She giggled, even though she knew he wasn’t joking. Funny how he could annoy her at one moment and amuse her at the next. Rather like Shane—except that she didn’t in any way think of Kyle as a brother.
“I have a computer in my bedroom,” he said, still looking grumpy. “You can send your brother an e-mail, if you want to.”
“That’s not necessary. He isn’t expecting to hear from me today.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”
Exactly what she liked to hear—that someone thought she knew what was best for her. “I’ll call him tomorrow morning, as soon as I have a cell phone signal.”
“Fine.” He glanced at a clock on the wall—the only thing he’d bothered to hang on the white-painted Sheet-rock. “I don’t know if you’re interested in football, but there’s a college game starting, and I was planning to watch.”
“Go ahead and watch your game. You don’t have to entertain me.”
“I didn’t intend to,” he replied, reaching for the remote to the big-screen TV in one corner of the room— the only luxury he had apparently treated himself to. A few minutes later, he was engrossed in the game, leav ing Molly to wonder if he was even aware that he still had company.
She wondered if his rudeness was his odd way of reassuring her that she really was safe from any unwanted advances from him. If so, she could have told him it wasn’t necessary. Maybe her libido had kicked into overdrive when she had watched him cross the room, but he seemed totally oblivious to her, other than as an inconvenience.
She stood and wandered toward the windows, debating whether she wanted to risk going out to her car for her bag. A painfully loud clap of thunder and a gust of wind-driven rain answered that question.
One corner of Kyle’s living room held a small bookcase, overflowing with paperbacks stacked two deep on the shelves. Since he was making so little effort to play the gracious host, she figured that relieved her of some of the rules of etiquette, as well.
Without asking, she knelt to scan through the titles. Thrillers, mysteries, science fiction, a little fantasy. No real surprises there, except for the sheer number of books. Living alone here as he did, so isolated in his mountain cabin, he probably turned to his books for company.
She plucked a promising-looking novel from the selection. “D’you mind if I read this while you watch your game?”
Without glancing at her, he gave a grunt that she assumed was an assent.
She curled up on one end of the couch and opened the book. She managed to read a page and a half during the next half hour. The writing was fine, the premise interesting—but when it came to holding her attention, the story could not compete with the reality of the man in the recliner a few feet away from her. He sat without moving, his full attention seemingly focused on the game playing on the screen, proving again that she wasn’t nearly as distracting to him as he was to her.
He fascinated her.
Granted, her memories of him were hazy. She had been so young when he left, and there had been several boys in her family since. He had been quiet even then, standing apart from group activities. So many of the boys had arrived rebellious and angry at the circumstances that had landed them in foster care, but Kyle had kept his emotions carefully locked away. From what Molly had been told, he’d been obedient and cooperative, though so obsessively guarded that it had taken Cassie and Jared several months to coax a genuine smile from him.
Molly remembered his smiles. Perhaps because they had been so rare, and because she had been so accustomed to winning over everyone she met, she had been thrilled the few times Kyle had actually smiled in her direction.
Whatever their challenges, Molly had considered each of the foster boys brothers. Even though she had known from the start that their stays would only be temporary, she had still grieved each time one of them moved on. Her parents had protected her from physical dangers during her childhood, but they hadn’t been able to prevent the heartaches that accompanied each departure. Instead, they had shared them—and then all of them had opened their home and hearts again to the next boy who needed them.
During the past year or so, she had realized that her childhood had set a pattern for the way she interacted with the men she’d met as an adult. She had never had a serious relationship. It seemed that anyone who initially expressed a special interest in her had ended up seeing her more as a kid sister or close pal.
Her girlfriends had accused her of manipulating the situations to ensure just that outcome. They had suggested that she was commitment-phobic, or had her standards set too high. Her response had been that she was too young to get tied down to one guy.
While that had been the truth, she suspected there had been more to her reluctance to give her heart completely to anyone. But for some reason, she had always shied away from examining her skittishness more closely.
Oddly enough, it had been easier for her to see those potential suitors as brother figures than it was to think of Kyle that way now, even though he’d once been a part of her family. She had thought of the others as nice boys. Kyle was a man battered by experience, a soldier hardened by battle. He was only a little more than five years her senior, but she was painfully aware of the vast differences bet
ween his life and her own decidedly sheltered existence.
Did he still see a little girl when he looked at her? Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be the only one who did.
Though he didn’t look at her, Kyle was all too aware of Molly’s eyes on him during the evening. He focused fiercely on the game, though he was unable to enjoy it as much as usual.
Why did she keep staring at him? He wasn’t doing anything entertaining. He certainly wasn’t that interesting to look at. Was she studying his scars, wondering how he’d gotten them? Was she comparing the man she saw now to the boy she remembered?
He could have told her she might as well stop looking for similarities. As far as he was concerned, that boy had died in a fiery blast in the Middle East.
When he could stand her scrutiny no longer, he gave a silent, mental curse and shoved himself to his feet. “I’m getting something to drink. You want any—”
Before he could complete the question, he stumbled, almost taking a nosedive straight down to the floor. His bum leg had locked up while he’d been sitting so self-consciously motionless, and now it refused to cooperate, punishing his too-sudden movement with a jawclenching wave of pain. He knew the spasm would subside if he stood perfectly still for a few minutes, then swallowed a couple of pain pills. He’d certainly had enough experience.