The Sweetest Gift (The McKaslin Clan: Series 1 Book 2) by Jillian Hart Page B

smile came slow and sweet. He saluted her before he climbed into his truck.
    Kirby woke the next morning to blissful peace. Jessie was curled up in her little dog bed in the corner of the room, a soft bundle of golden curls and sweetness. It sure was nice having Sam for a neighbor. It was—Kirby squinted at her clock—11:06 a.m. and she’d slept straight through last night without a single outside noise loud enough to wake her.
    Her last swing shift. Whew. Kirby rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. Dappled sunshine tumbled into the room with a warm, lemony cheer that made her feel as if this new phase of her life was going to start out just right.
    She’d done a lot of volunteer work at the free clinic, to gain experience and because serving her community was what she was driven to do. Obligated. A quick flash of an image burst into her mind, of flame and broken metal and seat stuffing strewn in the grass—
    No. I won’t think of it. She’d vowed never to think of it again. She’d given all she could of her fear and uncertainty from the accident to the Lord. Some of it lingered still.
    She hauled her nightshirt over her head and stepped into the bathroom. She crossed in front of the counter-length mirror to grab a soft fluffy towel from the shelf, and saw her reflection.
    The scars of pink and red that splashed across her back and shoulders were an ugly, horrible reminder. She looked away and hung the towel on the wooden dowel next to the bathtub.
    She’d been lucky. The scars didn’t show, unless she wore a tank top in the summer, and she rarely did that anymore. How many times had she given thanks the scars weren’t on her face? Or her hands? The burns had been slight compared to others—
    You have a lot to be thankful for, Kirby Anne McKaslin. And she was thankful. But she felt guilty, too.
    She was here when so many others, people who were more faithful, better people, were not.
    And why was this bothering her so much? Oh, she knew the answer to that. Sam Gardner. He wasn’t interested in her. He had problems and sorrow of his own. He wasn’t interested in dating her.
    And even if he was interested, what would he think of her scars?
    What would he think of the ones he could not see?
    Well, that settled it. She knew it would take a rare man—and maybe there never would be one—who could love her, anyway.
    She turned the faucets and adjusted the water and vowed to put Sam Gardner out of her thoughts.
    That vow lasted almost an entire hour and eighteen minutes. She was fertilizing the roses in her front flower beds against the house when she heard a pickup easing down the quiet street. She checked on her dog. Jessie was lying in the shade from the hedges and chewing on her favorite rawhide bone. Kirby recognized the big pickup slowing down.
    Sam. He stopped in the middle of the empty street and his window slid downward. The dark glasses he wore accentuated the straight blade of his nose and the hard line of his jaw as he nodded to her. “Thought you were going to keep the noise down.”
    “I’m being too loud?”
    “Sure. I thought we had an agreement. You keep your band members quiet, and I’ll do the same with mine. But now it’s no deal.”
    Jessie hopped up and ran with her bone to the sidewalk. She wagged her tail in greeting. Kirby dashed after her, just to make sure she stayed out of the street. “Jessie and I are just getting started with our loud and rowdy ways. Take it as fair warning.”
    “I’m so afraid. What are you girls doing?”
    “Jessie is supervising while I play gardener.”
    “You girls have fun. The boy and I are going to paint today.” Sam tipped his hat, friendly, the same way he might treat any neighbor.
    And that’s what they were. Neighbors. Nothing more and nothing less. “Good luck,” she called.
    He waved as he pulled into his drive, then disappeared behind the tall hedge.
    Now, how long can you go without thinking of him again? she thought. Forty-five