She was puzzled, not having been privy to his complicated thoughts. “Why do you say that?”
He looked up. “What do you think of Nellie?” he asked, changing the subject.
She hesitated.
“Tell me,” he prodded.
She sighed and met his eyes. “I think she’s the worst sort of opportunist,” she confessed. “She adds up presents and gives sex in return. Clark thinks that’s love,” she added cynically.
“You don’t.”
Her eyes were old. “Living with my father taught me some things. He was almost broke when he lost the game park because this woman played up to him and pretended to be awed at the way he handled the animals. She stroked his vanity and he bought her expensive things. Then there was a lawsuit, and we had absolutely nothing. Meanwhile,” she added, “there was this sweet woman who kept the books for us, who took me to church and dated my father. She was shy and not beautiful, but he dropped her as soon as the other woman came along.”
“What happened?”
“When he went bankrupt, his flashy girlfriend was suddenly interested in a local Realtor who’d just inherited a lot of property from his late father.”
“I see.”
“Clark is a sweet man,” she said quietly. “He deserves better.”
He leaned back, finally letting go of her hand. His eyes narrowed on her face. “She works for a living. So do you. I expected you to take her side.”
“She’s a snake,” she returned. “And she doesn’t exactly work that hard for a normal living. Her coworkers say she plays up to her male customers to get big tips. Clark told me. He thinks they’re jealous because she’s pretty.”
He had a faraway look. “Beauty is subjective,” he said oddly. “It isn’t always manifested in surface details.”
She smiled. Then she laughed. “Maybe I’m subjectively beautiful and nobody noticed,” she said.
He realized, belatedly, that she’d made a joke. He laughed softly.
She looked around. The librarian was starting to close doors and turn out lights. She bit her lip. Clark was nowhere in sight.
“I don’t think they’ll let you stay the night,” he pointed out.
She got up, grimacing. She picked up her coat and her purse. “At least there’s a bench out front. I told Clark they closed at nine.”
He got up, too, towering over her. “You haven’t learned yet that intimacy makes people lose track of time.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. He sounded very worldly. She put her purse down and gingerly eased her left arm into the coat. He was behind her at once, easing the rest of the garment over her other arm and onto her shoulder.
“What happened to your arm?” he asked.
She felt his warm hands on her shoulders, the warm strength of his body behind her. She wanted to lean back and have him hold her. Insane thoughts.
“An accident,” she said after a minute. “Nothing terrible,” she lied. “But it left a weakness in that arm. I can’t lift much.”
There was a pause. His usually impassive face had a ragged look. “I have a similar problem with one of my legs,” he said hesitantly. “If I overdo, I limp.”
She turned and looked up at him. She’d noticed that. She’d never expected him to admit it to his enemy. “You were hurt overseas worse than you told Winnie and Clark,” she said with keen insight. “Worse than you’ve told anyone. Except maybe Sheriff Carson.”
His jaw firmed. “You see too much.”
“In my own way, I’ve been through the wars, too,” she replied quietly. “Scars don’t go away, even if wounds heal. And they destroy people.”
She wasn’t looking at him as she said it. Her eyes had the same expression as his did. It was a moment of shared tragedy, shared pain. He moved a step closer to her. She looked up at him expectantly. It was as if the wall between them had lowered just a little, letting in new light. But even as he started to speak, a car drove up outside.
Boone tugged Keely back into the shadows of a row of books. Outside the tinted glass windows, they saw Clark glance furtively at Boone’s big Jaguar sitting next to Nellie’s SUV. He bundled her out of his car and into the SUV and waved her out of the parking lot. He looked hunted. He stood at the front bumper of his car, looking toward the library and hesitating.
