© Nancy Fraser
Santa Rosa, CA, February 1965
“Home sweet home,” he said. “Or, at least I assume you still live with your parents. I guess I should have asked.”
She bit back an outright laugh in favor of a more ladylike chuckle. “Yes, I do still live at home. According to my mother, it’s the proper thing to do.”
Wyatt hopped out and came around the back of the car to open her door. Her mother would have been proud of how she’d waited for his assistance. Usually, she opened her own door before Garrett could get there.
“Would you like to come in and say hello?”
“I’d better not. I’ve been given an order to relay to the cook. I wouldn’t want Christina to have to wait for her supper.” He took hold of her elbow, as he had in the hospital. “I’ll see you to the door.”
Another round of sparks shot up her arm. She pulled away and took two steps forward. “It’s not necessary.”
He caught hold of her wrist and turned her to face him. His dark gaze flared. “Thank you for coming to see Pops. He obviously adores you.”
“It was my pleasure.” She was about to pull from his grasp when he tightened his grip, stopping her in her tracks. “My brother’s a lucky man.”
Her cheeks flooded with warmth. “Thank you.”
He smiled and her heart did a little flip inside her chest. His deep voice softened to a mere whisper and he released her wrist. “You’re welcome, Re…becc…a.”
She made a dash for the porch. By the time she turned back toward the drive, Wyatt had climbed into the car and cranked the engine. The way he’d said her name, drawn out and distinct, had reminded her of a cat unfurling its lazy body in front of a raging fire.
And her with no extinguisher in sight.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Flirting with a Saturday night date was one thing, but playing cat and mouse with his brother’s girlfriend was unforgiveable.
Wyatt slammed the car into high gear and turned back onto the boulevard leading away from the Winston home. He hadn’t intended to flirt with her, yet he couldn’t help himself. Rebecca Winston was like a breath of fresh air amid the social climbers, and overt man-chasers he was used to.
Petite, with a rosy-cheeked complexion and darned-near perfect body, she’d stirred some dormant longing within him. Her hair glistened like harnessed sunshine, despite the severe, school teacher up-do she’d chosen.
The kicker, though, were the bright green eyes that twinkled when she talked. And, darkened when she was nervous, or embarrassed. He loved the sparkle, but coveted the darker, more honest shade.
It meant she’d felt something.
Back to the previous page.