What was there to stop someone from watching them in town?
When someone rapped sharply on her door, Nadine nearly fell off the bed. “What? Who is it?”
“It’s me,” said Cal’s voice. “I’m going to the store for candles. Do you want to come?”
She stared at the door, hands fisted at her sides. After working herself up for the last couple hours, the thought of being alone with his family was only slightly more intimidating than being alone with him. Especially after talking to his father and his sister, and having them both talk about her like she was nothing more than a post-festival lay.
(you don’t have to be sweet for me)
When she didn’t respond, he said, “I know you’re in there and I’m not above a little quid pro quo. I’ll buy you lunch if you open the door.”
He knew her too well already, she thought grimly. She had, indeed, gotten so upset that she’d forgotten to eat.
She swung open the door just as he was ready to knock again, his hand clenched and his arm raised, and once again, she was struck by his height. She had to look up at him to see into his eyes and her head only came up to his shoulder.
“There you are.” He seemed pleased to see her, but the smile on his face made her want to check her clothes and make sure everything was tucked into where it should be.
“Don’t try to buy me,” she said. “It makes me feel cheap.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know. What are you doing?” she fired back, more bravely than she felt while she was still stinging from the impotent anger his father’s lewd accusations had made her feel.
“Buying candles.”
She sighed. “I guess the store’s only down the street.”
“No. I’m driving out to Arboreus.”
“Not the general store?”
“Not unless I want to buy some bullets.”
“Jesus.” He didn’t sound like he was kidding. “Would she really shoot you?”
“Probably only a dirty look. But Odessa likes to fan the flames.” As they walked down the stairs, he paused, his hand resting on the carved top of the baluster. “Her family has hated ours for decades, and far more than most.”
“Why?” She started to head for the front door, but he turned her around with a light touch, hedging her down the hallway that led to the solarium.
“One of her relatives was Caledon Cullraven’s first wife.”
He opened a closet while she stared at him in shock. He pulled out two slickers, tossing one at her before taking another one out for himself. She barely caught it.
His first wife. Dottie Petershadmentioned a wife, hadn’t she? During the mine tour, she’d said that Caledon Cullraven had married a local woman. It had been such a throwaway remark that Nadine hadn’t asked further questions at the time, as focused as she was on the mine. “Was that the one whose pictures he burned?”
“Yes. Jesamyn Peters.”
“I see.”
“So,” he said, with deliberate lightness, “we’re buying candles in Arboreus. After you.”
The ground had turned to mud in the heavy rain and sucked greedily at the soles of her Converse. She wiped them carefully on the bristled mat that had been laid out on the inside of the carriage house before climbing into his expensive car.
Jesamyn Peters. It felt like that might be important, although she wasn’t sure why. For some reason, her thoughts went to the fluttering hellebore in the garden.
“I can’t imagine feeling that way about someone,” she said aloud. “I mean, building a house for them, and then burning parts of it to the ground when they die, and burying them beneath black flowers—” She broke off, glancing at him. “Whodoesthat?”
“My family,” he said.
