The Giving Season Read Online Free Page A

listen to her.
    For a moment she wanted very badly to confide in him, to trust her instincts and allow him to be her friend—but she couldn’t. The past few months had been an education she could have done without. People she thought she could trust had turned out to be hiding behind masks. The experience with Charlie Wilks had been a hard lesson, but one she’d taken to heart. Now she didn’t want to trust anyone—especially handsome men with big, bright smiles.
    “There—” she took a deep breath and forced a false smile. “There just isn’t anything else to talk about. That’s all.”
    “One more question,” Michael said, his friendly smile slowly replaced by a growing expression of concern.
    Jessy nodded. “Okay. One more.”
    He gazed at her for a few long, unnerving moments. “Who have you been crying over?”
    Jessy automatically turned away from Michael to the mirror. Her eyes were still red and swollen. Michael gazed at her with disconcerting intensity, his silence demanding that she answer. Only problem was, Jessy didn’t know what that answer would be.
    So instead of speaking, Jessy lowered her eyes and fumbled mutely with the clothing in her suitcase. She really didn’t want to get into her life story with this stranger. There were too many things she regretted, too many bad choices, too many missed opportunities.
    “It’s a long story,” she finally said quietly, forcing a slight smile as she looked up again. “Too long and too boring.”
    Without saying a word, Michael rose and stood beside her. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t touch her, but she was acutely aware of his strength, his warmth. She wished she could just wrap her arms around him and cry. She wished he would hold her until she didn’t feel so damn alone.
    But it was foolish to wish for that. After all, why should he care about her or her problems? He didn’t even know her. As soon as the snow melted, they’d board the bus and never see each other again.
    Jessy kept her gaze focused on the unbuttoned collar of his thermal shirt, on the dark chest hair that peeked out at the base of his throat. She knew that if she met his eyes again, she’d say or do something she might regret.
    “Jessy,” he said quietly, “I’d like to help you—”
    “Why?” she whispered, her eyes and throat burning as she desperately tried not to cry yet again. She hadn’t expected him to be concerned. “Why would you want to help me?”
    “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, lifting her chin with a hooked finger. His expression was solemn, but something in his eyes smiled at her. “I like your accent. I think you have pretty hair. It’s Wednesday.” Now the smile slowly stretched across his wide mouth. “Who says I have to have a reason ?”
    Jessy studied him for a few moments. Maintaining her healthy distrust of the man was getting harder and harder to do. “What do you want?”
    “Besides world peace and a million bucks?” His smile faltered when he saw Jessy wasn’t smiling back at him. “Listen, Jess—I don’t know anything about what’s going on with your life, but on the behalf of all decent people everywhere, I have to tell you that not everyone is going to want something from you.”
    Jessy closed her eyes, blocking out the concern and worry she saw in his expression. She couldn’t handle this. Not right now. Her instincts were divided into two screaming camps: One demanded that she trust him and allow him to be her friend—and the other refused to believe a word he said.
    “I’d rather not talk about it right now,” she said softly, words choking into another coughing fit. She dimly felt his hand on her shoulder, bracing her as she nearly lost her balance. His warmth burned through her sweatshirt, unfamiliar but comforting. For a moment, they simply stood there: Jessy with her head down, and Michael with his hand cupping her shoulder almost protectively.
    “Are you okay?” he finally asked.
    “I’m fine.”