He closed the door behind them, putting them in darkness except for the light coming in the ventilation holes under the eaves, which wasn’t much because of how dark it was outside. Darkness heightened the fragrance of fresh green hay. She made an involuntary sound as the distinctive scent snapped her back fifteen years to the night when they’d taken shelter in a hay barn during their doomed elopement.
Richard’s gaze moved around the familiar farm tools, rough beams, and stored fodder and he exhaled softly. “You’re thinking of the barn we stayed in when we eloped, aren’t you?”
“How could I not?” she said as she gazed at his dark outline. Because that was when everything in her life had changed.
Chapter 12
That Lancashire barn had been half a lifetime and thousands of miles away. He’d been a young fool not to recognize how disastrous their impulsive actions could be. And he was the damned fool who had suggested that they run away together.
He drew a deep, slow breath as he peeled off his heavy, saturated coat and dropped it on the floor in a soggy pile. Then he caught Callie’s hand and drew her toward a soft, fragrant pile of hay. “Let’s see if American hay is as comfortable as the British variety.”
She went willingly, exhausted by the day and the danger. He lay on his side, studying her face. The dim light emphasized the delicacy of her features. Her hat had vanished as his had, and her long braid of red-gold hair had darkened with the rain.
“You look like a drowned rat,” he said affectionately. “A very pretty drowned rat. Thank you for pulling me out of the water.”
He bent his head, meaning to brush a light thank-you kiss on her mouth, but her lips moved under his and he found he couldn’t stop because she was kissing him back. His mind became as turbulent as the roaring waters that had almost drowned him. He moved closer and her arms came around him as she gave a breathy little sigh.
Callie, Callie . . .His hand slid down to cup the soft breast concealed under her wet, baggy shirt. She was sweet and strong and deeply feminine, a woman like no other. . . .
Abruptly she pulled away, crushing the hay and releasing a fresh clover scent. “No! I need you as a friend, Richard! I don’t have room in my life for anything else!”
He wanted to kiss her again and change her mind, but he’d learned a few things over the years. “Sorry! That was a grateful impulse gone awry. It shouldn’t have happened.”
He rolled onto his back, his gaze fixed on the dim patterns of light from the ventilation holes. “I didn’t mean anything more than a thank-you kiss, but you have an . . . unfortunate effect on my common sense. I keep forgetting that I’m here to help you, not make your life more complicated.”
“More complicated, but better.” She drew a deep breath, and he was pleased to see that he was affecting her also. “Much of the blame is mine. I shouldn’t have kissed you back, but for a few moments there, it . . . seemed like a good idea.”
He’d thought it a splendid idea. But . . . “You terrify me, Callie.”
“Me?” She blinked at him. “I’m not even armed at the moment!”
He laughed and the tension eased. “I’m reasonably sure I could beat you in a fair fight, though probably not an unfair one.”
“The only kind I would attempt,” she said promptly. “Why fight fair with someone twice my size?”
“That’s my girl.” He took her hand, making no attempt to move closer. “You’re terrifying because—” He hesitated as he thought about it. “Over the years I’ve had my share of friends and enemies, but . . . I haven’t been really close to anyone since I was a boy. And it was you then, too.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can see why that would be disconcerting.” After a long silence, she said, “I’ve been close to others, particularly the children and Sarah and Josh. But my friendship with you was a different kind of closeness. A kind I haven’t known since our ways parted.”
“Who could have guessed how far our lives would diverge given that we started in such similar places? I’m finding it very interesting.” He squeezed her hand briefly. “Rest now, Catkin. I think the rain is letting up some. When it ends, we’ll walk the last distance to Tucker Hall.”
She exhaled roughly. “That’s a good idea. Rain on the roof is much more soothing than rain beating down on one’s head.”
She closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. Still holding his hand, she rolled on her side so she was facing him, her features peaceful.
With sudden pain, he realized why Callie terrified him. It wasn’t just that he’d not been close to anyone for fifteen years, but that he was no longer capable of such closeness. He’d survived by cultivating cool, ironic detachment.
He was capable of enjoying life and other people, but never so much that he couldn’t leave without looking back. The capacity to feel deep emotional connection had died when he’d been convicted of theft and kidnapping and shoved onto a hell ship bound for the far side of the world.
On the whole, he thought he’d adapted well to the new life that had been forced on him. He’d survived and, while he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, he hadn’t become evil. But somewhere along the way, he’d lost his youthful capacity for hope and deep feeling.
Not the capacity for desire. That was alive and well, and he desired Callie with embarrassing intensity. But he cared for her enough not to want to do any damage. She’d suffered enough. She needed a friend.
He could manage that. She didn’t need the complications of an affair, and he didn’t need his life to be shattered again. Desire was a different matter, and he could control that. They’d be friends.
Forever friends.
* * *
