ChapterNine
Samantha had just finished her sketch when Trent walked into the sitting room.
“I was hoping you might come home early again today and not spend the whole day out on the estate.”
“Were you?You can always send someone to find me if you need me.”
She shook her head and closed her book.“It’s not urgent.I want you to teach me how to punch with my left hand.My right arm is sore after last night.”
Trent’s lips turned up in a smile.“I’d be happy to.”His gaze wandered over her face, making a quick dip down her body before he realized it and corrected himself.
Samantha wasn’t blind, and she certainly wasn’t naive.He was attracted to her.But with him, it didn’t cause her fear.He didn’t leer or presume or expect.And it wasn’t just attraction.There was a reverence in his gaze.A sort of awe.It was silly probably, but it made her feel special.
They walked together out to the barn.Somehow, punching with her left hand felt as if she was starting from scratch again.Trent had to guide her and show her how to move her body.Not that she had any objection.She was growing to enjoy the warmth of his hands on her arms and shoulders.It could hardly be considered scandalous with her long sleeves and high neck.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as she increased the speed of her movements.“Do you want me to get a page out of your sketchbook?”
“No!”She hurried over to pick it up.“I didn’t bring it for me.”She paused, nervousness fluttering in her chest.She wasn’t sure how Trent was going to react to her surprise.
“What do you mean?”His brow was furrowed in confusion.
“I think….”She took a breath and gathered her courage.“Perhaps it would be good for you to have a turn.”
She waited for his shock or anger, but he was still confused.“You want me to punch a picture of Norman?”He shrugged.“I will, if you want me to.”
She laughed, despite her nervousness.“I would probably enjoy that, but that’s not what I meant.Not Norman.”She tore the page out of her book and held it up to the bag.
His brow furrowed even further.“Is that Ash?”
“No.They do look quite similar.But this”—she shook the page for emphasis—“is your father.”
He looked a little more closely, then shook his head.“No.No.Put that away.”
“I think it will be good for you.”
He shook his head again.“No.Get that away from me.”He turned and strode for the door, but when she grabbed his arm, he stopped.
“Please don’t leave.”
He let out a long sigh and looked down at her hand on his forearm.He didn’t move or speak.
“Talk to me, Trent.Tell me what’s happening.What you're feeling.Don’t just run.”
“I can’t, Samantha.I can’t do… that.”He nodded toward the sketch without looking at it.
“What does it make you feel?”
He sighed again, his shoulders sagging.He looked into her eyes for a long time.He was trying to decide if he could trust her, and he must have eventually decided he could, because he finally spoke.
“Fear.”
“I feel fear too, when I look at pictures of Norman.Are you afraid of your father?”Slowly, she guided him away from the door.
“No.My father is dead, and I never met him.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
He swallowed before answering.“I’m afraid of losing control.”
