Christmas at Copper Mountain by Jane Porter

Author:Jane Porter [Porter, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Contemporary Fiction, Holidays, Contemporary, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: The Tule Publishing Group LLC
Published: 2013-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Brock cursed under his breath as Harley disappeared.

He’d hurt her again and he hadn’t meant to hurt her as much as get her to stop, back off. He wasn’t accustomed to being lectured, and she’d given him an earful and he’d had enough of her dispensing advice.

He didn’t need advice, not when it came to parenting his children. Mack and Molly were his kids and he was raising them the way he thought best.

But with Harley gone from the kitchen, he could still feel her surprise and hurt. He could still see the bruised look in her eyes when she’d turned away.

Shit.

This is exactly why he didn’t date and avoided polite society. He didn’t fit in polite society. He was better away from people, better on his own.

Angry with himself, he went to the barn to do his nightly check before bed. As he entered the barn, his dogs were immediately at his heels and followed him from stall to stall as he greeted each horse, stroking noses, giving treats, trying not to think about Harley or what she’d told him.

She’d been a mother. She’d had kids. Her children had died.

He cringed all over again, disgusted with himself, not just for his put-down, but for his need to put her in her place.

What was wrong with him?

Why did he have to shame a woman?

If his mom were alive she’d be horrified. She’d raised her boys to be gentlemen. She’d taught her five sons that women were equals and deserving of protection and respect.

He certainly hadn’t been respectful to Harley tonight.

Heart heavy, he returned to the house, locked up the doors, and turned off unnecessary lights but he couldn’t settle down in front of the TV, not when his conscience smacked him for being a heel.

Brock climbed the stairs two by two, and then the narrow staircase to the third floor bedroom he’d carved from the attic.

He knocked on the closed door with a firm rap of his knuckles.

She opened the door after a long moment, peeking out from behind the door. Her long hair was loose, a thick golden brown curtain about her face, and from behind the door he glimpsed a bare shoulder, her skin creamy and smooth.

She must have been changing when he’d knocked.

Just like that, his body hardened, pulse quickening.

He wanted her and he couldn’t remember when he’d lasted wanted anyone.

“I didn’t know,” he said shortly, glaring down at her, now unhappy with himself for being unable to manage the way he responded to her. In the eleven years since Amy died he’d never had an issue with lusting or physical desire, but something about Harley annihilated his famous self-control. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being rough with you and not being more... sensitive. As you might have noticed, I’m not a very sensitive guy.”

“I share the blame,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been offering advice. I won’t do it again.”

They were the right words but somehow they didn’t make him feel better.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had kids?”

“It’s not something I talk about anymore.

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