Starry Night

go and make the mistake of writing a bestselling book that captured the public’s attention. How unfortunate for him.”
    Silence.
    The blizzard howled outside the door, and Carrie was grateful Hennessey had chosen to stay with her. She punched the pillow several times and then lay back down, pulling the thick blanket over her shoulders and forcing her eyes closed. Finn Dalton could thank his lucky stars she wasn’t writing the article on him right that minute. She couldn’t think of a single flattering comment she could make about this ill-mannered man.
    The minutes ticked past, but as hard as she tried, Carrie couldn’t fall sleep. The sofa was uncomfortable, and Finn had made her so angry the adrenaline pumped through her, making it impossible to relax.
    “He hates all women, doesn’t he?” she asked Hennessey, keeping her voice low and soft.
    The dog lifted his head, and she almost expected an answer.
    “Not true,” Finn insisted. He stood in the doorway to the bedroom again, filling it with his bulk.
    Ah, so he hadn’t been able to fall asleep, either. “Is so,” she returned with equal fervor. “How else do you explain yourself? Your mother was given very few options. My goodness, Finn, think about it. She was a southern belle; these harsh elements were too much for her. She wanted to compromise, but your father wouldn’t hear of it. She told me it broke her heart to leave you behind, but you and your father were so close she couldn’t bear to separate you. When you chose to stay with your father, she could have insisted, could have taken the matter to the courts, but she didn’t. She bowed to your wishes even though it broke her heart.”
    “She told you all this, did she?”
    “Yes, and that’s not all. She mentioned how rude you were to her when your father died. She attended his funeral to make what amends she could, and you rejected her.” Carrie’s jaw tightened just thinking about the unkind way Finn had behaved toward his mother.
    “She had no right to be there. She remarried.”
    “She loved your father, and she loves you.” It was beyond Carrie’s imagination that Finn would continue to shut his mother out, especially after losing his father. “You were a boy when she left. You only heard one side of the story.”
    “So did you, and frankly, what’s between my mother and me is none of your concern.”
    He was right; Carrie was butting her head into areas that had nothing to do with writing the article. However, now that she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Your mother wants you in her life. You’re her only child.”
    “She should have thought of that twenty-five years ago.” As though he was exhausted from their argument, he slowly shook his head and whispered, “Just go to sleep, would you?”
    She was about to mention how uncomfortable the sofa was, but he might assume she was looking for an invitation to join him in his bed. Nothing could be further from the truth. “I’m trying, but you make me so angry that I can’t think straight.”
    “Try harder.” The curtain between the two rooms swayed as he whirled around and returned to bed.
    Carrie didn’t know how long it was before she managed to sleep. At some point in the night she woke from the cold and drew the thick blankets more snugly about her shoulders. Later, she was overly warm and kicked them free from her jean-clad legs.
    At about midnight, she opened her eyes to find Finn standing by the stove, feeding it the wood he’d brought in earlier.
    The next thing she knew, he was gently waking her. “You can have the bed now.”
    She blinked up at him without understanding. He was fully dressed, and while it surely must be close to morning, the only light that showed came from the fire in the stove.
    Finn led her into the bedroom, and once she’d crawled into the ultracomfortable feather bed, he covered her with thick blankets. “I’ll be gone for a while.”
    “Okay,” she mumbled, already half asleep. Surrounded by warmth and comfort, she thought sleeping on this soft mattress was heavenly.
    When she woke, it was still dark. She quickly put on every bit of clothing that she could fit into until her arms were so thick with two long-sleeved shirts and two sweaters that she could barely bend her elbows.
    Although she’d never cooked on a cast-iron stove, it didn’t seem that difficult. The coffeepot sat on the stove top, but she was unable to get water from the faucet. Once she got the