It sounded dreadful put like that. Corny as well as pathetic, but the loss of everything she knew, and everything she was, had changed her. Broken her. All she could do now was continue to mend. Eventually she’d be able to cope with noise and chaos and families again, but not yet. Not for a long, long time.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the buddy system,” she said flatly. “It’s practiced by virtually everyone... including the Boy Scouts.”

He gave her another long look, his dark gaze resting on her as if she were a bit peculiar.

Right now, she felt a bit peculiar.

It would help if he stopped staring at her so hard. His intense scrutiny was making her overly warm, and a little bit dizzy.

“I was never a Boy Scout,” he rasped.

Looking at his long shaggy black hair and shadowed jaw, she could believe it. “You’re missing the point.”

“I get your point.” He stalked toward her, his dark gazing holding hers, his jaw hard.

Panicked, she stepped back, and again, as he stepped close, his big body brushing hers as he reached into the cabinet for a mug. “But I’m not a little boy,” he added, glancing at her from beneath his thick black lashes, a warning in his dark eyes, “and don’t need coddling.”

Energy surged through Harley, a hot sharp electric current that made her heart race and her stomach fall. Legs weak, she took another step sideways, increasing the distance between them. “Obviously you’re not a child.”

He grabbed the pot of coffee, interrupting the brewing cycle to fill his cup. “Then don’t treat me like one.”

Her heart continued to pound. She wasn’t scared but she definitely was... bothered.

Harley bit down on the inside of her cheek, holding back her first angry retort, aware that the kitchen, peaceful until just minutes ago, now crackled with tension.

“You don’t think I should worry about you?” she asked, arms folding across her chest so he couldn’t see that her hands were trembling.

“It’s not your job to worry about me.”

“No, I’m just to worry about your boxers and your stomach,” she retorted.

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that appropriate, Miss Diekerhoff?”

His scathing tone made her flush and look away. She bit down on her cheek again, appalled that she was losing her cool now, and counted to ten. She rarely lost her temper but she was mad. Somehow he’d struck a nerve in her... had gotten under her skin.

When she was sure she could speak calmly she managed a terse apology. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate.” Then she set the thermos down on the counter—hard, harder than she intended, and the crack of metal against granite sent a loud echo through the kitchen “And you are right. What you do is none of my concern, so go out in the storm, in the dark, all by yourself. As long as I’m getting paid, I won’t give it a second thought.”

Heart still racing, she fled the kitchen for the adjoining mudroom to move the laundry forward. Tears burned the back of her eyes and she was breathing hard and she didn’t even know why she was so upset, only that she was.

She was furious.

Stupid meathead of a man, thinking he was immortal, invincible, that nothing bad could happen...

Swallowing the curses she wouldn’t let herself utter aloud, Harley shoved the tangle of heavy, wet jeans and cords from the washer into the dryer.

But testosterone didn’t make a man immortal.

Just daring. Risky.

Foolish.

Her chest ached, the pressure on her heart horrendous. If David hadn’t been so confident. If David hadn’t been such a proud man. If David….

“What’s the matter with you?” Brock demanded, filling the laundry room doorway as if it were a sliver of space instead of forty inches wide by eight feet tall. “You’re acting like a crazy lady.”

Harley jammed the wet clothes into the dryer so hard she slammed her wrist bone on the round barrel opening, sending pain shooting up her arm.

Tears started to her eyes. Worry and regret flooded her. Worry for Brock, and regret that she’d said too much. She wasn’t here to talk. She was here to work. She knew that. “I’m not crazy,” she retorted huskily, rubbing the tender spot on her wrist. “Don’t call me crazy.”

“You’re behaving in a completely irrational—”

“It’s a blizzard outside, Mr. Sheenan. And I was merely asking you to take precautions when you headed back out, and if that makes me crazy, then so be it.