Stranger in Cold Creek by Paula Graves

right, then. I’ll head on home, I guess.”
    Miranda gave him a quick hug at the front door. “Thanks for bringing the mattress set.”
    â€œIt’s not like you were plannin’ on coming home to stay tonight,” he grumbled. “So I figured you might as well have the mattress and box springs off your old bed.” He gave John another speculative look and headed down the front porch step and out to his truck.
    Miranda watched until his truck turned out of the driveway, then came back into the house and closed the door behind her. She looked at John. “He’s overprotective sometimes.”
    â€œThe best dads are.”
    She smiled at that. “Well, at least that solves the sleeping arrangements. You can have the sofa. Dad brought all the pillows from my old bed, so I should have plenty to spare.”
    â€œSo you’re not going to kick me out, then?”
    â€œNot at the moment.” She crossed to the fireplace, picked up the poker and pushed around the logs inside to stir the flames. John couldn’t stop himself from moving closer, drawn by the heat.
    She looked up at him, the flickering flames burnishing her skin to a soft gold and igniting the red glints in her hair. He wasn’t aware of taking a step toward her, but he must have, because suddenly they were only a few inches apart, her breath mingling with his.
    She was so warm, so alive. So very, very close.
    All he had to do was bend his head and his mouth would cover hers.
    She moved suddenly, backing away. “I’ll find you those pillows.”
    John watched her hurry from the room, aching with frustration.

Chapter Eight
    Miranda woke with the sun just after six, getting as far as the shower before she realized that, one, she wasn’t expected back at the station until tomorrow, and two, she had a man sleeping in her living room, and it probably hadn’t been a good idea to shed her nightclothes as she crossed the hall to the bathroom.
    Wrapping herself in a towel, she tiptoed out to pick up her clothes, keeping an eye on the door to the living room.
    â€œHey, Miranda, I was looking at this room—”
    She froze at the sound of John’s voice coming from behind her.
    Oh God , she thought, please let this towel be covering everything.
    â€œSorry.”
    She stood quickly and turned to face him, clutching the towel closed in front of her. “I thought you were still on the sofa.”
    â€œI woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I was looking at that room back there.” He pointed his thumb toward the back of the house. “I can help you out with the repairs if you want.”
    â€œI thought you were working on your own place for your employers,” she answered, acutely aware that the towel she’d chosen was entirely too short for a long conversation with a man in her hallway.
    â€œI am, but I should be able to accomplish both in the time I have. You’ll be going back to work tomorrow, right?”
    She nodded.
    â€œThen I could come over here while you’re at work and start getting some of the frame repairs done, at least. And I could help you put up the drywall and lay the new floor. Those are two-person jobs.”
    â€œMy dad was planning to help in the evenings.”
    â€œSo there’d be three of us working. It would get done three times as quickly. What do you say?”
    â€œI’d have to know your rates.”
    â€œI’m not talking about doing it for pay.”
    She cocked her head. “But we barely know each other.”
    He took a couple of steps closer to her, making her knees tremble. “We’ve spent two nights together now, haven’t we? Surely that qualifies us as friends.”
    She tightened her grip on the edges of the towel. “You just want to keep an eye on me. You think I’m still someone’s target.”
    â€œDon’t you?” he asked.
    She supposed she should. Someone had