Heartwood by Candace Camp

Author:Candace Camp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clutch Books LLC

Chapter Ten

The next morning when Anne went down to the kitchen to make coffee, she saw Mark sitting on the porch steps outside. He leaned against the porch column, his injured leg stuck out in front of him. His other leg was bent at the knee and firmly planted on the step below. He wore faded jeans, worn thin by time, and they molded softly to his body.

A denim jacket warded off the early morning chill; it was unbuttoned and hung open to reveal the black T-shirt beneath. Pale sun lit Mark’s face, washing out the lines and shadows. His eyes were closed, and the fringe of his lashes was dark against his cheek. He looked tired and vulnerable, and Anne had a compelling urge to take him into her arms and let him rest against her, her body cushioning him from the harshness of the world for a brief minute.

Anne glanced down at her old robe, which was stained with hair-dye from an ill-advised attempt to transform her hair from auburn to dark, ash brown a few years ago. It had not been a good look for her. Luckily, only her robe had been permanently scarred by it, since it had eventually washed out of her curls. Anne immediately turned around and dashed back upstairs, thankful he hadn’t spotted her. Once she was dressed in jeans and an ice-blue sweater that brought out her eyes and hugged her figure, she swiped a bit of lipstick on her mouth and finger-combed her curls into some sort of order. A few minutes later, Anne returned to the kitchen and opened the door onto the porch.

“Hi.”

Mark turned sharply. His face didn’t look as harsh as when she first met him, Anne thought. Or was it that she had grown accustomed to his expression? “Hi. I was starting to wonder if you guys were ever gonna get up.”

Anne smiled. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. I’m up early today. Usually Linda’s making breakfast before I get down here.”

“Must be nice.” His wry grin removed any sting from his words. He gripped the handrail on the porch and pulled up as he stood, taking the weight from his weak leg.

“Do you have to get up early to bring the horses down to the stables?” Anne asked.

“Yeah. I usually wake up about five.”

“Five!” Anne pivoted and regarded him with mock horror. “I thought you always stayed up late?”

He nodded as they stepped inside the kitchen. “I don’t need much sleep. I think I used up my lifetime quota when I was in the hospitals. When I first came back from Iraq, I slept practically round the clock.”

Escaping life at the hospital, Anne thought, but she didn’t say it. “So you want some coffee?”

“Sounds good.” Mark glanced around the quiet kitchen as he shrugged out of his denim jacket and hung it on the chair back. The T-shirt underneath was short-sleeved, and his arms were very brown and muscled below the sleeves. It embarrassed Anne a little that her eyes were always drawn to Mark’s strong form.

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