Husband Wanted: Will Train

"Would you like some crackers or something else to eat?" she said shakily, reaching out to get a handhold to pull herself up from. "I could just run to the kitchen and-"

His hands were on hers, pulling her back down, and then he put a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.

"I don't want any crackers," he said.

She blinked at him in surprise, her eyes moist and on the edge of tears.

"Hey," he told her. "You're not responsible for what your parents did. Don't try to carry the guilt around on your shoulders."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." He smiled and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. "Stop it. Right now."

Guilt and pain and anguish that went back years suddenly began to seep up from deep inside her. She shook her head. She didn't want this. She didn't need it. What on earth was making it happen?

"You're a beautiful, adorable young woman who is very successful in this town. You don't need the baggage. Dump it. Be free. Be happy."

Happy. She was always happy. Wasn't she? But if that was true, why were tears beginning to spill down her cheeks?

It was all so confusing. She'd loved her parents, but they'd let her down. She adored her brother and sister; she would probably do just about anything for either one of them.

But her Aunt Doris had done something no one else had ever done. She'd taken care of her. She'd put Charity and her wellbeing ahead of her own comfort. For that reason alone, Charity felt she owed her so much.

Could Ross understand that?

Maybe not, but when she looked up into his face, she saw something warm and affectionate enough to make up for it.

"Charity," he murmured, pulling her closer, wanting to feel her warmth, wanting to comfort her. She felt so slen der and fragile, and s he curled against his chest, her control shattered for the moment.

He felt unbelievably protective, as though he would fight off dragons for her. She saw it in his face and she wanted to close her eyes and melt into his embrace and stay that way forever. He was stroking her hair. There was a lump rising in her throat.

"I can't let Aunt Doris down," she told him, still trying to explain, her voice muffled by his soft shirt. "She tried so hard and got so little in return."

"We won't let her down," he said.

His hand cupped her cheek. She seemed as vulnerable as a captured bird, soft and warm and uncertain. A hot sense of possession spread through him.