Mission of Hope

Her plan hadn’t worked. Quinn knew just by the set of her shoulders when the cart pulled into sight a day or so later. He’d feared as much, suspected that Nora Longstreet hadn’t yet realized just how hard supplies still were to come by. And while a huge chunk of him wanted her to wheel in here victorious, his practical side knew she had always stood a far bigger chance of wheeling in here sad and frustrated.

She was even prettier when she pouted. Her delicate frown whipped up something fierce inside him, some heroic urge to see her smile again and to do whatever it took to produce that smile. She didn’t know he had the means to do it. She didn’t know how much he’d stared at his hand yesterday, trying to recall the softness of her palm and the distractingly soapy scent that seemed to float around her.

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