descended on her chest, like hands pushing. “I can’t help you.”
“I’m not asking you for help.”
“For what, then?”
Puzzled, he shifted, then settled back again to study her profile. She’d closed up, he realized. Whatever small opening there’d been was shuttered down again. “I’m not asking for anything, Tory. Is that what you expect from everyone?”
She felt stronger now, on her feet, and turned to give him a steady stare. “Yes.”
A bird darted behind him, a quick gray flash that swept by and found a perch in one of the tupelos edging the swamp. And there, it seemed to her, it sang its heart out for hours before Cade spoke again.
Had she forgotten this? she wondered. The long, easy pauses, the patient rhythm of country conversations?
“That’s a pity,” he said, as her blood began to beat in the silence. “But I don’t want anything from you, except maybe a friendly word now and then. The fact is, Hope meant something to both of us. Losing her had an effect on my life. I hesitate to call a lady a liar, but if you were to stand there, eye to eye with me, and tell me it didn’t affect yours, that’s what I’d have to do.”
“What difference does it make to you how I feel?” She wanted to rub the chill from her arms, but resisted. “We don’t know each other. We never really did.”
“We knew her. Maybe your coming back stirs things to the surface again. That’s no fault of yours, it just is.”
“Is this visit a welcome back, or a warning for me to keep my distance?”
He said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. The humor slid back into his eyes, a glint so much speedier than his voice. “You sure grew up prickly. First, I don’t make a habit of asking beautiful women to keep their distance. I’d be the one to suffer, wouldn’t I?”
She didn’t smile, but he did, and this time deliberately took a step closer. Perhaps the motion, perhaps the sound of work boots on wood, sent the bird deeper into the swamp and silenced the song.
“You could always tell me to keep mine, but I’m unlikely to listen. I came by to welcome you back, Tory, and to get a look at you. I got a right to my own curiosity. And seeing you brings some of that summer back. That’s a natural thing. It’s going to bring it back for others, too. You had to know that before you decided to come.”
“I came for me.”
Is that why you look sick and scared and tired? he wondered. “Then welcome home.”
He held out his hand. She hesitated, but it seemed as much a dare as an offering. When she placed hers in it, she found his warm, and harder than she’d expected. Just as she felt the connection, a kind of quiet internal click, unexpected. And unwelcome.
“I’m sorry if it seems unfriendly.” She slid her hand free. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do. I need to get started.”
“You just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“I appreciate that. Ah … you fixed the house up nice.”
“It’s a good house.” But he looked at her as he said it. “It’s a good spot. I’ll let you get doing,” he added, and started down the steps. He stopped beside a tough-looking pickup that desperately needed washing. “Tory? You know that picture of you I carried in my head?” He opened the truck door, and a quick little breeze ruffled through his sun-streaked hair. “I got a better one now.”
He drove off, keeping her framed in the rearview mirror until he made the turn from hard-packed dirt to asphalt.
He hadn’t meant to bring up Hope, not right off. As the owner of Beaux Reves, as her landlord, as a childhood acquaintance, he’d told himself it was a straight duty call. But he hadn’t fooled himself, and he obviously hadn’t fooled Tory, either.
Curiosity had sent him straight out to what people hereabouts still called the Marsh House, when he’d had a dozen pressing matters demanding his attention. He’d been raised to run the farm, but he ran it his own way.
“I’m not asking you for help.”
“For what, then?”
Puzzled, he shifted, then settled back again to study her profile. She’d closed up, he realized. Whatever small opening there’d been was shuttered down again. “I’m not asking for anything, Tory. Is that what you expect from everyone?”
She felt stronger now, on her feet, and turned to give him a steady stare. “Yes.”
A bird darted behind him, a quick gray flash that swept by and found a perch in one of the tupelos edging the swamp. And there, it seemed to her, it sang its heart out for hours before Cade spoke again.
Had she forgotten this? she wondered. The long, easy pauses, the patient rhythm of country conversations?
“That’s a pity,” he said, as her blood began to beat in the silence. “But I don’t want anything from you, except maybe a friendly word now and then. The fact is, Hope meant something to both of us. Losing her had an effect on my life. I hesitate to call a lady a liar, but if you were to stand there, eye to eye with me, and tell me it didn’t affect yours, that’s what I’d have to do.”
“What difference does it make to you how I feel?” She wanted to rub the chill from her arms, but resisted. “We don’t know each other. We never really did.”
“We knew her. Maybe your coming back stirs things to the surface again. That’s no fault of yours, it just is.”
“Is this visit a welcome back, or a warning for me to keep my distance?”
He said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. The humor slid back into his eyes, a glint so much speedier than his voice. “You sure grew up prickly. First, I don’t make a habit of asking beautiful women to keep their distance. I’d be the one to suffer, wouldn’t I?”
She didn’t smile, but he did, and this time deliberately took a step closer. Perhaps the motion, perhaps the sound of work boots on wood, sent the bird deeper into the swamp and silenced the song.
“You could always tell me to keep mine, but I’m unlikely to listen. I came by to welcome you back, Tory, and to get a look at you. I got a right to my own curiosity. And seeing you brings some of that summer back. That’s a natural thing. It’s going to bring it back for others, too. You had to know that before you decided to come.”
“I came for me.”
Is that why you look sick and scared and tired? he wondered. “Then welcome home.”
He held out his hand. She hesitated, but it seemed as much a dare as an offering. When she placed hers in it, she found his warm, and harder than she’d expected. Just as she felt the connection, a kind of quiet internal click, unexpected. And unwelcome.
“I’m sorry if it seems unfriendly.” She slid her hand free. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do. I need to get started.”
“You just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“I appreciate that. Ah … you fixed the house up nice.”
“It’s a good house.” But he looked at her as he said it. “It’s a good spot. I’ll let you get doing,” he added, and started down the steps. He stopped beside a tough-looking pickup that desperately needed washing. “Tory? You know that picture of you I carried in my head?” He opened the truck door, and a quick little breeze ruffled through his sun-streaked hair. “I got a better one now.”
He drove off, keeping her framed in the rearview mirror until he made the turn from hard-packed dirt to asphalt.
He hadn’t meant to bring up Hope, not right off. As the owner of Beaux Reves, as her landlord, as a childhood acquaintance, he’d told himself it was a straight duty call. But he hadn’t fooled himself, and he obviously hadn’t fooled Tory, either.
Curiosity had sent him straight out to what people hereabouts still called the Marsh House, when he’d had a dozen pressing matters demanding his attention. He’d been raised to run the farm, but he ran it his own way.
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