My Stubborn Heart Read Free

had dark brown hair, slightly overlong so that it curled out from under the back of his hat.
    What took Kate’s breath away, though, were his eyes. They were dark, dark, dark, almost liquid brown. Thoughtful, long-lashed, shielded, and somehow . . . somehow wounded. All the more startling for being set in such a masculine face.
    She studied those eyes as he spoke to her grandmother and she thought, Tragedy.
    The conversation between Matt and Gran continued. She stood there feeling vaguely idiotic, holding her coffee mug and finding it hard to look away from him. It was as if something within her had been sleeping and now—the longer she was near him—the more it was waking, becoming alert, jangling. That something seemed to be saying, It’s you.
    Finally.
    I’ve been waiting.
    For you.
    Which was crazy. Crazy! Yet her heart, as if it knew something her brain didn’t, executed an awkward double beat, and then started pounding anyway.
    â€œ. . . Kate and I have already picked out the paint colors for our rooms,” Gran was saying, “but we didn’t know how much you’d need and so we haven’t purchased it yet.”
    â€œI’ll get it for you,” he replied.
    â€œOh, would you? That would be wonderful.” Gran led the way up the front walk. “Come on inside, and I’ll get the paint swatches.”
    Kate and Matt followed Gran into the house. He was over six feet tall and moved like an athlete. She could sense his coordination and strength. She’d bet money that he had some serious muscle, and that the straight fall of his shirt hid a washboard stomach.
    â€œCan I get you something to drink, Matt?” Gran motioned to the kitchen. “We have coffee.”
    â€œI’m fine. Thanks.”
    â€œA muffin?”
    â€œNo. Thank you.”
    â€œAll right, then. Here are the swatches.” She swept them off the coffee table and handed them over with the musical click of bracelets. “Do you need to go up and have a look at our bedrooms?”
    â€œI’ve already measured them so I know how much I’ll need.”
    â€œOh, good.” Gran crossed her arms, tucking her coffee cup into an elbow. “So tell us about yourself, Matt.”
    â€œNot much to tell.” Even at that innocuous question, Kate could sense him retreating.
    â€œI remember you coming over here to play as a boy. Your parents were just about Mother and Daddy’s closest neighbors. Have you lived in town all your life?”
    â€œI lived in New York a while.”
    â€œOh, did you? Manhattan is such an interesting place. . . .”
    As Gran chatted about a recent trip she’d taken to New York, Kate watched Matt move smoothly to the door and take hold of the handle.
    In Kate’s experience, men as hot looking as he was had an ego to match. But Matt seemed strangely guarded, almost introverted. He hadn’t smiled, he’d answered all Gran’s questions politely but with few words, and he’d used his posture and expression like a shield.
    â€œHave you been back in Redbud long?” Gran asked him.
    â€œA couple of years. I’d best be going.” He opened the door and walked off the front porch.
    â€œCertainly. We’ll see you later.” Gran waved cheerfully.
    They stood watching until his truck pulled out of sight.
    â€œI told you he was a hunk,” Gran said.
    â€œYou were right.”
    They made their way to the kitchen and went to work cleaning up breakfast. “I get the feeling that something happened to him,” Kate said.
    Gran washed off plates and slotted them into the relic of a dishwasher. “To Matt?”
    â€œYes. Something . . .” Kate stilled, a dish towel dangling from her shoulder. “Something terrible.”
    â€œWhat gives you that impression?”
    â€œI’m not sure. I just know.”
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œI could see it in his