in other people. There was no way in hell he could refuse the child his request. But what was Queen going to think about taking along a ten-year-old when she needed to do some private shopping? He soon realized he needn't have worried. When it came to his sons, Queen couldn't seem to say no.
"I would love for you to come with me," she said. All the defiance was gone from her voice and posture. "If it's all right with your daddy," she added.
Will turned to his father, searching for the nod of approval. When it came, Will actually grinned and clapped his hands together as he shouted, "All right!" He charged from the room, pausing only long enough to assure Queen that he'd be right back.
She was speechless.
"I'll be damned," Cody said quietly.
"What?"
"That is the first spontaneous thing Will has done in three years."
"Why? What happened three years ago to make him…" The look on Cody's face told her all she needed to know.
"Oh," she said. She leaned against the washer for support as she realized the responsibility of the trust that he'd given her. "Oh, my God."
"Exactly," Cody said. "So… you understand… he can't be hurt… not again."
Suddenly she was furious. "Just what are you expecting me to do to him, dammit? I realize I wasn't raised in the same social circles that you were, but I think I know better than you how hurtful thoughtless words can be. Your children will not suffer at my hands."
"I didn't mean…"
He could have saved himself the time and trouble of trying to apologize. Shaking with anger, she handed him the basket of towels she'd started to fold. Then she walked out of the laundry room with her head held high, her back poker stiff.
He didn't have the nerve to call after her, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known what to say. Minutes later he heard the front door slam and then the unmistakable sound of the Blazer's engine firing.
He dropped the laundry and hurried to the front door, hoping for a chance to wave good-bye. But he was too late. All he saw was the back of the Blazer and the small cloud of dust following in its wake.
He noticed that Will was sitting in the middle of the front seat, not by the door, and tried to ignore the wrench of worry in his gut. She'd already warned him that when she got her chance she would leave. What would that do to Will? How would he react to her absence as well?
"Dammit," he muttered, and slapped the door facing with the flat of his hand.
But for now it didn't bear worrying about. He had more on his mind than whether or not "Aunt Queenie" was a "here today-gone tomorrow" type of woman. The Whittiers were coming. He could feel it.
Queen absently wound the dish towel around and around one palm as she stared through the kitchen window at the scene in the backyard.
She hated herself for looking. She hated herself for even wanting to. But turning away from Cody Bonner wasn't possible. Not anymore. He'd done something no man had ever done in her entire life. Sometime during the past few days he'd gotten under her skin.
To a casual onlooker, what Queen was watching would seem to be nothing more than a father instilling good work ethic in his three sons. Unloading a rick of fresh-cut firewood from the back of the old red truck and stacking it against an outbuilding was not unusual. It only made sense that wood would need to cure before the arrival of winter. But it was midsummer, and even though the air was cooler on the mountain, it was still very warm—so warm that Cody Bonner had taken off his shirt and cap, leaving bare an immense expanse of brown skin. His black hair gleamed, sweat-slicked against his temples, as he moved from truck to woodpile and back again.
Therein lay Queen's dilemma. Should she stand there and torment herself with the sight of shoulders broader than a man had a right to own, a corded belly that looked tighter than a high-strung wire, and arm muscles that seemed to ripple as they clenched, then release with each toss of the
"I would love for you to come with me," she said. All the defiance was gone from her voice and posture. "If it's all right with your daddy," she added.
Will turned to his father, searching for the nod of approval. When it came, Will actually grinned and clapped his hands together as he shouted, "All right!" He charged from the room, pausing only long enough to assure Queen that he'd be right back.
She was speechless.
"I'll be damned," Cody said quietly.
"What?"
"That is the first spontaneous thing Will has done in three years."
"Why? What happened three years ago to make him…" The look on Cody's face told her all she needed to know.
"Oh," she said. She leaned against the washer for support as she realized the responsibility of the trust that he'd given her. "Oh, my God."
"Exactly," Cody said. "So… you understand… he can't be hurt… not again."
Suddenly she was furious. "Just what are you expecting me to do to him, dammit? I realize I wasn't raised in the same social circles that you were, but I think I know better than you how hurtful thoughtless words can be. Your children will not suffer at my hands."
"I didn't mean…"
He could have saved himself the time and trouble of trying to apologize. Shaking with anger, she handed him the basket of towels she'd started to fold. Then she walked out of the laundry room with her head held high, her back poker stiff.
He didn't have the nerve to call after her, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known what to say. Minutes later he heard the front door slam and then the unmistakable sound of the Blazer's engine firing.
He dropped the laundry and hurried to the front door, hoping for a chance to wave good-bye. But he was too late. All he saw was the back of the Blazer and the small cloud of dust following in its wake.
He noticed that Will was sitting in the middle of the front seat, not by the door, and tried to ignore the wrench of worry in his gut. She'd already warned him that when she got her chance she would leave. What would that do to Will? How would he react to her absence as well?
"Dammit," he muttered, and slapped the door facing with the flat of his hand.
But for now it didn't bear worrying about. He had more on his mind than whether or not "Aunt Queenie" was a "here today-gone tomorrow" type of woman. The Whittiers were coming. He could feel it.
Queen absently wound the dish towel around and around one palm as she stared through the kitchen window at the scene in the backyard.
She hated herself for looking. She hated herself for even wanting to. But turning away from Cody Bonner wasn't possible. Not anymore. He'd done something no man had ever done in her entire life. Sometime during the past few days he'd gotten under her skin.
To a casual onlooker, what Queen was watching would seem to be nothing more than a father instilling good work ethic in his three sons. Unloading a rick of fresh-cut firewood from the back of the old red truck and stacking it against an outbuilding was not unusual. It only made sense that wood would need to cure before the arrival of winter. But it was midsummer, and even though the air was cooler on the mountain, it was still very warm—so warm that Cody Bonner had taken off his shirt and cap, leaving bare an immense expanse of brown skin. His black hair gleamed, sweat-slicked against his temples, as he moved from truck to woodpile and back again.
Therein lay Queen's dilemma. Should she stand there and torment herself with the sight of shoulders broader than a man had a right to own, a corded belly that looked tighter than a high-strung wire, and arm muscles that seemed to ripple as they clenched, then release with each toss of the
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