Something Old - Dianne L. Christner [15]
When she had opened the hand-knitted Christmas gift, her mom had mentioned it would make a nice contrast with her black hair. Usually her mom didn’t compliment her children’s outward appearance unless it was to affirm neatness or modesty.
Katy had been taught that a woman should be more concerned about her inner beauty and not prideful about the outer, which was fleeting anyway. But Katy couldn’t help but be appreciative when she looked in a mirror because her face didn’t need the forbidden cosmetics. She had been blessed with good features, and the plain Conservative hairstyles she wore only emphasized them.
Thin like her figure, her face was a perfect oval, and she had dark prominent brows and black-lashed brown eyes that were more exotic than plain. Her mom told her that a missionary ancestor married into Spanish blood. Her nose even protested her Conservative lifestyle for it appeared aristocratic, thin and long. Her lips must have come from the Spanish ancestor, too, because they were full and expressive. She knew that her striking eyes and mouth caused people to imagine more intensity in her emotions than she usually felt or meant to display.
Self-consciously flicking her ponytail out from under the scarf, she said, “Thanks.” She dropped her skates on the floor mat, careful to keep her eyes from flirting. With a fluid movement, he put the car in reverse, and they backed onto the country road. “How do you keep your car so clean?” She motioned toward the snowy countryside. “In this?” His cheek muscle twitched as if she’d touched upon a sensitive subject. When he didn’t have an immediate comeback, she asked, “What? Am I embarrassing you?”
He shot her a warm glance. “I’m just wondering how you are with secrets.”
“Really?” Involuntarily, she leaned toward him. “I’m great with secrets.”
His raised brow challenged, “Never knew a woman who could keep secrets.”
“Try me.”
“I haul buckets of hot water to the barn and wash it, towel dry it.”
“How often?”
“Once or twice a week.”
Katy rested her head back on the headrest. “Wow. Does your dad know?”
“Yeah. He thinks it’s prideful.”
“I think it’s great.”
He cast her an uncertain glance. She leaned forward again and jutted her chin. “I feel flattered to ride in a clean car. I think every guy should take note and learn from you. And I don’t think it’s prideful to take good care of your stuff. You know Megan?”
“Megan?” He seemed confused at the sudden turn of the conversation. “Yeah.”
“Her parents are always harping on stewardship. And it’s rubbed off on me, too. It makes good sense to take care of your stuff.” He beamed, and she relaxed her shoulders. “All I mean, is I understand. I like things sparkly, too. I clean houses, remember? I just never carried it over to my car in the winter.” She troubled her lip. “Maybe I should.”
“Maybe I should do it for you.”
She glanced over. It was a generous, flirtatious offer. “Ah. I don’t think so.” She snuck another sideways glance. But was this guy her clone or what?
He shrugged and concentrated on the narrow gravel road lined by low snowbanks and ditches. But the simple offer hung in the air. David Miller had ingratiated himself in only five minutes. She liked him.
He pushed a button and classical music flowed through the car’s speakers.
“Can I use your mirror?” she asked.
“Sure.”
She lowered the visor and pulled a soft beanie out of her pocket. Staring into a gleaming mirror, she placed it over her covering and pulled it snug over her ears. When she finished, she flipped up the visor and glanced sideways.
He grinned. “And a matching hat. Even more stunning.”
“I figured I’d ease you into it, you know, so I didn’t knock you off your feet or something.”
“You practically ran us into the ditch. Took my brute strength just to keep us on the road.”
Lowering an embarrassed gaze to the floorboards, Katy noticed her skates. “You’re pretty good on the ice, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
Katy sank back against the seat, listening to the music, enjoying the thrill of masculine attention that purred along her spine.