uncertain future. She’d gone straight for the
couch when they’d entered the house and now sat there
hugging the flag to her chest.
“Want some coffee?” he asked, hanging his coat in the
24
Bridge of Hope
closet.
That earned him a negative head shake.
“Tea?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
He walked into the kitchen, turned on the burner
under the teakettle, and then whipped together a chicken
and vegetable casserole while the water heated to a boil.
A few minutes later, Mike set two cups of tea on the
coffee table and lowered himself next to Cyn on the couch.
Today, she’d worn her hair knotted at the base of her
neck. In the short time he’d been in the kitchen, she’d
pulled out the pins and blonde curls spilled around her
shoulders.
He reached over to take the flag out of her hands and
the fingers of his right hand brushed her warm breast. A
jolt of desire shot through him like he hadn’t felt since
Mary Jo died. He yanked his hand back and noticed that
she hadn’t reacted to his touch.
He cleared his throat and pulled the flag from her
hands. “When it stops raining, we’ll fly this on the
flagpole in the yard. I can’t think of a better way to honor
Peter’s memory.”
Her expression softened. “Thank you. He would have
liked that.”
Still grappling with his physical response from a
simple touch, he blurted, “How old are you?
She focused puzzled eyes on him. “What?”
His eyes roamed her peaches and cream complexion
and the way her lips slightly trembled. God help him.
What kind of man lusted after woman who’d just buried
her husband? “I just realized that I know so little about
you,” he fudged.
“Oh. My birthday was a few weeks ago. I’m twenty-
four.”
So damn young. He had a good twelve years on her.
“And you?”
Mike laughed. Tit for tat. “A lot older than you.”
She shrugged. “Age doesn’t matter in the grand
25
Pam Champagne
scheme of things.”
“Ah, spoken by someone on the right side of thirty.”
He handed her a cup. “It’s green tea. I’ve got a casserole
in the oven. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to
protest. “You need to eat.”
She heaved a sigh. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” He rose and went to the kitchen to
check on their meal.
Mike pressed his forehead against the cool
windowpane and watched the rain bounce off the
pavement. From the beginning, he’d thought of Cyn as
nothing more than a houseguest—a young woman with a
broken heart who needed help getting back on her feet.
Today, she’d buried her husband. And his mind had
taken a sudden 180º turn without conscious thought.
Shame burned from within. The sooner Cyn got back on
her feet, the better. Either the wind or rain turned on the
outdoor sensor light, drawing his attention to the garage.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The mother-in-
law’s apartment where he’d stored her things. Even
though he and Mary Jo had talked about renting it, they
never actually followed through with the plans. Up until
now, he’d always considered it as a storage place. Now it
seemed like an answer to everyone’s needs, his own as
well as Cyn’s. She’d have more freedom, yet he’d be right
here if she needed him. After a time of counseling, it
would be a perfect place to transition to a new life.
Perhaps if he didn’t see her every day, these
unexpected longings would dissipate. Raising his
daughter as a single dad created enough problems in his
life. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a
grieving widow twelve years his junior.
Thirty minutes later, Mike leaned against the
doorjamb watching Cyn hide her face in the couch pillows.
He knew exactly what emotions churned in her heart.
Peter’s death had left a wound that she doubted would
ever heal. She’d breathe, eat and sleep because people
told her to. Her eyelids fluttered but refused to stay open.
26
Bridge of Hope
She tried to
couch when they’d entered the house and now sat there
hugging the flag to her chest.
“Want some coffee?” he asked, hanging his coat in the
24
Bridge of Hope
closet.
That earned him a negative head shake.
“Tea?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
He walked into the kitchen, turned on the burner
under the teakettle, and then whipped together a chicken
and vegetable casserole while the water heated to a boil.
A few minutes later, Mike set two cups of tea on the
coffee table and lowered himself next to Cyn on the couch.
Today, she’d worn her hair knotted at the base of her
neck. In the short time he’d been in the kitchen, she’d
pulled out the pins and blonde curls spilled around her
shoulders.
He reached over to take the flag out of her hands and
the fingers of his right hand brushed her warm breast. A
jolt of desire shot through him like he hadn’t felt since
Mary Jo died. He yanked his hand back and noticed that
she hadn’t reacted to his touch.
He cleared his throat and pulled the flag from her
hands. “When it stops raining, we’ll fly this on the
flagpole in the yard. I can’t think of a better way to honor
Peter’s memory.”
Her expression softened. “Thank you. He would have
liked that.”
Still grappling with his physical response from a
simple touch, he blurted, “How old are you?
She focused puzzled eyes on him. “What?”
His eyes roamed her peaches and cream complexion
and the way her lips slightly trembled. God help him.
What kind of man lusted after woman who’d just buried
her husband? “I just realized that I know so little about
you,” he fudged.
“Oh. My birthday was a few weeks ago. I’m twenty-
four.”
So damn young. He had a good twelve years on her.
“And you?”
Mike laughed. Tit for tat. “A lot older than you.”
She shrugged. “Age doesn’t matter in the grand
25
Pam Champagne
scheme of things.”
“Ah, spoken by someone on the right side of thirty.”
He handed her a cup. “It’s green tea. I’ve got a casserole
in the oven. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to
protest. “You need to eat.”
She heaved a sigh. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” He rose and went to the kitchen to
check on their meal.
Mike pressed his forehead against the cool
windowpane and watched the rain bounce off the
pavement. From the beginning, he’d thought of Cyn as
nothing more than a houseguest—a young woman with a
broken heart who needed help getting back on her feet.
Today, she’d buried her husband. And his mind had
taken a sudden 180º turn without conscious thought.
Shame burned from within. The sooner Cyn got back on
her feet, the better. Either the wind or rain turned on the
outdoor sensor light, drawing his attention to the garage.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The mother-in-
law’s apartment where he’d stored her things. Even
though he and Mary Jo had talked about renting it, they
never actually followed through with the plans. Up until
now, he’d always considered it as a storage place. Now it
seemed like an answer to everyone’s needs, his own as
well as Cyn’s. She’d have more freedom, yet he’d be right
here if she needed him. After a time of counseling, it
would be a perfect place to transition to a new life.
Perhaps if he didn’t see her every day, these
unexpected longings would dissipate. Raising his
daughter as a single dad created enough problems in his
life. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a
grieving widow twelve years his junior.
Thirty minutes later, Mike leaned against the
doorjamb watching Cyn hide her face in the couch pillows.
He knew exactly what emotions churned in her heart.
Peter’s death had left a wound that she doubted would
ever heal. She’d breathe, eat and sleep because people
told her to. Her eyelids fluttered but refused to stay open.
26
Bridge of Hope
She tried to
Similar Books
Shifting Currents
Lissa Trevor
Three-Ring Terror
Franklin W. Dixon
Shiver Trilogy (Shiver, Linger, Forever)
Maggie Stiefvater
White Diamonds
K. Lyn
Dreams of Darkness Rising
Ross M. Kitson
The Law and Miss Mary
Dorothy Clark
Nightlord: Sunset
Garon Whited
The Cinderella Killer
Simon Brett
The Dragon's Descent
Laurice Elehwany Molinari
Sky's Dark Labyrinth
Stuart Clark