Page 143 of Crossing Every Line

He opened the passenger side door and gathered the papers he’d thrown back into the truck. He slid over to her, pushing the loan documents at her. A few papers fell to the ground.

She bent to retrieve one, but he pulled her back up. “I was going to surprise you tonight. Mr. Clark wasn’t supposed to be here until next week, and we were both going to talk to him. I don’t want to sell. I want to build.”

She looked down at the stack of papers. Then back up at him, then again at the brochures. She quietly leafed through them. “You don’t want to sell.” She stopped, a fan of pamphlets clutched against her chest. “Wait. Did you say you loved me?”

He took the pile and shoved it back in the truck. “I love you, Kendall. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you boosted yourself out of the window of my truck to look at the damn mountains.”

She fisted her hands at her sides, then skidded into him full tilt, slamming him into the truck. The door clomped shut, and then it was her mouth on his chin, her mittened hands tugging at his coat until he lowered to find her mouth with his.

He slid his hand into her hair, flipping off her hat until her curls twined around his fingers and wrist. Until she was in his arms and not going anywhere. Until he could breathe in her apple scent and he knew she was his.

She slugged him in the gut. “You’ve loved me since California, and you’re only telling me now?”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “I just figured it out two days ago.”

“On the dock?”

He cupped her cheek. “On the dock. I think we should get married on that dock.”

“You want to get—”

He silenced her with a kiss. When she melted into him, he finally let the last of his doubts go. Under the bright light of a winter sun, surrounded by ice and snow, he held on to his own bit of sunshine.

EPILOGUE

One Year Later

“Mom,I don’t have time to go find the wreath. I’ve got to make three beds and still have to go to the store for you before Shane gets back.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Kendall Marie. I want that lovebirds wreath up for the Wilsons. It’s their honeymoon.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t sass me.”

Kendall swallowed a snarl. Her mother was making over the whole house into a frigging retreat for this couple. Why the hell should they care about a damn wreath?

She stalked across the porch and down the stairs. Thanks to a few warm days, a lot of the snow had disappeared, leaving a muddy trail between the B and B and the barn.

Stomping her feet at the threshold—heaven forbid she bring mud into Shane’s domain—she reached for the switch. Shane didn’t usually shut off the lights.

In the middle of the workshop was a huge mahogany four-poster bed. It had to be Shane’s handiwork. The headboard was exquisite. Slatted in the simple Shaker style she loved, it was embellished with a simple carved notch under the flowing lines. The footboard matched it with a more detailed design on the front panel that looked vaguely familiar.

She slid her hand along one of the four posts built into heavy bases giving the bed a grounded look. It was solid and masculine with the most subtle of feminine curves.

It was pure Shane design.

The king-size mattress was a lake of pale gold. She smoothed her hands over the expensive sateen sheets pulled back in invitation. A red-and-gold brocade duvet was folded down at the foot of the bed.

He must have been taking pictures for his Web site.

“Like it?”

She turned at Shane’s voice. He came up beside her, swiping his hand down her braid. “It’s gorgeous. I never saw you working on this one. When did you finish it up?”

“Last night.”

“I don’t think it will be on your Web site long. It’s too gorgeous not to get snapped up.”

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