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tell him the vintage, but failed to make sense of them.
    Failing was getting easier to handle since he’d long since given up waiting for divine intervention. He comforted himself with the sure knowledge that the accident could have been much worse; he could have died or ended up a paraplegic. There were a lot worse things than not being able to deal with numbers.
    The glasses were right where Kendall said they’d be, so he grabbed the bottle and glasses and headed back toward the table. The fire in the Franklin stove lit Kendall’s face, and he stopped in his tracks, his bare feet silent on the worn wood floors. God, she did look like an angel—an angel who could cook and pick out a decent bottle of wine. Not a bad combination at that.
    He forced himself to get on with it. “Here you go.” He filled the glasses and handed one to Kendall before taking his seat. “Here’s to new friends.”
    “To friends.” She raised the glass and looked at him, the fire reflecting in her dark eyes. And not for the first time, he questioned the intelligence of the man willing to give her up.
    Jax tucked into his meal, and after a few minutes of stuffing food in his face, he remembered his manners. He forced himself to slow down and take the time to wipe his mouth on a napkin made from a folded paper towel. “This is really good. I hope you made enough for leftovers.”
    She looked up from her still-full plate to his, which contained only a bite or two more. “There won’t be if you keep eating at that speed.”
    “Oh, sorry.” He stilled his fork. “It’s just that I haven’t had any decent food since I got here.”
    She laughed, and the smile that lingered on her face was enough to take his breath away. “Go ahead and eat.”
    Kendall nodded toward what was left of the casserole. She unwound her hair from her makeshift bun and the strands fell to frame her face. She should have looked a mess, but Kendall’s classically beautiful features were sexy enough to make a desert dweller drool.
    Her gaze went back to her almost untouched plate and she bit her lip. “I’m done, and there’s plenty more—feel free to finish it up. I’m happy to have an excuse to cook. It’s therapeutic, especially cooking for someone who appreciates it as much as you do.”
    He refilled his plate, forcing himself to take a few scoops of green salad just for show. If he’d been alone, he would have eaten right out of the casserole dish and wouldn’t have wasted stomach space on salad. “Since I fully support your quest for inner peace and clarity, feel free to do as much therapeutic cooking as you can stand. I’ll even pay for the ingredients. I know it’s selfless of me, so don’t embarrass me with your gratitude. Really, it’s the least I can do.”
    Her laugh rang out clear and strong, and for the moment, at least, he felt whole. The dull throb of his headache and the fact that the vintage of the wine was still a mystery to him didn’t seem to matter so much. Kendall’s laugh somehow filled that empty space within him he hadn’t even known existed.
    *
    Jax left the cabin at first light and hightailed it to Jaime’s place. He was pounding on the door with a heavy hand before the sun cleared the ridge.
    Jaime answered the door, wearing a pair of jeans andnothing else. He sniffed the air, scratched his bare chest, and then looked in the direction from which Jax had come. “Did you finally burn down the cabin?”
    “No, it’s worse.”
    Apparently the lack of smoke satisfied his curiosity about the cabin, because he nodded and stepped back, wordlessly inviting Jax to enter. “How can it be worse than turning the cabin into a bonfire?” Jaime headed toward the kitchen—hopefully to make coffee.
    Jax followed, tugged off his coat, and threw it over the back of a barstool before sitting. “Kendall showed up yesterday evening just before dark.”
    Jaime looked up from counting out scoops of coffee. “Kendall Watkins?”
    “Do you