Читать книгу: «The Texan», страница 4
“Liberties?” she asked, thinking furiously of the kiss she’d almost received. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Hampton.”
“Don’t you?” He smiled, his mouth a taunt. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I’ll be leaving town before long. My work in Dallas will no longer wait for my appearance there. If you change your mind, I’d be delighted to purchase a ticket for you to accompany me.” He stepped back from the screened door and placed his hat on his head.
“I’d think the atmosphere there would be more conducive to a woman of your stature, Miss Augusta. In fact, I’ll be willing to marry you here, before we even got on the train together. And I’ll warrant that’s a better offer than what you’ll get from your Mr. Cleary.”
“I told you I wasn’t interested in your offer before I left Dallas, sir. I haven’t changed my mind.” Scathing words spun in her mind, but she set them aside, simply bowing her head and speaking one last phrase as she backed away from the door. She could not help but recognize that her inheritance was more appealing to Roger Hampton than she, herself, was. And that thought galled, tainting her final words.
“I wish you well, Mr. Hampton. Good day.”
His mouth was grim as he narrowed his eyes, peering through the screen as she turned aside. “When you discover what a scalawag you’re tangled up with, I’ll expect to hear from you, Miss Augusta.”
She heard his footsteps as he clattered down the steps, and her mind clung tenaciously to his words as she stood facing the flowered wallpaper in the hall.
…a rash of train robberies lately…spacing his out-of-town trips to coincide with each event. Even the sheriff is checking up on him.
She been trusting all of her life, certain of her instincts. Learning that she was the child of a woman of ill repute should have made her more wary of her intuition, yet she’d accepted Jonathan Cleary’s appearance on her doorstep and refrained from questioning him about his circumstances.
The man had almost kissed her. Good grief! And she’d been more than willing, had he but bent a bit closer, had Pearl not interfered with her call to the table. Apparently she’d lowered all her barriers to him, and all but given him permission to ply her with his attentions. She shook her head at her own foolishness and stiffened her spine.
Just wait until he reappeared. Just wait.
The fourth day came and went, and still there was no reappearance of the man she yearned for. Cleary. Jonathan Cleary, Augusta reminded herself, a tinge of hurt creeping into her thoughts as she reflected that he’d not deemed her worthy of such a confidence. She looked from her bedroom window, scanning the starry horizon.
It was almost a mile to his house, she mused. Perhaps he’d returned already and was even now readying himself for bed. As if she cared, she thought, tossing her head.
And yet, he crept further into her thoughts and she closed her eyes, visualizing his muscular form. Maybe he was undressing, freeing himself from the constriction of shirt and tie, for surely he would be dressed as a gentleman to pursue his business.
Whatever his business was, it was sure to be something refined, she decided, no matter what Roger Hampton’s veiled accusations had implied. Maybe he was in charge of…she inhaled deeply as her mind balked, and her thoughts churned with various occupations the man might be involved with.
Cleary didn’t appear to be a businessman, although his manners were impeccable. He was adept with tools, and his intelligence could not be disputed, but his talent seemed to lie in getting things accomplished. Like the chickenyard and coop. And like repairing the shingles on the roof, supervising the men from the boardinghouse next door as they worked to his specifications.
She opened her eyes, leaning her forehead against the upper windowpane. It was warm, holding the heat of the day, and she lifted from it. A movement beneath a tree in the front yard caught her attention as a figure stepped from under the low branches. A man, tall, wide through the shoulders, his hands at his sides.
It was Cleary. How she knew for certain was not important. Maybe it was his size, or the broad expanse of his shoulders, his stance seeming taut as he looked up at her window. Whatever inner message filled her mind with the knowledge, it was the beating of her heart and the quickening within her body that made her aware of his presence. She stepped back from the glass and bent to peer through the lower half of the window, where the screen kept night bugs from her room yet allowed soft breezes to enter.
The man watching lifted his hand in a salute of greeting, or perhaps a gesture willing her to come to him, then tucked it neatly in his trouser’s pocket. And waited.
She turned to the bed, snatching her wrapper and sliding her arms into the sleeves. He’d seen her, beckoned her with his uplifted palm, and her head swam with the knowledge that he’d come to her. No matter his reason. Whatever the cost, she ached for his presence, for the sound of his voice, for the touch of his hand. Her feet were silent on the steps as she flew down the curving staircase to the front door.
It closed without a sound behind her, and she stood at the edge of the porch as he approached. She leaned heavily against the upright post beside her, and his name was a whisper on her lips. “Cleary?”
He stood below her, as if to approach nearer would be a blemish on her reputation. One hand lifted his hat and held it against his thigh, and still he watched her, silent and sober in the shadows. And then he spoke, the words quiet in the night, touching her heart like the song of a nightingale.
“I needed to see you.” Music to her ears, the message he sent vibrated through her mind. I needed to see you.
Her reply seemed prosaic, witless and drab, yet she could not speak above a whisper, in a breathless, timid voice. “Whatever for, Mr. Cleary?” She should have called him Jonathan, she thought, ruing her formality. He’d have lifted a brow and smiled at her with delight and…
“I missed you,” he said after a moment. His hat moved as he touched it against his leg and then shifted it in his hand. “I wasn’t sure you’d see me out there. Or that you’d come down to speak with me.”
She yearned to ask where he’d been. Wanted desperately to wonder aloud at the occupation that sent him hither and yon without notice, needed to hear an explanation for his absence. But mostly she ached to greet him warmly, and only the essential dignity she possessed forbade her to extend a hand and allow him the steps to where she stood, perhaps sit beside her on the swing that hung in the shadows at the end of the porch.
“We’ve missed you, too.” It was a pale imitation of what her heart yearned to speak. But it would suffice, she decided, deliberately including the other occupants of this house in her words.
“We?” he asked. “And you, Miss Augusta. Did you miss me most of all?”
She saw a smile touch his lips, noted the lowering of his eyelids until only a faint gleam revealed his attention focused on her. The moon touched his hair with silver and the stars attended his smile, bringing to light the white, straight edges of his teeth. He was all male, powerful in his masculine beauty, and she sensed the disintegration of her defenses, if, indeed, she’d ever possessed any where this man was concerned.
“Yes.” It was a single word, spoken quietly, accompanied by a small nod that reminded her of her dishabille, her hair falling past her shoulders to wave against her back. She’d taken the pins out, then shaken her head to loosen the locks. Now they tumbled where they would and she was stricken with embarrassment.
A lady did not allow her hair to be seen by a gentleman in such a manner. A fact her mother had dutifully listed, along with several other such rules, all of them written in stone. There were some things a lady definitely did not do.
Augusta feared that one of them surely included standing in the dark with only her nightwear on while a gentleman watched with knowing eyes. Especially when that gentleman had the ability to stir the lady’s emotions with only a look or touch.
Cleary’s smile held a hint of satisfaction as he heard her soft admission. Yes. The single word hung between them and he inhaled swiftly.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said. “Do you have a number of things for me to do?”
She shook her head. “None that I can think of right now.” Her mind was blank, all but his image before her having faded to oblivion.
“I’ll come anyway,” he promised. “There’s nothing in my cupboard for breakfast. Perhaps Bertha will allow me to join you.”
“I’m sure,” she whispered.
He stretched out his hand, his palm open to the moonlight, and her gaze flew to rest there, where she knew calluses hardened the skin. “Step down here with me, Gussie,” he said quietly. Her hand twitched at her side and she doubled her fingers into a fist. Yet it would not obey her command, not even when she forced it into her pocket and clutched at the fabric there.
It trembled in her pocket, her fingertips tingling as she considered resting them on that open palm. “Why don’t you step up here?” she countered, her head tilting to one side.
As if he had been waiting for the words of invitation, he lifted a foot to the porch, touching the upright post for balance, and, eschewing the stairs, stood before her. She backed from him with haste, but he was immobile, only the rise and fall of his shirt with each breath he drew marring the statue he became.
“You really missed me?” he asked, his voice taking on a husky note that stirred her heart into a more rapid pace.
“Yes.”
“Then show me.”
Chapter Four
“Show you? I don’t understand.”
She lied, he thought smugly. Though her wide eyes were confused, her body arched, leaning toward him as if she yearned to be in contact with his own solid frame. Escaping the pocket where she’d thrust it, her hand rose, fingers clenched tightly. And then they unfolded and her fist was no more, having become a narrow palm whose trembling fingers lifted toward his wide chest.
“I think you do,” he said quietly, denying her words. “Shall I help you?” he asked.
Her gaze was shuttered by drooping eyelids now, as if she concentrated on the movement of her fingers as they brushed against his leather vest. “I thought you’d wear a suit in your pursuit of business. A white shirt and tie, perhaps.” And then, as if his words penetrated her mind, she glanced up at him and he saw heat in the depths of her blue eyes, a warmth she was unable to conceal.
“Help me? What do you mean?” Her lips trembled and he fought the urge to cover them with his own. He’d almost done that very thing, less than a week ago, there at the corner of the house as she held the shutter for him. An unnecessary task he’d invented for his own pleasure.
“Like this.” He bent his head, and one wide palm lifted to cover her hand as it pressed finally against his chest. She was warm to his touch, her slender hand more than capable of bringing him to a state of arousal with barely a whisper of pressure against his clothing. And what he would do next would perhaps thrust him beyond that initial state of yearning.
Her eyes closed as he surrounded her waist with his other arm, tugging her gently against himself. Lest he frighten her with the evidence of his longing, he allowed only their upper bodies to touch, and that just enough to feel the soft curves of her breasts against the back of his hand.
She inhaled, a deep, quivering breath, and he rested his lips against hers, barely brushing the soft surface. They trembled at his touch and he pressed more firmly, wanting the further intimacy of tongue and teeth exposed to his own. But not tonight, he realized. She kissed like the innocent she was, and so he was dutiful in his behavior, only whispering a soft word of pleasure as he lifted his head.
“Nice,” he said quietly. “Your mouth is soft and sweet, Miss Gussie.”
“Gussie?” she inquired, as if she’d only now realized his use of a derivative of her name. “You said that a few minutes ago, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “I think it suits you.”
“My brother called me Gussie,” she told him. “A long time ago.”
“I won’t call you that in front of others,” he promised. “Only when we’re alone.”
“I hadn’t planned on us being alone, Jonathan,” she replied, using his given name for the first time, emphasizing each syllable. Her eyes met his with a direct gaze that demanded a reply.
“Beth Ann told you, didn’t she?” His smile was gentle as he thought of the ungainly young woman who had caught his attention and inspired his gentleman’s instincts. “She needed to feel special that day, Gussie. I told her she had a lovely name, and…”
“She told us. And you succeeded at your task. You made her feel good, just by paying attention to her.”
“You don’t mind? Not only that I told her my name, but that I didn’t tell you first. I didn’t intend it, but she’s a needy female, Gussie. I just thought…”
She shook her head, effectively halting his words. “Every woman needs to know that there is something about her that is attractive to a man. Beth Ann has never felt worthy of anyone’s attention. I think now she recognizes that she may have something to offer one day. In fact, I think we’re attacking that problem in the proper fashion now.”
It was not the way he’d wanted these few moments to be spent, speaking of another woman, yet Augusta went on, and he allowed it, easing himself a bit as he held her against his body.
“We’re showing her how to fix her hair. Pearl’s good at that, and she has her using lemon juice to rinse it with to bring out the gold. Janine is fixing her clothes a bit, making them fit better, and showing Beth Ann how to stand up straight with her shoulders back.”
“And what are you doing for her?” he asked, his voice amused as her earnest words told of her plan.
“I’m helping her to read better and teaching her how to write more clearly. She is sadly lacking in schooling, I fear.”
“You have a kind heart, Gussie.”
“I have a need to help, Jonathan.” As if she tasted his name on her tongue, she pronounced the syllables slowly. “Someday I’ll tell you about it, when I’m brave enough.”
Brave? Did Augusta need to gather her courage to confide her reasons for what she did here, in this place, with these women? “Someday soon, I’ll remind you of that promise,” he said quietly. And then pushing all else aside, he bent to her again, catching a whiff of sweet scent he could not identify, mixed with the warm aroma of her flesh. “I think I must leave,” he told her, pressing his lips against her forehead. “I don’t want anyone to see us and think badly of you.”
“I missed you.” She repeated his words and her smile was tremulous as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I’ve never been kissed before,” she confessed. “In all my days, no man has ever gotten this close to me.”
“Not for lack of trying, I’ll warrant,” he said quietly. “You are an appealing woman, Gussie.” His mouth touched hers, a fleeting caress.
“Appealing?”
“I’m not going to make a list of your charms, ma’am. You’ve already chastened me on that score once.” He softened the words with another quick touch of his mouth against hers. “Besides having lovely hair—” His lips brushed like fairy wings against the wispy curl that lay against her temple “—and beautiful eyes—” He kissed the lids, carefully, with butterfly touches. And then his words were wistful, clinging to her ears like honey dripping from the comb. “Augusta, my love, you have a bountiful supply of attributes which could easily bring a man to his knees.”
“My hair is down,” she blurted out, as if unable to respond to his elaborate descriptions of what she obviously considered rather ordinary features.
“I noticed,” he murmured. “I feel privileged to see it revealed. I’d lay odds that no other man has had such a viewing.” His hands yearned to tangle in its golden waves and he forbade himself the intimacy. Next time.
“You’d win,” she admitted with a sigh. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she saw me here with you. She taught me to be a lady.”
“She did a good job of it,” Cleary said. “You are every inch a gentlewoman.”
“Even with my nightclothes on and my hair in disarray?”
He nodded. “Especially in such a state. Your womanhood does not depend on what you’re wearing or your hairpins remaining in place. Right now, you’re every bit a lady, and I respect you as such.”
Even as I yearn to lay you down and make you a woman. The thought raced through his mind and he inhaled deeply, stepping away from her, releasing her from his embrace, lest he frighten her with his barely controlled desire.
She backed a few steps, coming up against the door, and her fingers groped for the handle. Her face was in shadow and he heard her whisper a soft farewell, watched as she slid within the narrow opening she allowed, into the hallway, where she stood like a wraith beyond the screened door.
“Good night,” he said, turning to step down from the porch, making his way to where his horse awaited his return, there beneath the widespread limbs of the tree at the front of her yard. He heard the faint click of the latch as she closed the door, and he led his horse from concealment. With a lithe movement, he mounted, groaning at the firmness of the saddle against his throbbing arousal.
With a last glance at the dark house, he lifted the reins and traveled a roundabout route to his home.
To the house that seemed less a home than the one he left behind.
“Thought I saw somebody out in the front yard last night,” Pearl said from behind her as Augusta stood at the back door. Morning had been a relief, her sleep broken by dreams of Cleary. The sun was just above the chicken coop now, almost time for breakfast. She’d thought herself alone in the kitchen, until Pearl’s words made her aware that her midnight foray to the porch had not gone unnoticed.
“Did you?” Her voice was quiet, the words deliberate as she turned her head to face the other woman’s gaze. “It was Cleary, as you well know.”
“Is he leadin’ you down the primrose path?” Pearl asked, and Augusta sensed real concern behind the casual query. A crease drew her brows together as Pearl spoke her mind.
“He’s not what he seems, Miss Augusta. I’ve been around the track a few times, and I’ve known men like him. I think he’s a good man, deep down where it counts, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. With anybody, for that matter.”
Augusta digested the woman’s words, reluctantly agreeing with her theory, and then shrugged. “Maybe not. But I know he’s done a lot to help us here. And until I find out otherwise, I have to trust him not to do harm.”
“Don’t go losing your heart to a man who can’t make you any promises,” Pearl advised. “I’ll lay odds he has other fish to fry, and we’re just helpin’ him mark time while he does whatever it is he does.”
“And what do you suppose that is?”
Pearl grinned. “We’re both probably better off not knowing. The only difference is that you’re the one likely to get hurt before this is over. Now if you were like me,” she paused and laughed aloud. “I’m tough as old boots, and I lost my heart in the shuffle a long time ago.”
“To a man?” Augusta asked with a smile. For the first time she began to see through Pearl’s tough exterior, into the woman’s heart she’d just claimed to have forfeited along the way.
“There’s always a man,” Pearl said with a laugh. “The thing is, you gotta learn how to keep yourself clear of the loving part.” Her head cocked to one side as she examined Augusta’s face, and her smile faded. “Damn if I don’t believe you’ve already got in over your head, Miss Augusta.” She shook her head and her eyes mourned Augusta’s loss of innocence. “Damn.”
“I’m not in over my head,” Augusta denied quietly. “He’s a gentleman in every way. And he didn’t molest me last night.”
“I didn’t think he had,” Pearl said agreeably. “But he’ll either marry you quick as he can, or take you to bed and tie you to him in ways you’ve never imagined. And then you’ll be…” Her eyes narrowed as she watched Augusta. “He’ll answer to me, does he hurt you. And you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll tell him so.”
“No.” The single word resounded like a rifle shot in the room. “No. I won’t have anyone interfering in this. I’ve already been warned, but for the first time in my life, I’ve found a man I’m willing to trust with everything I have to give, and I won’t let anyone else be involved. I need to do this on my own.”
“Well, you’d better know I’ll be watching him,” Pearl said grudgingly. “And so will a couple other people I know.”
“It’s time for breakfast,” Augusta said with a glance at the kitchen door. If she knew anything at all, it was that Bertha would be strolling through that doorway in minutes, and the conversation of the hour didn’t need to include another living soul.
“I’ll get out the milk,” Pearl told her, turning to the icebox, bending to retrieve the bottle from its depths. “Here,” she said. “You start the biscuits and I’ll get stuff from the pantry.”
Within minutes the fire was crackling with the addition of kindling and a few stout pieces of wood. The bacon was sliced and in the pan, and Augusta was demoted to finding a biscuit pan while Bertha made it her business to cut out the pale rounds of dough and place them on the greased surface.
“I heard y’all out here talkin’,” she grumbled. “Seems like we could’ve had another half hour to sleep. Sun’s barely up.”
“It’s just as well we get organized early,” Pearl said cheerfully, shooting a wry grin in Augusta’s direction. “I have a notion we’re gonna have company for breakfast.”
In fact, it was barely ten minutes later when a faint rapping at the back door caught Augusta’s ear. Jonathan Cleary stood to one side of the door, seeking her gaze through the fine wire mesh as she reached to unlatch the screened door.
“Thought I’d stop by and see if there was a chance of cadging breakfast,” he said cheerfully.
“Do you suppose you can find something to do to earn it out?” Augusta asked him, as if she were not fully aware that his mind was no doubt already swarming with tasks to be accomplished.
“I’ll manage,” he said, his words droll. Walking to the sink, he washed his hands and then turned, seeking a towel.
“Towels are in the pantry,” Pearl said shortly. “And there’s need of a few more shelves in there, if you’re of a mind to nail up a couple of boards.”
“I could manage that,” he said, his glance mocking as he met the woman’s gaze. “Anything else you think I need to tend to?”
Pearl’s eyes took on a gleam that warned Augusta she’d best be stepping between the two adversaries. “I’ve got a short list of things,” she said quickly. “We can talk after breakfast.”
The short list involved using a lawn mower, a new one Augusta had ordered from the Sears, Roebuck catalogue. “Am I the first one to use it?” Cleary asked. “It’ll be a far sight easier to push than the one I used back home as a boy. I well remember having to rake up the clippings to feed the goats.”
“Why didn’t your father just stake the goats in the yard and let them do the work?” Augusta asked with a grin. Looking at Cleary beneath the hot sun, his forehead wearing a handkerchief to halt the pouring of sweat into his eyes, was a treat.
Now he halted, midway in his rounding of the yard and eyed her boldly. “You think you’re smart, don’t you, lady? All cool and crisp while I’m sweating like a horse, doing your chores. And for your information, when I was growing up, the other ladies in town would have thought we were peasants had we tied the goats in the yard.”
“Where was home?” Augusta asked quietly, her gaze resting on his strong body, outlined by the dampness of his clothing. Another time, with another man, she might have considered her thoughts forward, would have looked anywhere else but at the flex of muscles in his arms as he reached for the glass of lemonade she held. But not with Cleary.
After last night on the porch, she’d become aware of him in a new way. She knew that he wanted her, as a man wants a woman, and that knowledge made her brave, bold in her scrutiny.
He took the glass, and she reveled in the touch of callused fingertips against her finer skin. Tilting his head back, he drank, his swallows readily draining the glass. And then he held it out to her. “We lived not too far from here, as a matter of fact.”
Perhaps she hadn’t expected his honest reply, and yet, somehow she’d known that when he could, Jonathan Cleary would be honest with her. “Do you see your folks?” she asked, looking up at him.
He shook his head, and his words held a ring of harshness she had not expected. “They’re gone.” And that seemed to be all he would say on the subject as he glanced up at the sky. “Might as well get this job done. I think we’re in for a good rain before nightfall.” His grin was quick, as though his moment of brusque behavior was forgotten. “And that will only make it grow quicker.”
Augusta looked upward, where clouds gathered at the western horizon. “Well, you’ll have to come back for breakfast next week then, won’t you?” she heard herself saying.
His laugh rolled forth and she looked at him warily. “Go get me some more lemonade, sweetheart, or a glass of water from the well. Any sort of liquid will do. I’m still dry.”
She turned to walk away, and his words were a whisper in her ear. “I’ll be back for breakfast, all right. You won’t be getting rid of me, honey.”
Sweetheart. Honey. The simple endearments clutched at her heart as she hurried to the house, hearing the mower’s blade spin behind her. He’d called her names she’d only heard before from her father when he spoke to the woman he adored, in those times when her parents thought their children were abed and out of hearing. Words she’d cherished, knowing how deeply her mother loved him, and how devoted her father was to the woman he’d married.
A woman whose passions she seemed to have inherited.
In the house, a letter awaited her on the kitchen buffet, and a stranger sat, stiffly upright in a chair at the table, a cup of tea before her. “This is Glory,” Pearl said, nodding at the woman who looked as though she were in need of a hiding place. “Came in on the morning train from Dallas.”
“Hello again, Glory,” Augusta said quietly. The new resident had looked healthier the first time Augusta had laid eyes on her, a couple of weeks ago. Now she bore fresh bruises and a bandage on her forehead.
“Ma’am.” Glory’s gaze was fleeting, touching Augusta’s face, then over her shoulder. “Am I still welcome here?” she asked quietly.
“You can share a room with Beth Ann,” Augusta told her, casting a silent request in Pearl’s direction.
“I’ll take care of getting you settled, Glory,” Pearl said. “Miss Augusta’s kinda tied up right now, giving orders in the backyard. And I’m thinking you could use a nice long nap, anyway.”
She picked up the letter from the buffet, and handed it to Augusta. Addressed in a scrawling hand, it was simply sent to Miss Augusta McBride, in care of the postmaster in Collins Creek, Texas. “Bertha brought this from town,” Pearl volunteered. “I was just about to bring it out to you, when I saw you heading for the house. And then I thought maybe you’d like to say hello to Glory here.”
“You were right. And we’ll talk more at dinner, when Glory’s had a chance to recuperate from her travels.”
She glanced down at her letter. “I wonder…” Augusta turned the missive over, as if the sender might be revealed by looking at the back of the soiled envelope. “It looks as though it’s gone through a great number of hands to arrive here, doesn’t it? And some of them none too clean, I’d say.”
“You’ll probably find out more if you just open it, ma’am,” Pearl said dryly.
And if her barely concealed curiosity was anything to go by, the woman would no doubt be peering over her shoulder, Augusta thought. Her index finger slid beneath the flap, and she carefully tore at the sealed edge. The paper was wrinkled, the ink smeared, and she opened it with care. Only a few lines met her eye, but they were filled with portent.
“My brother…” she began, seeking Pearl’s concerned face.
“Where’s my water?” came a call from the back stoop, and an audible gasp sounded from Glory’s lips.
“Fill this for Cleary,” Augusta said, lifting the empty glass from the table and handing it to Pearl. To her credit, the woman took it and did as she was asked, opening the back door to give the waiting man his drink. He downed it and Augusta watched from the middle of the kitchen, her mind filled with the message she’d just read.
“Thanks,” Cleary said. “Where’d Augusta go?”
“Inside,” Pearl said briefly, accepting the empty glass and backing from the door.
“Tell her I want to talk to her,” Cleary said, peering now past the screen door.
“She’s busy.” Pearl’s voice left no room for discussion, but Cleary would not be foiled in his purpose.
“Augusta!” His calling of her name was loud and clear and she cast a glance at Pearl as she stepped to the door. He smiled at her. “I need you out here to tell me which green things along the edges are flowers and which are weeds.”
“Yes, all right,” she told him, folding the letter and tucking it into her pocket.
She faced him on the stoop and his eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong? What happened to make you look like you’ve just lost your last friend?”
“I may have,” she told him quietly. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and through the mist was aware of his hands lifting to cradle her cheeks.
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