She stood absolutely still, tension radiating from her skin into his fingers. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse, as though she hadn’t used it for a long time. “Do you?”

“I find almost every damn thing about you irresistible, Mrs. Webster,” he said, his arms aching to come around her.

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “Don’t call me by his name.”

“Alva, then,” he said, and pulled her close.

When his lips first touched hers, there was only joy, and a feeling akin to homecoming. She was in his arms, and kissing him, and it was somehow both an event of monumental importance and exactly as it should be. Her muscles were tense underneath his hands, but she was kissing him back, and if some part of him wondered why her body was poised to flee, the rest of him was too overjoyed to care. At first she was tentative, almost questioning. Sam let her lead, blessing the control that let him do so when the sixteen-year-old inside him wanted desperately to push her against the rough wooden fence and maul her. He was swamped with new knowledge: the way her breasts molded against his chest, that she smelled ever so slightly of sandalwood, the exact taper of her waist, the precise angle of the flare of her hips. These facts were the things his universe was made of. Suddenly she kissed him more deeply, more enthusiastically, a low groan in her throat that shot all the way down his body, and then, just as quickly, pushed herself away. She took a step away, turning back towards the sheep and gripping the fence.

“Alva—”

“I can’t believe I did that,” she said, her hand creeping up to her lips. “Why did I do that?”

“Hopefully because I’m irresistible,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry to have—to have given you the wrong impression. I can’t do this. I don’t have room for romance, or for … whatever this is.”

Sam blew out a breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “It’s romance,” he said.

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“I see,” he said, even though the only thing he saw was how absolutely muddled he was.

“I really should be going,” she said, her voice formal. “Thank you for escorting me to town.”

“May I see you to your house?”

“I took a rental house only a few minutes away,” she said, shaking her head. “Good day.”

She turned and started to walk down the street, stopping after only a few steps. “It would be best if we didn’t see each other again,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be rude, especially since you’re obviously a very nice man, but I’m not going to change my mind about the romance, and I’m not going to change my mind about the house.”