I’m not a stalker, Emma Wilder assured herself while attempting to peer inconspicuously out the front windows of Len’s grocery store. Gage Frasier’s Jeep Grand Cherokee was parked in the first spot, so it would be almost impossible for her not to notice him as he sat behind his steering wheel. His face was as haggard as a mom waiting at her child’s hospital bedside.
Something—or someone—had upset her brother’s friend.
The hand pressing the phone to his ear stayed put while the other clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze—
“Need anything else, dear?” The clerk, Dolores, held out Emma’s two bags.
“No, thanks. Say hi to that cutie granddaughter of yours for me.” Emma snagged the reusable canvas totes and headed for the exit.
I’m also not a meddler, Emma reminded herself as she stepped outside into the freezer currently known as Colorado. She would walk right by Gage without stopping to check if he was okay. Or figure out what had him so distressed.
Her Mini Cooper was two spots past his vehicle. It had been an impulse buy from the small used-car lot in town. Done without her big brother’s approval. That right there made the purchase worthwhile. Even though the little thing might not be built for crashing through snowdrifts, it had handled perfectly well so far...in the three weeks she’d had it. Never mind that no major snow had fallen in that span of time.
Brr! The ice-cold air pierced her lungs, and her organs complained like unruly children. When she was just steps from Gage’s vehicle, his free arm jutted into the air in a move similar to one her friend’s boys would do while pretending to be ninjas. What could have Gage so distraught? The man was usually so...Gage. Calm. A bit stoic at times. Definitely not one to be playing ninja without good reason.
And his poor forehead—all of those worry lines. If he were a woman, he’d need to run home and apply a mask of some sort to thwart the wrinkles that would sprout at the first opportunity.
Phone pressed to his left ear, Gage motioned to her...as if she should open the passenger door of his Jeep. Because she was standing right next to the window, peering in like the stalker she’d just claimed not to be.
Emma couldn’t walk past a baby, a puppy or, it seemed, a Gage. Anyone in need beckoned to her like pickles to a pregnant mama. Or so she’d heard.
She waved, as if to say...what? Don’t mind me. I’m just standing here staring at you? Again Gage signaled for her to open the door. He probably thought there was something wrong with her car. Or her. It was all of two degrees outside, and she was shivering next to his vehicle like a frozen statue about to break into ice chips. Too late to run for it now or explain herself—somehow—and escape, since Gage was still on the phone. So she opened the door and got in. Shut it behind her.
If only she had superpowers and could make herself invisible. Or shrink down to penny size.
Emma inhaled, fighting to keep it discreet when what she really wanted to do was gulp in the men’s cologne section scent that permeated Gage’s vehicle. One of the many romance novels she consumed on a weekly basis would probably describe it as sandalwood or citrus or cedar, but Emma would label it yum.
His caramel voice filled the car. “I understand. Yes. I see.” He reached over, midsentence, and cranked the heat. The fact that he was obviously discussing a dire circumstance on the phone and would still do a small gesture like that warmed her. Literally. Gage, despite all of his inner turmoil, was still chivalrous. Kind. Drool-worthy.
“I’ll get back to you. Thank you.” He pressed the end-call button.
Time to scram. Obviously Gage had a lot on his plate. Emma gripped the door handle. “Thanks for the warm-up. My car is only a few over, so I’ll just...”
Gage was lost somewhere, his eyes glazed. Maybe even a tremble in his strong chin. What in the world?
“Gage?” Her hand dropped back to her lap, shoulders twisting to face him. She gained his empty stare. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“No.” His head shook with a vengeance. “Not even a little bit.”
Emma waited. She’d become good at it over the years. Being the younger sister of twin siblings who were strong and competitive often left her dead last. And they all ran a guest ranch together, so she’d had lots of practice learning to be patient. For the most part, Emma was content with her role. God must have made her that way, because she didn’t remember wanting too much more than the life she had. Except for one small problem. She was a romantic in a town that didn’t allow for that. The men in Westbend were few and far between. Too old. Too young. Not attracted to her or the other way around. And when one did pay attention to her and garner her interest... Well, she knew from experience that led to trouble.
“That sounded like a