Page 58 of The Lucky Heart (Jamison Valley 3)
His hands shot out and caught me by the arms, steadying me before I could fall or drop his gift. “Felicity?”
“Hi. Sorry.”
“What are you doing here?”
I lifted the gift box between us. “Christmas present.”
He let me go and raked a hand through his hair before looking over his shoulder at the open door. He leaned back and slammed it shut, then tugged me along behind him. I followed him silently as he led me past our cars and along the barn to the back. As we pushed inside his apartment, he dropped my hand.
“Drink?” he asked over his shoulder as he stomped down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Uh, sure.” I lingered in the hall, giving him a moment to cool off.
While he banged and crashed around in the kitchen, I inspected his apartment from the door. I couldn’t see the whole place, but just from the entryway, I could tell he’d done an incredible amount of updating since the last time I’d been here. The place was almost unrecognizable.
The laundry room on the right had been tiled and painted. The bathroom on my left was entirely new. It had distressed barnwood walls, a tiled shower with a waterfall faucet and a metal stock tank as a bathtub on the far side under a glass-block window.
Slowly coming further into the space, I inspected the wide, main room. The kitchen had hickory cabinets and marbled cream counters. The stainless appliances were new and top-of-the-line. Silas had refinished the floors with rich, chocolate maple, and his old furniture had been replaced with a camel leather couch and armchair. The lofted bedroom hanging over us had a huge platform bed in the center with a closet on one side and a bookshelf on the other.
“This place is amazing.” I tipped my head back to the tall ceiling. At its center was an old, metal windmill that he had repurposed as a chandelier.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, sliding a glass of ice cubes and amber liquid across the island that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
He shook his head and gulped down the contents of his own glass.
“All right,” I said. “So, uh, did you do all the work here yourself?”
“Yep,” he muttered while refilling his glass.
“Okay.” I set his gift on the counter. “Sorry, I came at a bad time. I’m going to leave and we can talk next week. Merry Christmas.” I spun around and walked to the door, wishing I had texted before driving out here.
My fingers brushed the door handle but couldn’t get a grip because I was hauled backward by two strong hands clapped down on my shoulders. Silas steered me away from the door and down the hallway, maneuvering me to the living room couch, where he pushed down so I would sit.
“Sorry,” he said.
I smiled. “Don’t apologize. I should have called first.”
“I’m glad you came. Dad just—”
“No explanation necessary. I get it.”
“Thanks.” He went to the kitchen to collect our drinks and his gift. “What did you get me?”
“Open it and find out.” While he ripped at the paper and ribbon, I sipped my scotch, anxious to see his reaction to my present.
He grinned, inspecting two pairs of deerskin leather gloves. “These are great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I asked the clerk at the hardware store for a recommendation and he told me that ranchers can always use leather gloves.”
He chuckled. “He’s right about that.” Setting them down on
the coffee table, he pushed off the couch. “Sit tight.” When he returned from the kitchen, he brought back a box wrapped in white craft paper. “This is for you.”
I smiled, touched that he had thought of me. My smile got wider as I took the box and untied the candy-cane ribbon. I laughed. “You got me gloves too!”
The soft, buttery leather was the same yellow shade as the gloves I’d gotten for him except mine had a fluffy layer of sherpa lining. I pulled them on and fisted my hands. Perfect fit.
