“I’ll tutor you. Clay showed me the work you did on that problem I gave him. You thought it through with no instruction.”
“No instruction from you. Clay explained some things to me first, and I had a book.”
“You’re being modest. You proved you’re capable of understanding complex calculations.”
“I solved a single problem. It wasn’t very difficult.”
“So say you. I recall sitting in this room speaking to you about what I would be teaching Clay. You were interested. Not just for Clay, I thought, but also for yourself. You took offense when I asked if he got his head for figures from his father.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“That head for figures came from you, and later you told me that you had little opportunity to advance your learning.”
“Good Lord. You’re as bad as Lizzie, recalling everything I say and repeating it back to me, mostly in ways I don’t like to hear it.”
“I won’t be put off, Mrs. Salt. I’m offering you that opportunity you didn’t have. When I look around this room, I can’t help but notice the books. You enjoy learning, I think. They are not all for your children’s benefit.”
She put up her hand. “Stop talking, please.”
Roen’s jaw snapped shut with such force that he surprised a short laugh out of her.
“I think you must be used to getting your way, Mr. Shepard, else you wouldn’t be so persistent toward that end.”
“Does that mean—”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “That was merely anobservation and not meant to be construed as acceptance of your proposal.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do. You’ve only thought this through as it relates to your situation, which is understandable but selfish and shortsighted. I admit that your offer to tutor is tempting; I only wish it had been inspired by your comprehension that I deserved to be compensated in some fashion. That compassion you were depending upon does not come cheaply.”
Roen was quiet for a few long moments. “I believe I prefer to be shot by anyone rather than taken to the woodshed by you. I take it you have more terms.”
“I do.”
“All right. I’m listening.”
“I am thinking of my children. You left them entirely out of your equation. I can’t be part of your scheme when it involves lying to the children. I wouldn’t accompany you to Liberty Junction without them in tow, and unless we engaged in some elaborate farce, Hannah and Clay would certainly know there were no marriage vows exchanged.”
Roen pressed three fingers to his temple, mirroring Lily’s earlier distress. “I believe I have the beginnings of a headache.”
“As well you should. How much time did you spend developing your plan?”
“About as long as it takes to walk from the Butterworth to here.”
“Ah.”
“I had two beers before I set out.”
“That explains it, then. Ben told me you weren’t a drinker.”
Roen let his hand fall to the arm of the chair and rest there. “You know, Mrs. Salt, I graduated at the top of my class, two of my bridge designs were written about in scientific journals, and I can confidently say that I am on the high side of fair to middlin’ when it comes to intelligence, but here, right now, I can only claim to be a fool. Victorine Headley deserves me. You do not.”
Lily’s gaze dropped away from his. She stared at his hand resting on the arm of the chair. He had long, slender fingers with nails that were clipped and buffed. A pianist’s fingers,she thought, though she didn’t know why. She’d only ever seen Buzz Winegarten at the keys of his player piano. Perhaps Roen had an artist’s hand like his mother. She could see it curling around a paintbrush and moving with deliberation from palette to canvas. Then she saw his hand as it truly was, an instrument in the service of his considerable intellect and imagination, scrawling numbers and formulas across a blank page that would become manmade wonders when applied in the three-dimensional world.
“You proposed a marriage of fiction,” she said, still looking at his hand.
“Yes.”
