One Day in Apple Grove(31)

It was warm and firm with calluses—a working man’s hand. Her hand tingled and she shivered at his touch.

“Cold?”

“Um…no. I was just thinking…”

“About?” he prompted.

“Hands.”

“What about them?” He seemed interested.

She cleared her throat because she wasn’t about to tell him that his touch set off sparks inside of her—at least not yet. “I grew up appreciating the strength in a person’s hands. My dad could do anything with his: fix the basketball hoop, lower a bicycle seat, show one of us how to change a flat tire.”

Jack tightened his grip on her hand and drew her a little closer. “Hands do so many other things too.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze, unable to hold back the sigh of contentment that escaped. “True,” she mumbled. “We both use our hands to earn a living—you use yours to fix people. I use mine to fix things.”

“Common ground.” He brushed his thumb across the back of her hand, a gentle caress that shouldn’t have caused her belly to flutter, but it did. They were talking about hands for goodness sake!

“I grew up wanting to use my hands like my dad—the people in Apple Grove depended on him, just like I did.”

Cait hadn’t been looking for one, but somehow she knew instinctively that she’d managed to find a man like her dad—strong, solid, and dependable.

The warmth of Jack’s hand holding hers distracted her, and for a moment, she let her imagination run wild, wondering what it would feel like to have his hands slide to the small of her back and slowly pull her closer… “Um, we’d better eat while it’s still warm.” Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes with her free hand, she added, “Pasta can get sticky after you warm it up twice.”

He seemed reluctant to let go. With a knuckle, he tipped her chin up so that she could look into his eyes. “You’re not what I expected, Caitlin Mulcahy.”

The deep timbre of his voice skittered up her spine, distracting her until all she wanted to do was give in to temptation and lay her head against his broad chest. But at the last moment, sanity returned.

“Dinner’s getting cold.” She gave in to the involuntary shiver his intense looks and distracting hands caused. When she tugged on her hand again, this time he let her go.

But instead of sitting down at the table, Jack, followed by his little black shadow, walked out of the kitchen. “Nice work, Mulcahy,” she grumbled. “A handsome man, a quiet dinner for two, and you somehow manage to scare him off talking about hands.”

Before she could launch into a diatribe, he returned with a gray sweatshirt with dark blue letters across the chest. It simply said navy. “Your arms felt chilly.” He handed it to her. “It’s a little battered because it’s my favorite.”

She slipped it over her head, thinking the warmth of the worn fabric beat out the desire to be fashionable. “I hadn’t realized I was so cold.”

“When I’m tired, I tend to feel the cooler temperatures faster than I normally would.” He raised his glass and smiled. “To good food, a lovely dinner companion—” Jamie’s bark had them both grinning. “Companions,” he corrected, looking down at the pup. When the dog stopped barking, sat, and looked up at them, Cait couldn’t help but laugh. They settled down to eat and the tension from moments before melted away. Conversation came easily when speaking about Jamie.

“How are you going to bring yourself to give him back if he belongs to someone else?”

Jack paused with the fork halfway to his lips. “It’s already been twenty-four hours and no one has stepped forward to claim him.”

“I suppose if they were desperate, they’d be searching far and wide for him.” She paused and tasted the pasta, pleased that reheating it hadn’t made it rubbery.

“This bread’s delicious. Who made it?”

She smiled. “I have my sources.”

“It didn’t come from Mary’s Market or from the supermarket over in Newark.”

“No,” she said, “and no.”

“Hmm, reminds me of a few ops during my time in the service.” He passed the butter to her. “Top secret,” he said with a grin. “I can tell you, but then…” He made a slicing movement across his neck.

She laughed in between bites. “Got it.”

“This is delicious.” His blue eyes darkened to that distracting shade of sapphire again, and she wondered if she was brave enough to ask him what he was thinking about. “I normally don’t like peppers, but the yellow and orange ones taste different than the green ones.” He practically inhaled his pasta.