A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever by Marta Perry Page A

never left it. “I told you we’d decided to do the repairs first.”
    She wasn’t listening to him. Her gaze focused on the pad, and she pulled it from his hands. She sat back on the log as if she’d forgotten he was there, her pencil flying across the paper.
    He watched, bemused. Tory had withdrawn into some other world where nothing could touch her. He doubted she heard the screech of the gulls or the rustle of the sea oats. Only the breeze drew a reaction from her as she pushed her hair back impatiently and smoothed the paper flat.
    â€œThere,” she said at last, looking at him, eyes alight with passion. “See? This is what I can do with it.” She thrust the sketch pad at him.
    He took it, sitting down next to her on the log. How was he going to get through to the woman if she wouldn’t even listen to what he said?
    â€œThis is the window’s shape.” Her finger traced the arched rectangle she’d drawn. “That’s a given. The border can go all around.”
    She’d turned the morning glories into a twining design that made a frame for whatever would go into the center. He didn’t want to be intrigued, and he fought the feeling.
    â€œAs I said, we want you to do the repairs first. We’re not ready to plan the window yet.”
    Her gaze probed for what lay behind the words. “I know. You’ve told me, several times. But you don’t understand. It takes time to create a new design and order the materials. I have to work on this now, while I’m doing the repairs, or I won’t be ready when the time comes.”
    How did he argue with that? Did he tell her the truth—that she’d never come up with a design he’d approve of because such a thing could never exist?
    He concentrated on the page, trying to ignore the wave of energy coming from Tory. But he couldn’t do that, either.
    This mattered to her. Maybe she brought this kind of passion to all her work. Did she have any of that passion left over for anything or anyone else?
    Not a question he had the right to wonder about, he told himself quickly.
    â€œAll right.” He gave in because he didn’t know what else to do, and it didn’t really matter, anyway. “This looks fine, although I think Lila preferred hothouse orchids.” Now, how had that slipped out? He didn’t intend to tell her anything.
    Dismay filled Tory’s eyes. “But Jenny said her mother loved the morning glories.”
    He shook his head. “Maybe Jenny’s confused. Or it’s just her imagination.”
    She reached out as if to take the pad. “I can change the design.”
    â€œNo.” His grip tightened. “Leave it. It’s more important that Jenny feel a part of this project.”
    Tory’s rare smile lit her face, making his breath catch. “That’s true. I’m glad you see it that way.”
    See it that way? What on earth was wrong with him? He didn’t want this window. The last thing he should do was encourage Tory. But he had the uneasy feeling her smile could make him forget his decision, if he let it.
    Â 
    What was Adam thinking?
    For a few minutes Tory had been totally absorbed in the idea that was taking shape under her fingers. She’d forgotten Adam was next to her.
    Now he seemed uncomfortably close, and even through the distraction caused by his physical presence, she knew he was hiding something. Some alien emotion roiled beneath his calm facade. She didn’t know what it was, but it had to do with his wife. Lila.
    Adam flipped through the sketch pad as if to distance himself from any discussion of the window. She watched his hands move over her drawings and wondered how he’d react if he ever saw the sketch in her old pad from that long-ago summer—the oneshe’d drawn of him after that night at the yacht club. She’d almost thrown it away a dozen times, but something always stopped her.
    He