his stomach twisted and the more irritated he became.

It was like a vicious cycle he couldn't seem to break. It started during the service and grew exponentially during the brief conversation he'd had with Dinah which he barely paid attention to due to what was happening across the room. And now it loomed over him like a troll threatening his very way of existence. With only a slight exaggeration here and there. Or everywhere.

Put mildly, he was in a bad mood and nothing was making him feel better. Church had failed to revitalize him. _Your own fault._ Seeing what he'd seen had only served to alert him to the fact that not everyone had reached the same conclusions he had as to Carlie's dating prospects. _That might be a problem._ Carlie had failed to thoroughly calm the anger still simmering under the surface. _No idea why._ And even the door had turned against him. What was next on the agenda? Who would—

"...can we, Uncle Smith?"

"Huh?" Smith blinked down at the little boy now holding his hand and looking up at him with so much eagerness he instinctively knew this was something big. He looked to Carlie for support, having no idea what Zach was talking about, but she simply stared at him with raised brows. Audrey clasped her hands together, trying not to look too hopeful, and with all of them ganging up on him, what else could he do? "Sure."

The kids gaped at him long enough to give him a sense of impending doom. He had no idea what he'd agreed to, but he was frustrated enough, he'd do whatever it was anyway, just to spite himself.

And then Zach squealed. Screamed really. Dancing around his legs the child started chanting, "We're gonna get a—"

Audrey's hand over his mouth cut him off, and hissing something Smith couldn't understand, she glanced once at his face and then literally dragged her brother down the hall.

Doors opened and closed and Smith blinked a few times at the ease with which bedtime came and went. No fussing about not being tired. No whining about having to clean teeth. No pleas for a bedtime snack because they were, "Gonna 'tarve afore morning."

Nothing.

He didn't even need to move from his spot three steps inside the door.

Within five minutes, Smith and Carlie were alone in a silent house. Some of his anger drained away, and he almost sighed at the relief he felt. For the first time since they'd left home, he felt like he could breathe again. It was going to be okay. _They_ were going to be okay. He wouldn't lose his best friend to anyone less than the very best. " _I don't care what he said, he's not worthy_."

Carlie blinked. Then blinked again. " _Excuse_ me? Who isn't worthy?"

Smith froze. Had he really spoken that thought out loud? By the look on her face, it was obvious he had, but maybe it was for the best. They'd never had to hide anything from each other before. She'd understand...

He reached out to rest both hands on her shoulders, staring down into her trusting eyes. He could do this. It wouldn't be easy, but... "You. Well, not you exactly. It has to do with you though. Tonight at church I got to thinking about you, and well, I hate to say this, but as your—" Okay, this wasn't as easy to explain as he thought it'd be. "Well, with your father being gone, I'm the only one left to—well, approve or not. And—"

He shrugged. He could feel her body stiffen beneath his hands, and her eyes were starting to take on a glass-like appearance, but it really was for the best. She might as well know everything.

"I don't know what Bud said to make you flirt with him like that, but he's not on the list."

" _List?!_ " Glass-like didn't even come close now. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and not in a good way. "What list? And _flirt––?_ "

He shrugged again. "The guys at church." And yeah, that sounded bad, but... "You're too good for any of them. "

"You made a list." Carlie's shoulders jerked, and when his hands didn't move, she raised her arms and knocked them away. "I can't believe—the _nerve!_ Who do you think you are to—" Breaking off, she stared up at him, hands clenched into fists, her whole body trembling. "Since when have I ever flirted with anyone?"

"I saw you myself. Tonight. You and Bud––" Smith shuffled his feet. This wasn't going how he'd pictured it would. Not that he'd even considered telling her before. It just slipped out and—

Well, he figured they were good friends and she'd take it in stride, and...

"For your information, I wasn't _flirting_ with Bud at all. He was just––" She broke off, glaring at him as though he was the problem when all he was doing was— "No. I'm not going to tell you what he was doing. It's none of your business. I was _talking_ to a _friend_. End. Of. Story."

And... she obviously wasn't taking it in stride. As angry as she got though––and it wasn't looking good––he was going to stick to his guns and not give an inch. He had her best interests in mind, after all. It wasn't as though—

"I can't believe you'd even think that! But even if you did, _my_ love life is _none_ of your business. We might be friends, but you—are— _not—_ my brother. You have _no_ right to say who I can or cannot date. Now or ever."

Bud's grinning face swam before his eyes. "But—"

"No _buts_ , Johnson. Who I do or do not date has _nothing_ to do with you."

Confusion mingled with that ever-growing knot in his stomach. "Protest all you like, I am not going to stand by and watch you throw yourself away on––" he scrambled for a name and fixed on the first one that came to mind, "––Parker. Or even––"

Carlie's face went white, then red, then white again. "You _seriously_ think I would even consider dating Parker? Where were you when he ditched Norah for refusing to kiss him? On. Their. First. Date. Or Rachel, for getting upset when he suggested they date multiple people at once so it'd be easier for him to determine which girl was the right one? What about the countless other girls––myself included––who have to fend off his advances because he won't take no for an answer?"

Her jaw clenched and her knuckles whitened as she took first one, then two, steps away. Her eyes never left his.

"Not only are you accusing me of flirting, but now you're insulting my intelligence by holding the most ineligible man in town up as an example of who you think I would choose to date?" Her mouth opened and closed a few times and then, with a voice that didn't sound like hers, she added, "I can't believe you could think so little of me."

Arms crossed, Carlie now stood over by the door—a good six feet away. Smith swallowed. He'd messed up. How badly, he didn't know, but maybe if they kept talking, they could work it out. He could apologize, admit he'd been wrong, ask her forgiveness, and—

Her whole body trembled, whether from anger or hurt, he couldn't tell. " _I_ made a conscious decision to keep my nose out of your relationships. _I_ thought that was a private matter and not something either one of us had the right to interfere with. And here you— _You_ made a _list_ of who _you_ thought _I_ could date? You have some nerve, Johnson."

She threw the door open, and, without giving him so much as a backward glance, disappeared into the night. But not before she slammed the door behind her with enough force to rattle the windows.

Smith stood frozen to the spot, hardly daring to breathe as he listened for the telltale click of the kids' door. After that altercation, he fully expected to see them come creeping down the hall to find out what was going on. But the only click he heard was the front door as it opened just far enough for Carlie to put her head through.

"By the way, Johnson––" He didn't like her tone, but he was almost afraid of pointing out the chill that emanated from every word. He had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate any kind of criticism right now, nor would an apology do any good until he could convince her it was genuine. "—have fun with the two puppies you just agreed to buy."

"I— _what_ —?" But the door closed with another click and she was gone. And it was left to him to figure out what he'd done—and how he'd managed to destroy everything that meant anything to him.

# 11

Carlie stabbed the pitchfork into the hay. Again, and again, and again. Over and over, trying to come up with a reasonable response to Smith's meddling. Unfortunately for her, she couldn't come up with anything truly satisfying. Barking, "Jerk!" didn't make her feel any better either, and—

"I'm not sure what I did to make you mad, but don't worry, I'm just gonna back myself right outta here..."

Carlie spun around, surprised to see Monty walking backward toward the barn door. Confusion wiped all other thought from her mind. "Wait. No. I wasn't—" Breaking off, she blinked a few times. _Monty? It's Thursday. Why—?_ And then with sudden clarity, it all came back. Their meeting. Red stained her cheeks and she ducked her head. "Oh."

Monty stopped his retreat but didn't close the distance between them. His face registered indecision as to whether he should stay or go. "We can always reschedule."

"No. I'm fine. I just— "

"You sounded pretty worked up." It was a statement, not a suggestion for her to spew it all out, but they'd been working together long enough it didn't occur to Carlie _not_ to offer an explanation.

"It's—Smith made a list of who I could date." She sighed, torn between staying mad or crying. "Or not, as the case may be. Apparently, no one is worthy, so I'm pretty much doomed."

A loud laugh sounded as Monty walked over to where she stood. He took one look in the stall, glanced at the pile of barely used hay she'd raked out, and shook his head. "Come to his senses, did he? 'Bout time."

No, Smith hadn't "come to his senses"—although Carlie had the uneasy feeling Monty was talking about something else and not the argument from the night before—and it certainly wasn't "about time", but she didn't correct him. Now that she'd said all of that, she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about anything. All she wanted was to figure out how to make Smith pay. Sort of. This was Smith though, so while it hurt like crazy and she'd exploded in his face, she was finding it hard to stay mad.

Tearing her mind away from her issues with her _neighbor_ , she swung the toe of her boot at a stray piece of hay. "So, about running more cows..."

Monty squinted at her. "You really want to talk about running cows on _Smith's_ land when you're mad enough to put a pitchfork through his head—" he nodded at the pile of hay beside them as though he'd figured out what had driven her repeated attempts to clear out Rumble's stall "—metaphorically speaking. You might want to clear the air between the two of you before you go making plans."

Carlie gave a reluctant nod. As little as she wanted to agree, it did seem—strange—counterintuitive—or something, to be making plans involving her neighbor's land when she wasn't talking to said neighbor.

She sighed. "I suppose you're right. Do you think it would work though? Like—have you had a chance to look at the numbers or— "

Monty took a step back, his cowboy hat swinging from one hand as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "What _I_ think is we can talk about it _after_ you've had a chance to talk to Smith."

Carlie wanted to say that that wasn't gonna happen anytime soon, but her initial burst of anger had drained to almost nothing. He was still a jerk, but she could sort of see how he'd had her best interests in mind.

Her eyes narrowed. _Maybe_.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." And with that, Monty gave her a nod and walked out, ruining any chance she had of changing his mind about her talking to Smith. He did stop at the door to look back. "If you want my advice, go take your anger out on the wood pile or something. Doesn't waste hay and it'll stop you from saying anything to Smith that you'll regret."

He disappeared then, leaving Carlie alone with her pile of "wasted" hay. She had to admit he had a point. Cleaning Rumbles' stall out twice in the same morning probably hadn't been the most logical solution to her problems.

The wood pile though... She didn't need firewood yet, but it did sort of make sense to channel her frustration into something useful.

Plus, it gave her an excuse to avoid Smith for a little longer. She could always say she'd been too busy to answer his calls. Even if those calls had come at least an hour or two before she started chopping wood.

She ignored the stab to her conscience as she swung the axe high and brought it down with a satisfying _crack!_ He'd never know. _Crack!_ He wasn't playing fair. _Crack!_ Interfering in her life when she'd purposefully taken a step back from his. _Crack!_ He didn't deserve the truth. _Crack!_ If he didn't have to play fair, then neither did she. _Crack!_ Never mind that he hadn't lied or anything like that. He'd admitted his guilt and explained what he was doing and why. _Crack!_ It was still wrong and—

The axe fell to the ground at her feet. Two wrongs _didn't_ make a right. She _didn't_ have the right to commit a _sin_ just because Smith stuck his nose in her business.

She didn't drop to her knees out there in the open, but she did sink to one knee, bowing her head as tears filled her eyes. _Forgive me, Lord. No matter how upset I was with him, I don't have the right to get angry or lie to him just because he hurt me. Please help me to—_

"I don't suppose now is a good time to ask if you'd watch the kids tonight?" a quiet— _Smith_ —voice said from behind her.

"It's not." Carlie wiped her tears away as much as she could with her grimy hands, hoping the end result wasn't worse than the start. "I'm not."

"You're not... what?" Smith moved around her and picked up the axe. "Need wood for something?"

"No." Okay, so she _wasn't_ ready to talk to him. Yet. "Go away."

"That's not childish at all." He stood over her, offering his hand to help her up. "We need to talk."

Childish or not, Carlie ignored his offer and scrambled to her feet. "Thanks all the same, but I think you said enough already."

"I'm sorry."

She almost couldn't ignore that, but a quick recap of their conversation from the night before helped immensely. "I'm not ready for an apology."

So, yeah, she might be acting childish, but it wasn't like he hadn't stepped way out of bounds. Her conscience pricked. _It hurt, Lord. It still hurts._

"I'm taking the kids to pick out puppies tomorrow. We'd like you to come." He paused a moment, then added a quiet, "So long as you leave the axe home."

Carlie's head came around at that. The look on Smith's face was harder to ignore than his apology. He'd obviously figured out what he'd done—how much he'd hurt her. And figured out what she was doing out at the wood pile.

Carlie sniffed, and tried again to wipe away her tears. "It hurts that you didn't—that you _don't_ —trust me enough to let me decide if someone is worthy of my attention or not. I'm not a kid."

"I know, and I'm sorry." He propped the axe against the fence and turned to face her, genuine contrition in his eyes. "I overreacted and yeah—I assumed a responsibility that wasn't mine to take. I can't take it back, but I hope you can forgive me. I hope we can move on and not let this destroy our friendship. And I'm sorry about the Parker stuff, too. I had no idea it was that bad. I talked to Cole—he's going to see what he can do because you girls deserve better than that." He drew a long breath and slowly let it out again. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I was only trying to help."

He had an awful way of helping, but she decided not to tell him that. Yet. For the first time all day, the sun shone a little brighter without making her feel like it was trying to blind her with its brilliant happiness. Which at the time, she wanted no part of. Now though... "Puppies, huh?"

Smith shrugged, looking uncomfortable and a little red around the ears. "I owe the kids. I wasn't exactly—pleasant—to be around. And I did tell them yes, even if I didn't know what they were asking."

Carlie wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point her anger had switched to hurt. And it still hurt. It'd probably hurt for a long while before she'd forget how it felt. But... puppies were hard to resist.

"On one condition."

Some of the sorrow lifted from Smith's face. "Name it—I'll do anything you ask."

That thought warmed her through and through and made it hard to say what she was going to say, but she had to. For her own sake. For his sake too, although it _really_ felt like meddling. He hadn't actually acted on his half-hearted agreement, so a little push in the right direction might decide the matter for both of them. "Take Dinah to dinner and tell her everything."

# 12

Puppies. The last thing Smith wanted was a couple of puppies around, chewing on his boots, needing to be house trained, whining through the night, needing to be fed, watered...

But from the sheer delight on Audrey's and Zach's faces as they sat by the box of puppies on the porch at the Vincent house, he knew it was the right thing to do. Even if the puppies were Labradors and would grow into big dogs.

Not that he could do anything about it now, anyway. Because there was the whole telling Carlie he'd do anything she asked thing. If he wanted her to trust him again, after how much he'd hurt her the other night, he couldn't exactly back out of this, or anything else she asked. Like dating Dinah.

His interest—if it could be called such—in Dinah had begun to wane some time ago. Not because she'd lost her looks or anything like that—she was as pretty as ever—he just didn't feel the timing was right.

Or something.

But, Carlie wasn't about to give him an out. He'd made a bargain with her, and by the look of things, she was determined to make him see it through. And who knew? Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he thought it might be.

"Two puppies, hey?" Abel Vincent said, grinning at him like he'd lost his mind. And he had, he just couldn't do a thing about it. "They're gonna be keeping you up at night for a day or two."

"We'll take care of them," Audrey promised, holding the little chocolate-colored puppy she'd instantly named Princess to her cheek. "We promise, Uncle Smith."

"We ack-shually promise," Zach added, picking up a one puppy after another. When a little black puppy finally licked him on the nose the moment he held it up, he declared it the perfect choice.

While the two talked to Abel about caring for their puppies, Smith looked around for Carlie. The last he'd seen of her, she'd been heading inside with one of the Vincent twins. Rebekah or Rachel, he wasn't sure which. All he cared about was how long they were going to be and what Carlie could be up to, disappearing like that, without telling him where she was going or—

_Back off, dude. She's not your responsibility and doesn't answer to you._ Easier said than done, but he turned his attention to Abel and could only pray that he'd not do or say anything to hurt her like that again.

"It's good of you to do this," Abel said, nodding his head to where the kids were sitting. "Getting a dog is a permanent thing. Might help them feel like this is home."

Smith hadn't thought of that and admitted as much. He also admitted the truth. "I wasn't planning on doing this anytime soon. I got distracted a couple of days ago, and before I knew what I was doing, I promised I'd get them each a puppy."

"Well, keeping your word's just as important to gaining their trust as anything else."

Carlie's trust too, but Smith didn't add that. He just nodded and watched as Audrey picked her puppy up and buried her face against its fur. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, tears were running down her cheeks. Maybe this really did mean something to the kids?

Zach rolled by, giggling uncontrollably as his puppy chased him, licking at any spot of bare skin it could find. And this time it wasn't Audrey who had to wipe away a few tears.

A hand landed on Smith's shoulder, and without being told, he knew Carlie was standing behind him, and knew, too, that she'd seen what he'd seen. Or he hoped she had.

Except... she might have just been warning him she was there, because the next thing he knew, she'd pulled his phone from his pocket, and with a snicker that sent a chill down his spine, she walked away again.

With an effort, Smith stopped himself from groaning out loud and focused his attention on what Abel was asking. A question about work he had to get the old man to repeat because he had no idea what it was.

He shook his head. "No, it hasn't been too busy. One wreck about two miles north of town last night. Driver fell asleep behind the wheel. No injuries though, so he can't have been going too fast."

"Glad to hear that." Abel started reminiscing about a wreck he'd seen back in the day, but Smith's attention strayed to where Carlie was standing, talking to the Vincent girl again as she waved his phone in the air. Dread kept him pinned to the chair, and he could do nothing more than watch as she typed something and then said something to make the other girl smile.

If he could have torn the phone from her hand and thrown it in the river he would have. But he was forced to sit and watch as she planned his future out and... _Ouch. I gotta say, that_ does _hurt._

A faint ding sounded, and he almost leaped across the distance between them to put a stop to this nonsense, but he didn't. He could have done without the Vincent girl knowing what Carlie was doing, but he probably deserved the humiliation.

So, he toughed it out and listened as best he could to Abel and tried not to let on that he found it embarrassing that anyone else would know he'd let her set him up on a date.

However, the moment they hopped in his truck and started down the road for home, mindful of the kids behind them, he tentatively expressed his concerns.

Only for Carlie to roll her eyes. "I was showing her how to get to this cute little fabric store I found down in the city last time I was there."

Smith wasn't convinced, but there were reasons why he wasn't going to outright object to anything Carlie said. "Didn't you get a message?"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell her what it was." Carlie stared out the windshield a moment longer then rounded on him with fire in her eyes. "Did you seriously think I'd embarrass you like that? This thing we're doing right now—me texting Dinah on your behalf and all—that's between you and me, Smithy." Throwing herself back in her seat, she crossed her arms with a huff, the air whistling between her teeth. "You sure do have a thick head."

Smith swallowed. So he'd misjudged her. Probably not for the first time. And it wasn't just the men at church who didn't deserve her. _He_ didn't deserve her either. "So, um, what am I in for?"

It took a moment before Carlie would even look at him, and when she did, her expression wasn't exactly the most forgiving. "With Dinah?" He nodded, afraid to open his mouth for fear of what would come out. "Friday night. Dinner. At the lodge. I booked you the table under the window."

"Do I need a window seat?"

"It's the best spot. The views are amazing and—"

Smith frowned. This was something new. "You've been there before?"

They were turning a corner right then, but he was certain his eyes weren't deceiving him. That one quick glance... Carlie's cheeks were pink, and she'd suddenly taken great interest in something out her window. "Yes. I was there a few weeks ago."

Did he dare? Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice with the faces of every unmarried man he knew dancing before his eyes. "Who with?"

He chanced a quick glance at Carlie just in time to see the glint in her eyes. "A friend. From school, if you must know."

Smith groaned. Whether inward or out loud he had no idea, but a groan, nonetheless. One that Carlie either heard or figured out. Her eyes proved as much.

"Thin ice, Smithy, _very_ thin ice..."

# 13

Smith paused by the door, one hand on the handle as he looked from Carlie to the two kids huddled over their puppies on the couch. He didn't look at all excited about going on a date. In fact, if anyone had asked, Carlie would have been forced to say he didn't want to go.

His silence stretched until she began to wonder if she was going to have to kick him out, and then he slowly turned the knob, still not looking like he wanted to step through that door. "You're all set then?"

"Yep. Go have fun." Carlie almost added, "Without us," but didn't think it was polite to point out the difference in their situations, or alert the very observant Smith to the fact that she was still jealous. Even though it was _her_ idea for him to take Dinah to the lodge in Rhodes Crossing tonight, _her_ text message––from his phone, of course––that got him the date, and _her_ call that reserved the best table. It felt rather ironic that she pushed him to go, and now that he was leaving, that was the last thing she wanted.

Instead, Carlie gave Smith a wide smile, walked to the door, and pushed him out, one hand on his back. "Go. Have fun, Johnson."

A faint blush stained her cheeks. So much for not letting him know something was wrong. Calling him Johnson was about as subtle as screaming her anguish from the rooftops. Oh well, she'd just have to make the most of it.

"We'll be fine here. But you––" she grabbed the door and started to push it closed "—will be late for your first date if you don't get going. So go. Now."

Even with the door closing in his face, Smith hesitated. Then he did the unthinkable. He lifted one hand to her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "Carlie..."

Carlie caught his hand and pulled it away, even though it took every ounce of effort she could muster. Her voice didn't work quite right, but she could only hope he didn't notice. "Go, Smithy. If you're late you won't get a goodnight kiss."

A sheen of moisture made his face swim before her, but before he could stop her, she closed the door in his face and leaned against it.

Johnson. Carlie called him Johnson again. Which meant she was upset. He couldn't just leave. Not without––

"Go. Please, Smith. This isn't your battle to fight. We can talk later."

Carlie knew him so well. She wouldn't have to be told he'd lean against the door like that, hesitating to leave without making sure she was truly okay first. She was the sweetest woman...

Smith seriously doubted the wisdom of setting foot in the lodge tonight. Not when his heart was here, at home with the people he loved most.

Loved.

Smith took a deep breath, running a shaky hand across his face. Was that true? Did he love Carlie? Like _that_? His head told him no, it wasn't possible, they were just friends. His heart said something different.

In one hand, he held the box of chocolates Carlie had bought for his date––yes, _Carlie_ ––doing his dirty work for him. Again. In the other, he held the notes from the investigation––as much as he was free to share. He could stay. He didn't have to go. It didn't matter to him what people thought about his sister or her husband. He knew the truth, and the gossip was just that––gossip.

But––it mattered to Carlie. "For Emery," she'd said.

He was doing this for his sister. To prove to everyone that Emery wasn't the reprobate they all thought. That what happened wasn't her fault. She'd been blackmailed, the detective said. Rick's past had been held over her head, and she'd done what she could to protect their children.

Smith took a deep breath and stepped away from the door, wondering if the soft, "I'll be praying for you," he thought he heard was only imagined or if Carlie had really said it. He almost went back to ask, but he knew if he turned back now nothing would get him out that door again. He took another breath. This was for Emery––and Carlie.

With that thought in mind, he didn't look back; didn't let himself think about the sadness he'd seen in Carlie's eyes over the past few days when she thought he wasn't watching. He was doing this for her, and when it was over and done, it would all be behind them and he could go home. Where he belonged.

As he pulled out of the drive, he glanced towards the house, but no familiar faces showed at the window. It was just as well. He still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go through with this and didn't need the encouragement to stay home.

In an effort to distract himself, Smith turned on the radio, but the first song that started playing was the same one they'd danced to the night Emery and Rick got married. He'd held Carlie in his arms then, too, but it was different. They'd just been friends––good friends, but only friends.

Laughing. Stepping on each other's toes. Trying to outdo each other to see who was the best at being a bad dancer. A twist on being the worst because, according to Carlie, weddings should bring out the best in people, and "worst" was too negative. More laughter followed, and then with tears ruining her makeup, Carlie'd kicked her shoes off and stood on his feet to save her toes. They hadn't done much other than sway to the music after that. Not because he wasn't capable of moving them both. He just didn't want to stomp on her bare feet anymore than he already had.

It was all fun and games. And, as a result, he hadn't been bothered in the least when the song ended and someone else came to claim her for the next dance. He'd watched her twirl away, smiling when their eyes met, not even the remotest pang of jealousy in his heart.

Not like he was experiencing now.

What was he going to do when she got married? She'd already asked him to walk her down the aisle.

_"There isn't anyone else," Carlie told him the day she asked. "Not with Papa gone now, too."_

_"Sure," he'd agreed, thinking she was just being silly, and when the time came, he'd probably be standing up at the front of the church with the rest of their friends. Relegated to man of honor or some silly thing like that._

_"I mean it, Smithy," Carlie said, leaning close enough that her forehead touched his. "You're the next thing I have to family."_

_He'd brushed her off, laughing at her as he took a step back. "You always get in people's faces like that?"_

_"Only you, Smithy, only you." Carlie laughed at him, her brown eyes sparkling with fun. "You're the only one I can trust to not push me away. I wouldn't dare do anything like that to anyone else."_

_Just as well_. Smith sighed, pulling himself back from his memories as he steered the old truck around a pot hole. It was his first time to take her beyond the end of their road and he couldn't bring himself to care. _I'd be clunking heads together left and right if she did. No one, but no one, gets that close to my––_

But she wasn't his. Might never be his. And there was nothing he could do about it. The only consolation he had was the fact that, until she met "the one," he didn't have to worry about her getting too close to any other men.

One fist thumped the steering wheel. Common sense told him not to tear the thing off and throw it out the window. Even if he wanted to. He considered that option for a few seconds though––it was just that frustrating. Maybe he should pack the kids up and move? At least until Carlie was married and settled. It'd be better for all of them if he wasn't around when that happened.

Would that help though? As busy as he'd been all week, he still hadn't been able to get her off his mind. At home or at work. She was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep. There was only one answer to why he was this messed up, but he didn't know what to do about it.

He just knew––in that instant as he turned onto the road leading to Rhodes Crossing––that running away wouldn't help. Either of them.

The look on her face when he crashed on her couch two weeks ago and told her about his day still haunted him. Trapped in the cab of a semi, trying to stabilize the driver as they slid further down the hill, hoping–– _praying_ ––that help would arrive before they went off the cliff...

He hadn't known how close they came until afterwards. And it was at that point in his story when Carlie's face turned white, and muttering something about water, she fled the room.

A most _un_ -Carlie thing to do. A little thing at the time, but thinking back on it now, that memory gave him hope that maybe she did care. More than she'd admit. Maybe––

In his distraction, he took the corner a little too fast. Not dangerously so, but enough to send the papers on the passenger seat careening off onto the floor. With them went the box of chocolates.

And that brought him back to reality with a jolt. He was going on a date. With a woman he barely knew. _Didn't_ know, actually. When the woman he did know stayed home, watching his kids, cleaning his house... _You are one seriously messed up dude!_

He slowed, but didn't stop or turn around. He just needed time to think this through. _You saw the text. Carlie didn't say "date." You're meeting this woman for dinner to discuss the case. So... business arrangement? Carlie is the one who called it a date. The chocolates were her idea. She's throwing you––_ the palm of his hand hit the steering wheel–– _why is she throwing you at this woman? It's as though she wants––_

He did stop then. Right in the middle of the road with no idea what was coming before or behind. Thankfully, no one. Because the truth blocked every other thought from his mind, and he wouldn't have seen them coming if they were right in his face. _Carlie doesn't want this anymore than you do, but she's doing everything she can to make it happen. For you. Because she thinks that's what you want. Oh, Carlie!_

Smith felt like his heart was simultaneously going to break and explode right out of his chest. What happened tonight was beside the point. He wasn't going on a date with a pretty woman. He was going to clear the air about his sister and her husband, and when that was done, he was going home to the woman he loved.

Yes, loved. Like _that_.

# 14

Despite knowing what he was doing was for a good cause, it felt all wrong. He should be home. He should be back where––and no, that wasn't necessarily true. He _would_ be home. He _would_ be back where he belonged. When this was all over. But... first things first. He was here to clear Emery's name.

At least thinking of his sister had the ability to tear his mind from Carlie. It was about the only thing that could make him forget Carlie, if only for a few minutes, so he focused on that, running over what they'd be talking about.

With hindsight to go by––and that was easy for him to say––Emery should have trusted Rick more. Should have told him what was happening. Because, by the time he found out, it was too late. They were both killed the next day in a drop gone wrong.

In a classic, bad movie moment, the man they met mistook Rick for a policeman and started shooting. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late for Rick, and for Emery, too, who was caught in the crossfire when the real police arrived.

But, it wasn't _that_ he was there to talk about so much as what led to that point. The blackmail. The threats against Audrey and Zach. The fact that whoever was behind the blackmail knew everything there was to know about Emery and Rick's marriage and family life. All the little details that resulted in Emery breaking the law and losing her life.

The road to the lodge came into sight, and Smith slowed for the turn. Only a few minutes and he'd be there. Not that he was eager to get started. He wanted nothing more than for it to all be over. What he wouldn't give to be doing this with Carlie at his side. Or at least where he could compare notes with her.

His hand fumbled for his phone, pulling it from his pocket as he slowed to a stop at the intersection to wait for a semi to pass by. Carlie's number was only a few clicks away, but he hesitated with his thumb over the screen.

He could almost hear her voice... _"Go have fun, Smithy. We'll talk later."_

Well, he wasn't going to have fun, but he did have a legitimate reason to be there, and if he kept it strictly business, it wouldn't go against his idea of what was right. As for talking later—that they would. But not about what Carlie thought they'd talk about.

Indecision kept the phone in his hand all the way to the drive leading up to the lodge. Call Carlie or not? There wasn't much she could do, other than pack the kids in her car and come join him on his business date. Which would only make him look like an idiot.

He was an adult and could handle this on his own. Possibly. The fact that he'd nearly messed up his and Carlie's lives forever by ever entertaining the thought that any other woman had even the remotest possibility of being suitable for him kind of made him doubt his own mental abilities. It was right there, staring him in the face, and probably had been for years. He'd just gotten so used to having Carlie around, he never gave it another thought.

Until the very thought of losing her woke him up.

The truck inched its way along the drive without any encouragement from him. Go or stay? As clearly as he could hear Carlie telling him to stay, he could also imagine what she'd have to say if he didn't. And it wouldn't be pretty.

So, fine. He threw the phone on the passenger seat and applied a little pressure to the gas pedal. Just enough to send him all the way up the drive and into the parking lot at the lodge.

Despite being friends with Gaines, he hadn't eaten there yet. Not in the restaurant at least. He'd joined Gaines and a bunch of their friends for a game a time or two. Burgers and football on the big screen back in Gaines's private quarters.

Carlie said it was good, and he had no reason to doubt her word. The only thing he doubted was the identity of the person or persons who'd taken her there. Which wasn't fair to Carlie.

"Friends from school," Carlie'd said, but the way her cheeks turned pink twisted a knife in his stomach.

_Friends_ didn't make you blush at the memory.

_Friends_ didn't stay in the vague category when you were talking to your best friend.

The only reason to keep it vague would be to stop him from knowing who she'd been with, and that thought wrapped around his heart and squeezed until it hurt. So much for knowing everything there was to know about Carlie. She obviously hadn't trusted him with that memory.

Unless she was telling the truth and it was only a friend from school and he'd just twisted her reaction to suit his own jealousy. Which, now that he understood a few things a bit better, was more likely than not. _Ouch, that stings._

Smith pulled up beside a shiny black Mercedes, where a tall red-headed woman in a too-short, too-tight skirt leaned against the front fender. She shaded her eyes when his lights shone right at her, but that didn't stop her from straightening up and standing in a way that would display assets that should have been better covered.

_Great_. Smith groaned aloud. All he wanted right then was to crash on the end of Carlie's couch, stick his sock-covered feet up on the coffee table, and watch a game—football, baseball, anything that had two teams competing against each other to score the most points. He'd even take rugby over this.

The woman––Dinah, wasn't it?––probably didn't even know what a football was, and she'd probably frown at a pair of holey socks sitting on any piece of furniture belonging to her, least of all a sparkling clean, glass-topped coffee table. _Carlie didn't bat an eyelash, and by the end of the night, she was doing it too. Holes and all._

The thought of what he'd left at home almost made him feel like he might cry, but Smith wasn't a crying man. He'd made the arrangements––by proxy––and like a real man, he'd see the night through.

But that was it. After tonight, he wasn't having any more of Carlie's dating help. Not even if she turned him down. A thought that scared him more than he cared to admit.

As soon as his truck came to a stop, Dinah hurried over to his door. Too impatient to wait for him to come to her, in fact, too impatient to wait for him to open the door, she pulled on the handle. Finding the door still locked, she rapped on the window, mouthing and pointing for him to unlock it.

Smith held up one hand while he fumbled on the floor for the papers. The chocolates were there too, but he shoved them under the seat before she saw. He'd give them to Carlie. Or burn them. Because anything bought for someone other than Carlie wasn't good enough for her. _And you got it bad._

With a shake, he forced his attention back to the present. __ Oh, yeah, now that he was here, he'd stick it out, but he wasn't going to repeat this process, not even if Carlie walked out and got married tomorrow. No way, no how. Tonight was it. After this, he was done with dating. For ever.

Another rap sounded on the window. Smith grabbed his phone along with the last of the papers, and pushed the door open.

"It's about time!" Dinah squealed, almost throwing herself at him.

Blocking her with one arm, Smith looked at his watch. One unplanned stop and all, he was still five minutes early. "I'm not late," he growled.

Dinah wrapped both hands around his arm and practically bounced up and down. "I know, I know! I was just _sooo_ excited! A date with the hero firefighter." Leaning close, she smiled up at him. " _All_ the girls are _sooo_ envious, you know. I can't wait to tell them all about tonight."

"This is a business meeting, remember?" Smith calmly unpeeled her hands from his arm, but when a pout replaced the smiles she'd been throwing his way, he offered her his arm as though that was what he'd intended all along. "I didn't think home would work very well for an interview, not with the kids there. I'd rather they didn't have to relive this," he waved the papers he was carrying in his free hand, "as rough as the last couple of months have been."

# 15

Dinah sighed. The kids. Of course. She'd have to play her cards well to win this one, and then she'd have to figure out a way to get rid of the kids so she and Smith could have a nice, childless marriage. Maybe that pesky neighbor would take them...

She glanced up at Smith Johnson, her eyes narrowing. _Yep, definitely getting rid of the kids_.

This hunk of a man wasn't worth losing, but there was no way she was going to raise someone else's brats. Not when she wasn't even planning to raise her own. Or have her own. No thanks. No ruined figure or hampered lifestyle for her.

But, best not to let Smith know how she felt... "So, how are the darlings?"

Smith's eyebrows rose, but she chose to ignore the look that screamed skepticism. It wasn't as though she'd outwardly expressed her disdain. "They're getting there."

"Oh, good!" Dinah could only hope her tone made it sound like she actually cared. "I've been _sooo_ worried about them."

"Right. Thanks."

Okay, so it was going to take more than idle chitchat to draw him out. She was more than capable of handling the task. She had the evening planned out to the last minute and knew all the best ways to get the information she wanted. She'd have him sharing his life story by the end of the night or die trying. And she had no intention of doing anything remotely close to dying.

When they reached the door to the restaurant, Smith murmured his name to the waiter, and they were led to a table in the corner between two windows. One small victory for her––he knew the place and chose the best table, which meant he wasn't as impervious to her charms as he let on. He didn't seem all that happy tonight, but there could be any number of reasons behind that. So long as he was here––and he was––she didn't care. Give her ten minutes and––

The waiter's sudden return was a very unwelcome distraction. "What'll it be, folks? Ready to order?"

"Of course not!" Dinah picked up her napkin and gave it a flick. The poor boy probably didn't know any better. "We only just sat down. Don't be so impatient."

"Sorry, just trying to do my job." "The poor boy" held up both hands as he backed away from the table, forgetting to even offer them a drink. It might be the best place in town, but they could stand to copy their big city counterparts a little more. Be better for business. And maybe she should write an article, make a few recommendations, suggest ways the town could be improved...

But Smith was frowning at the menu as though he wasn't at all pleased about being here. She couldn't have him walking out before she got what she wanted.

Because more was at stake here than a stupid story for a stupid newspaper. This place was just a stepping stone for where she really wanted to be. Smith's story meant nothing to her. It was just a means to advance her career, and he a little bonus along the way. Hadn't the girls down at the office told her he never looked at a girl twice? She'd prove them wrong...

Making sure to lean forward just far enough to offer a glimpse of what could be, she plastered on her most winning smile. "So... how does the salmon sound? I've heard the food here is the best in the state."

The serious look on Smith's face didn't offer much hope for success, but the evening had only just begun. And he did give her a faint smile. "I've heard good things about the salmon. Gaines gets it straight from a guy he knows in Alaska."

" _Oooh!_ Wild salmon! __ That's even better. _Sooo_ delish!" Dropping the menu she'd been holding on the table, Dinah leaned forward, reaching across the table to touch the back of his hand, letting her fingers trail across his skin as he moved his arm to set his menu on top of hers.

Smith never so much as flinched. Playing hard to get, was he? Well, she knew how to get around that. Leaning forward a little further, she caught his eye. "So, tell me, how _did_ you end up with a name like Smith? It's such an _unusual_ first name, you know. I don't think I've _ever_ heard of _anyone_ who had that for a _first_ name."

"I believe my mother chose it. And yes––" Without so much as looking at her, Smith motioned for the waiter to come and take their order, his eyes following the waiter's movements across the room rather than dropping to the dangerously low neckline of her dress. "It's a family name. My great-great-grandfather's, I think it was. Since then––"

He grinned over at her now, and Dinah held her breath, waiting for his eyes to drop as she knew they would. When that happened, she'd have him, hook, line, and sinker. But his gaze never left hers. "Since then, every generation has had a Smith. So, really, I'm Smith Johnson the fourth. My son, when I have one, will probably be the fifth. If my wife and I decide to continue the tradition."

Kids. He wanted _more_ kids. Dinah almost threw herself back in her chair. And he hadn't looked down even once. She'd put everything she knew into catching him out and... nothing. The man was an idiot. He probably deserved that scruffy cowgirl. Except that would be a waste of one hot firefighter––EMT––whatever he was.

"How sweet," she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes, and she threw everything into one last effort to... best him, at whatever game it was they were playing.

Smith Johnson wasn't falling at her knees like she planned. Her bet with the girls back at the office was staring her in the face, and her guaranteed win was looking pretty bleak. Pride wouldn't let her back down now though. One more smile. One more––

Her fingers found the back of his hand, stilling his movement as he went to set his glass of water down. "And may I ask, is there a _Mrs_. Johnson in waiting?"

A smile played around the corners of Smith's mouth, and he shook her hand off. "Maybe."

Dinah snatched her hand back, searching his eyes to make sure he wasn't laughing at her. The face that stared back was serious, more serious than she would have believed. She blinked, shocked by the truth she saw in his eyes. "So, you're here on a date with me, and there's some girl somewhere else who I'm to believe you're planning to marry?"

"Like I said before," Smith drawled, grinning up at the gawking waiter, "this is purely a business meeting. In order to keep the kids from having to hear about their parents' death any more than need be."

"Oh, right. The interview." Dinah's nose curled. She'd gone to that house hunting a story for the paper that would make her boss bow at her feet, and now that it was being handed to her on a silver platter, the last thing she wanted was to hear it. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I'm the one to write it. Hits too close to home, you know, with those _lovely_ little darlings being torn from a _loving_ —" not that she believed that any more than the rest of the town did, but it didn't hurt to rub it in, "—home, never to see their parents again." Laying a hand over her heart, she whispered her thanks to her high school drama teacher, and then added, "Please forgive me for dragging you all the way over here for no reason, but I really don't think I could do your story justice."

Gathering up her purse, she stood, letting her body do the talking for a moment before she held her hand out. It had never before failed to get her where she wanted to go, but so far this idiot seemed immune to her curves.

Smith leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on the table, the other resting on his leg. He barely looked at her, ignoring her hand and choosing instead to focus on the waiter who stood beside her, poised to take their order. "Looks like it's just going to be me tonight," he drawled, sounding so far from upset that Dinah almost picked up the vase from the middle of the table and threw it at his stupid head.

His stupid, thick head. Her ambitions lay in ruins at her feet, and she could already hear the mocking laughter from her colleagues as they reminded her they'd told her so. The only thing keeping her from hauling him out was the knowledge that with her pen––so to speak––she could exact her revenge.

It wasn't easy though, and her fingers curled into a fist, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. "I'm leaving. This is getting us nowhere."

"Have a good evening." It probably wasn't his best moment, but Smith wasn't about to give her the pleasure of letting his eyes even flicker towards her body. And to look up at her, he'd have to at least look at some part of her. Any attraction he might have felt that first day was long gone now that he'd seen what probably wasn't even the worst of her. Hopefully for the last time. At least she wasn't planning to try to get him to talk. And if he played his cards right, he could stop that idea from ever taking off.

Dinah flounced away, and as the waiter's eyes followed her across the room, Smith pulled out his phone. One swift, carefully worded text later, and he leaned back in his chair again.

"Do you mind if I wait a few minutes? It looks like I might be having dinner with someone else." He waved at the vase of flowers in the middle of the table. "Could you move these somewhere else? This _was_ supposed to be a business meeting."

"Certainly." The boy looked like he thought Smith had lost his mind, but the kid didn't know anything about the shapely brunette waiting back at home. The one he decided was going to realize she wasn't his sister—if he could figure out how to go about doing that. "Will––ah––this guest be female?"

"Nope." Smith grinned up at him. "Reckon I'm stupid enough to try that twice in one night?" A message flashed across the screen of his phone, and he nodded."Good. Pierce should be here in about five minutes." Which would give him about enough time to organize his thoughts and figure out just what he wanted to share. To the editor of the paper this time, not a wannabe reporter out to prove herself.

# 16

"Okay, kids, it's bedtime." As she walked across the room to set the remote on the tv stand, Carlie tried not to look at the clock again. Smith was later than he said he'd be. Much later. Which meant he was having a good time.

With Dinah.

Not Carlie.

Pasting a smile on her face, she lifted Zach off the couch and then held her hand out to Audrey. The little girl scrunched up her face, but she was too tired to argue, and after a brief struggle, she slid off the couch, taking the hand Carlie was holding out.

Disappointment filled the little girl's eyes, and Carlie felt a twinge of sadness. They'd tried so hard to wait up for their Uncle Smith, but it was getting late. With school in the morning, she didn't have a choice. In fact, she'd probably kept them up too long as it was.

Summer break was close, but they still had one more week of school. And, apparently, it was her responsibility to ensure they got some sleep, not the wayward uncle who decided to stay out half the night.

_Didn't promise anything. So it's not fair to be upset with him for not doing what he asked you to do. You're just cross with him because––_

A little hand tugged on hers.

"Can you tell Uncle Smith he's gotta kiss us goodnight when he gets home?" Audrey rubbed her eyes and yawned, obviously tired enough to go to bed, but not too tired to be able to skip the reminder that he was still there. And wasn't going to disappear like her parents had. "And don't forget to tell him he's gotta check our puppies too. Princess might want a kiss."

"Sure." Carlie dropped to her knees and pulled the little girl into a tight hug, kissed her forehead, then did the same with Zach. "Let's go read a story, then when Uncle Smith gets home I'll make sure he comes to tuck you in all over again."

"You're not gunna go 'way, are you?" This from Zach, who ducked his head as soon as he'd spoken, but not before Carlie saw the fear in his eyes. "We want you to stay, too."

"I'll be right here." Carlie led the pair down the hallway and into the room they shared. Maybe when they were older they'd each have their own room, but for now they couldn't bear to be apart. And she didn't blame them. "I'll even sit with you until you fall asleep."

Audrey's head came up. " _I'm_ not going to sleep until Uncle Smith gets home."

"Okay, then I'll just sit here with you so you're not all alone in this big room."

"Zachie's with me." Arms crossed, Audrey stuck her chin out, daring Carlie to argue with that.

"Yeah, but he's probably going to go to sleep. Then who'll you talk to?" Grabbing an extra pillow to put behind her back, Carlie dropped it on the floor by the wall, helped Zach into bed, then went to tuck Audrey in. Only then did she drop down on the floor between the beds, a book in her hand.

For all Audrey's determination to stay awake until Smith got home, she was soundly sleeping before the end of the first chapter. Zach took a little longer, but his eyes started fluttering by the end of the second chapter, and a few minutes later, Carlie turned off the light and pulled the door almost all the way closed.

Her heart ached for these two motherless babies, and she could only hope Dinah was the kind of girl who'd take them both to heart and shower them with love the way Carlie thought they deserved.

All evening, she'd put aside almost all thought of Smith and his date, focusing her time and effort into making sure Audrey and Zach had the most fun they'd had all week. They'd laughed, played with their puppies, eaten in front of the tv, and then played some more. When it got late, the puppies were in bed for the night, and they were all too tired for games, she let them watch a movie, curling up on the couch between them.

Even then, she'd refused to let her mind go for more than a few seconds at a time to Smith Johnson and the woman he had chosen to spend his evening with. Even that length of time was just long enough cause her to feel her heartache all over again and renew her frustration with the man who didn't know how she felt and probably would never know how much it hurt that he'd left her behind. That he'd moved on––into a stage of life in which she was no longer welcome.

A stage where _she_ wanted to be one of the two key players. Something she realized way too late.

But now that the kids were in bed, and both puppies were curled up in the corner of their box sleeping, there was nothing left to distract her. As much as she didn't want to, she couldn't help but peek out the window to see if his truck was coming up the road.

Nope. Nothing. It must have turned out to be some date, keeping him out this late.

Carlie glanced at the clock. 11pm. He left around 6:30, so that meant he'd been gone––however long it had been––and all in the company of that gorgeous red-head.

_Ouch._ That hurt. Just like it had been hurting all week.

With one hand still holding the curtains back, Carlie bowed her head and tried to pray. She didn't know what she was praying for, but the words wouldn't come anyway, just like they hadn't come any time she tried to pray about Smith. All that came was a terrible ache in her heart. An ache she didn't want to explain, because then it would be all too real.

If she ignored it maybe it would go away.

Because no matter how she felt, Smith only had eyes for Dinah. He'd had plenty of opportunities over the years to ask Carlie out, and despite his concern about her prospects, _he'd_ never thought of her as anything other than a sister. He'd even said so. Or, at least, he hadn't disagreed with her when she said it. Which meant there was no use getting herself all upset, and she needed to just get over him.

Like he said, someone would come along someday. As though anyone would ever be able to take Smith's place.

The ache clamped around her heart again, and covering her face, Carlie sank down on the couch, buried her head in her arms, and let herself have a good cry.

When the tears finally dried up, Carlie tried praying again, this time able to form coherent sentences, even if the only thing she could really put into words was a desperate plea for there to be a chance for her and Smith and if not, for her heart to stop aching.

"Your will be done," she whispered as she wiped her eyes and stood.

Deep down, she hoped the Lord's will was what her heart really wanted, because she was a little worried she was only saying that to appease her head and what she knew was right. Her heart seemed to have a mind of its own right now, thinking and feeling things it had never thought or felt before. Desiring something that was no longer within her reach.

The kitchen was still a mess from supper, but Carlie welcomed the work. It gave her hands something to do while she waited for Smith to get home. And he _would_ come home, she had no doubt of that. He wasn't the sort of man to stay out all night, or embroil himself in anything that was even remotely inappropriate, but how long it would be before he came was anyone's guess.

All Carlie could do was hope she'd make it through the night. Finish here, go home, curl up in her own bed, and cry herself to sleep. Tomorrow was a whole new day, and she'd take it as it came.

With those cheerful thoughts to spur her on, Carlie worked away at the pile of dishes, trying not to watch the clock as the hands moved closer and closer towards midnight. Smith was taking a lot longer than he'd thought. A lot longer than _she_ thought. He and Dinah must have hit it off better than anyone expected.

At 11:55––Carlie had just looked at the clock––a scream echoed through the house. Dropping the pot she was drying and throwing the towel on the island, Carlie ran for the kids' bedroom, bursting through the door just as Audrey screamed again. Gathering the little girl in her arms, Carlie held her while she sobbed, brushing the hair back from the little girl's face as she murmured anything she could think of that might help. All the while keeping one eye on the door, hoping against hope Smith would walk in.

He should have been there. It was his place to be there. And she couldn't help feeling a twinge of annoyance that he wasn't.

Because he didn't walk in, and when Audrey fell into an exhausted sleep, it was Carlie who lay the little girl back in her bed. Carlie who stood at the door listening to the shuddering breaths as the little girl slept. Carlie who pulled the door closed and tiptoed away.

Fatigue had begun to set in, but she picked up the towel and went back to work. Leaving a dirty kitchen behind wasn't an option, even if she was ready to welcome Smith home with a two-by-four to the side of the head.

He deserved it.

Warmth from the dish water made her glad she'd tied her hair up in a bun tonight. Not that it mattered how she fixed her hair, no one cared, but at least she wasn't getting hot. Bothered, yes, but not hot. So very, very bothered. Something she was only too willing to admit as she plunged her hands into the hot water and all but slammed the dishes into the drying rack.

Not her best moment, and she'd feel guilty later, but it felt good in a way. Almost as good as cracking every last dish over Smith's head.

Because he had no right to abandon them like this. No right to just walk out of her life. They went back so far, they had _history_. Some of it, _ancient_ history. Like the day she first went to school and he held her hand––secretly––on the bus all the way to town.

What they had ran so deep no one should be coming between them. Which was all well and good, but figuring this out _after_ she set him up on a date with another woman was kind of ironic. And infuriating.

And the only fair way to deal with her frustration was to take it out on Smith. Or at least dream of taking it out on Smith. Because, even if she wanted to hurt him as much as she was hurting, he could never know. This was her cross to bear.

Finally, tossing the towel on the counter, she jerked the drain plug out with more force than necessary. It was either that or cry and she wasn't about to cry.

Not for a thick-headed numbskull who couldn't see what was right in front of his nose. He deserved that two-by-four and more.

And a tiny voice in the back of her head kindly pointed out, again, that the whole date was _her_ idea, and he'd just gone along with her because _she_ made him do it. He didn't have to cooperate, but if anyone was to blame, it was her.

Instead of Smith ruining her life, she'd done a pretty neat job of wrapping it up and sending any hope she might have had packing. _Well done, Carla Jane Davenport, well done._

# 17

Smith never expected to make it all the way home and inside without anyone hearing or noticing he was there, but he did. And he was glad for the extra few moments to watch Carlie working before she knew he was there. If only because he planned to remember it forever.

Even if she was attacking the sink like she took issue with it being part of the universe.

Time to watch gave him time to think, to plan his own—albeit gentle—attack. What did a man do when the woman he loved saw him as nothing more than a brother? Other than...

An idea came to mind that he tried to push aside, but it wouldn't go. Why not show her what she was missing? Why not––at the very least––try to get her to see him as something more? What could he lose? The woman he didn't have?

Stepping forward, he rested one hand on either of her hips and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. "I'm home."

Carlie froze, and Smith learned in a hurry that one kiss, even if she wasn't kissing him back, wasn't enough. Having her in his arms seemed to affect his brain in ways he'd never thought possible, and he'd left a trail of kisses from her neck to her ear before she spun around. At which point he was only too happy to pull her into his arms properly.

"Carlie..."

"Finally decide to come home, did you?"

Sparks danced in her eyes, and by the look of it, if she'd been able, she'd be more than happy to skewer him right through the heart. He _might_ have deserved her anger, maybe a tiny bit, but even that couldn't stop his smile. She was there, she was in his arms, and––

Smith sighed and pulled his hands away. From the glares he was getting, Carlie was about as happy to see him as a prisoner the gallows he was about to be hung on. Which wasn't the welcome home he'd been dreaming of.

Shoving his fists in his pockets, he stepped back. "Sorry I'm late. I had a flat tire. Had to call Dane and get him to run a spare out. When we tried to get the wheel off, three of the lug nuts broke, and we ended up having to call the tow truck. Eric wasn't too happy about being dragged out of bed."

Carlie swallowed, her eyes wide, the anger almost visibly dissipating. Smith could almost see the wheels turning in her head, and as well as he knew her, he could easily imagine what she was thinking. And it looked like her relief had something to do with the fact he hadn't been out with Dinah all evening. Only _half_ the evening.

A tiny speck of hope that lasted until Carlie turned her back and basically gave him the cold shoulder. "You could have called. Audrey asked me to tell you she wanted you to kiss her goodnight when you got home. I told her you would. You're supposed to kiss Princess goodnight too."

Smith nodded at Carlie's back. He'd expected as much, and wouldn't have been surprised if the kids'd still been up when he got home. Concern for the kids being the only redeeming factor to the midnight call, according to Eric.

It didn't take long to walk down the hall to the kids' room. Both kids were sleeping soundly, but he kissed them anyway. And paused in their room—out of sight from Carlie––to pray for healing for them and wisdom for himself.

Not just in regard to raising them, but in how to deal with Carlie, too. What he knew about her seemed to indicate the straightforward approach would be the better choice. But how did one come out and tell their best friend that he'd fallen in love with her? It seemed too personal for an abrupt announcement, but beating about the bush wasn't going to help either of them.

Staying away wasn't an option either though, so he pulled the kids' door closed again, skipped the mud room entirely—he had no desire to kiss a puppy goodnight—and headed back down the hall. Carlie's movements were frantic, like she was trying to finish up so she could escape. Before he got back.

Which was the last thing he wanted.

So, he wrapped both arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Come sit on the porch, I want to talk."

"I––I'm tired. I'd rather wait until tomorrow." Carlie picked at his hands, but her attempt to escape was feeble at best.

"Now's a better time. C'mon, it won't take long."

He didn't lift his chin until she nodded her head, and then he only let go long enough to drape an arm across her shoulders and lead her out onto the porch.

The lights were off, which was fine, but the moon was out, so they'd still be able to see. And... a slight breeze quickly reminded him that the warmth of the afternoon hadn't quite carried over to the night. It wasn't so bad they couldn't stay out for a little while though, and it would be a good excuse to snuggle.

Unlike the couch inside, there were no cushions to sink back into on the swing, but Smith didn't really want cushions. Or distance. He wanted the words to tell Carlie how he felt.

Carlie, the girl–– _woman_ , actually––who he never had trouble talking to. Ever. Not even as an awkward teenager. She always made him feel comfortable.

But now... he struggled to find the words to say. Any words would be better than this silence, but his tongue didn't want to cooperate any more than his brain. If he kept this up much longer, Carlie would think him an idiot.

The hand that wasn't resting on Carlie's shoulder clenched into a fist. Anger––hopelessness––frustration––welled up inside and his fist tightened. What was it that verse said? The one in Romans––no, James––about the wrath of man? He was a man, and his wrath wasn't––

Two small hands covered his, Carlie's fingers prying his fist open. Carlie's gentle touch breaking through to the deepest recesses of his heart, calming him in a way no other could. "How did the interview go?"

Neutral territory. Something to cling to while he got his brain straightened out. "It went better than I expected. Pierce was pretty thorough. Asked all the right questions, took notes, then let me read over everything before we left."

Carlie's head tipped back, her eyes wide. Shocked. " _Pierce?!_ "

Smith nodded, a real smile forming as the last of his frustration drained away. With Carlie as his lifeline, it almost felt as though his brain was going to do more than turn to mush. "Yeah, that date with whatshername?" Red stained his neck, and he rejoiced in the semi-darkness that hid his embarrassment... mostly. "It didn't pan out, so I gave Pierce a call."

Carlie's eyes bulged, and for a moment it looked as though she was going to cry before she turned pink. Then white. Then even pinker. "Oh."

She was adorable. There was no other word for it. Except... beautiful worked too.

Smith's eyes followed the curve of her cheek to her chin, then her lips came into view, and before he thought through what he was doing, he leaned forward and caught the back of her head with one hand. Her eyes widened as his head lowered, and then he was kissing her.

Carlie started to pull away and even whimpered a little as his arms wrapped around her. But in a turn that mirrored the abrupt change in his own heart, she stopped fighting and caught hold of his shirt. One hand at his chest, one hand at his back, her grip so tight he couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. Not unless he wanted to hurt her.

Smith could have lost himself in the kiss, but somehow it didn't feel right to kiss her without knowing whether she wanted him to or not. After all, she might not care about him in the same way he cared about her. Despite the grip on his shirt telling him otherwise.

So, he pulled back, his lips grazing hers as he whispered her name. "Carlie. Do––" But the hands holding his shirt tightened their grip, and the distance he'd put between them closed.

In a hurry. And the only thing left was to kiss her.

So he did.

And she did.

And when Smith finally pulled away, he wasn't sorry. Not even when Carlie buried her face against his chest and refused to look at him.

"Okay, that wasn't supposed to happen." Smith grinned as the hand behind him thumped his back. Obviously, whether it was supposed to happen or not, Carlie didn't want to be reminded that it _had_ happened. "I'm not sorry it did, though."

Carlie stirred, started to pull away, took one hasty look at his face, and dove for the shelter of his chest again.

"Carnage," Smith's voice shook, laughter close to the surface, "look at me."

With a tremendous shiver, Carlie fiercely shook her head... and jumped to her feet, her gaze going everywhere but in his direction. "I––I need to go home."

Okay, that wasn't what Smith wanted, but if she needed space, he'd give it to her. "I'll walk you over."

Carlie's head jerked from side to side again, her eyes on the ground this time. "No need––the kids––just in case––you––they––the puppies! The puppies might—they might get out of their box and—" Wide eyes met his for a fraction of a second. Then, with a hurried, "The fresh air will do me good," she turned to go. "I––I need to––to clear my head. I was a little upset you were gone so long."

So help him, he'd ask her forgiveness in the morning...

"You weren't jealous, were you?"

# 18

Never in her wildest dreams did Carlie think the night would end like this. With her in Smith's arms. Being kissed.

Like he meant it.

Touching her fingers to her lips, she sagged against the porch railing, staring blindly at the ghostly landscape. Where did they go from here? Their friendship would never be the same. The easy camaraderie they'd always enjoyed would be strained by an awkwardness that had never been there before. Could she stand––

Smith walked over to stand beside her, her senses alert to his every movement. He didn't touch her, other than his shoulder nudging hers as he came to a stop beside her. "Talk to me, Carlie."

"I don't know what to say."

Smith's body moved. A shudder maybe, or a flinch. A withdrawing of himself without him actually moving away. "You're not––" he paused, shifted his feet, put a little distance between them, "–– _disgusted_ ––with me, are you?"

"No!" Spinning in place, Carlie caught his shirt with both hands, clinging to him, staring up into the shadows around his eyes, her own eyes wide—scared—and a little hopeful all at the same time. Extra emphasis gave her voice a tremor, but she didn't care. " _Never!_ I could never be disgusted with you, Smithy."

"Then––what?"

His hands were shoved in his pockets now, and he didn't look as though he'd ever wanted to hold her in his arms. For a moment, Carlie doubted the kiss had ever happened. It was just a product of her overactive imagination. A hallucination caused by fatigue...

But no, her lips still tingled. He kissed her. In a very much "we're not just friends" kind of way. With feeling. And a sense of urgency. Like he really, really meant it.

"I don't want to lose our friendship. Having you here means more to me than anything."

Smith was quiet. Thoughtful. For all his impulsive kissing-ness of a few moments before, he was certainly taking his time about answering. Carlie shivered. Partly from the cool night breeze, partly from the suspense of not knowing.

Not knowing how it was going to end.

Not knowing whether Smith really cared about her or not.

Not knowing if they could still be friends.

_Failure is not an option. We_ will _make this work. If we decide––_

Smith stirred, took a deep breath, and wrapped one arm around Carlie, gently pulling her against his side. "Pastor told me once that love was friendship on fire. I don't think our friendship will suffer."

Carlie lay her head on his shoulder. They'd stood like this before. At her parents' funerals. When they got the news about Emery and Rick. Other times too. But this hug didn't feel the same as the hugs from back then. Something had changed.

_They_ had changed. Their relationship had too. They couldn't go back to what they had before––and she didn't know if she wanted to. This was better.

Much better.

"Why now? Why––after all this time?"

Smith's hand moved, rubbing her back, sliding up to her hair. He tugged on her bun until her hair fell free, and then wound his fingers through it. "I don't think it's new, Carlie. I think––" He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he leaned forward to rest his chin on top of her head. "I think I've been in love with you for years, Carlie. Since Em's wedding, at least. I just didn't know it."

Carlie tipped her head back, letting her cheek rest against his. "I think it was the same for me. I just didn't know it until––" She swallowed. This was telling, very, very telling. "Until tonight."

Smith moved so his forehead rested against hers. "So, you were jealous?"

"And upset. I might have considered breaking every dish over your head the moment you walked in the door."

A smile played about his mouth. "I hope I'm forgiven."

"Maybe." Carlie's lips twitched despite her best efforts to keep a straight face. "It's gonna take more than one kiss to make it better though."

"Playing hard to get, are you?" Smith's fingers touched her jaw, tipping her head back just tiny bit more. "You're getting in my face again. You always get up in people's faces like this?"

A pang of emotion she couldn't identify ran so deep Carlie shivered. "Only you, Smithy, only you. And if you haven't figured out what to do about it by now, there'll never be any hope for you."

His nose touched hers. The hand tangled in her hair moved to the back of her head. Of their own volition, her arms wound around his neck, and she smiled, watching his Adam's apple move up and down as he tried to speak.

At first the words wouldn't come, and then his head lowered. "I think I can manage, but you..."

From then on, time stood still. Nothing mattered but the two of them. Carlie had never felt so loved, so cherished. Had never felt so _right_. Smith was right. Their friendship had grown into something more. Something so much better than what they'd had before. All the heartache of the past few days faded away, the future looming ahead of them bright and full of hope. So much so that—

"Ew! That's a'scusting!" Shock brought them back to earth, and they turned to find Zach standing in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes, his favorite bear hanging from his hand. "I woked up an' I'm hundry."

Carlie snuck a quick look at Smith. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, shock and embarrassment so thick he couldn't move.

She snickered, caught his hand in hers, and stepped forward. "Welcome to our new normal, Smithy."

# Also by Joanne Markey

If you'd like to read more about these and other characters in the taking chances series...

Dreaming of More

Yours, Mine, & Forever

Christmas Rose
