that awful day two years ago. "It doesn't feel right to put it on the wall, but I can't break it up and put it back in the box, either. I don't know why, but I'm just not ready. So there it sits."
He ached to draw her into his arms, but encouraging her to look to him for emotional support at this point was a bad idea. As soon as she answered his questions about God, he meant to slip back out of her life. She'd be hurt at first, but in the long run, she'd be happier without him.
When she hugged herself and inhaled deeply, getting control, he felt a rush of admiration tinged with foolish disappointment.
"When I have guests for supper, we eat in the kitchen," she said. "Or I just cook and serve everything at your house."
Laney loved his mother's gourmet kitchen and her antique china. She adored everything about Jeb's house, from its high ceilings and ornate period furnishings to the hot tub he'd installed on the screened porch after his father's death, so Jeb encouraged her to treat the house as an extension of her own. He liked to think of the old walls absorbing her laughter, diluting the bitterness they'd soaked up during the long years he'd lived there with his father and Mrs. Lee.
Laney still wondered why his mother had so painstakingly restored and decorated the house only to take her own life almost as soon as it was finished. Jeb could have enlightened her, but that memory exercise on the plane aside, he carefully avoided thinking about his parents.
Determined to haul Laney out of the melancholy mood she'd slipped into, Jeb grasped one of her corkscrew curls and gave it a teasing tug.
"You look good," he said.
She smiled. "And you look like Mowgli."
"Who?"
"The wild boy from The Jungle Book . Remember? Rudyard Kipling said Mowgli had long, straight black hair that fell like curtains around his face." She turned and went back to the kitchen.
Jeb tucked the "curtains" behind his ears and followed her. It was no good protesting that he'd been too busy for a haircut. That was part of it, yes. But Laney knew how much he hated sitting defenseless while a scissors-wielding stranger snipped and clipped and tried to engage him in conversations he didn't want to have.
She also knew she was welcome to get out her electric trimmer any time she wanted.
"We're grilling steaks," she announced as she stowed the ice cream in her freezer. "And I'm making your favorite garlic-and-cheddar mashed potatoes."
Jeb's stomach greeted that news with an enthusiastic tremor. He was more than ready to drag Laney's grill out of her garden shed and light a mound of charcoal, but he hadn't missed the longing gaze she'd bestowed on that carton of ice cream.
"Dessert first," he suggested.
She gave a little whoop of joy and retrieved the ice cream.
Now , his heart urged his brain. Tell her now.
He cleared his throat. "Laney, I have something to—"
She spoke at the same instant: "Jeb, I never told you about—"
They both stopped and shared a look of amusement.
"You first," Laney said. "I've been doing all the talking since you got here."
"Princess." Jeb shook his head at the ceiling. "You've been doing all the talking since the day we met."
He caught the bubbly laugh he'd been fishing for. He also received a playful swat on the arm. Grinning, he nudged her aside to open a drawer and collect two spoons.
"What were you going to tell me?" he asked.
"I got engaged last month." As casually as if she'd just made some unremarkable statement about the weather, she curled an arm around the ice cream's cylindrical container and pried the lid off.
Jeb had stopped breathing, but this was hardly unexpected news. The last time he'd been home, Tom Johansen had been making a nuisance of himself. Every time Jeb came over to borrow Laney's newspaper or raid her cookie jar, Tom had been here, occupying Jeb's favorite chair and hogging the sports section while he scarfed down the last of the seven-layer bars, the ones Laney always made without nuts
He ached to draw her into his arms, but encouraging her to look to him for emotional support at this point was a bad idea. As soon as she answered his questions about God, he meant to slip back out of her life. She'd be hurt at first, but in the long run, she'd be happier without him.
When she hugged herself and inhaled deeply, getting control, he felt a rush of admiration tinged with foolish disappointment.
"When I have guests for supper, we eat in the kitchen," she said. "Or I just cook and serve everything at your house."
Laney loved his mother's gourmet kitchen and her antique china. She adored everything about Jeb's house, from its high ceilings and ornate period furnishings to the hot tub he'd installed on the screened porch after his father's death, so Jeb encouraged her to treat the house as an extension of her own. He liked to think of the old walls absorbing her laughter, diluting the bitterness they'd soaked up during the long years he'd lived there with his father and Mrs. Lee.
Laney still wondered why his mother had so painstakingly restored and decorated the house only to take her own life almost as soon as it was finished. Jeb could have enlightened her, but that memory exercise on the plane aside, he carefully avoided thinking about his parents.
Determined to haul Laney out of the melancholy mood she'd slipped into, Jeb grasped one of her corkscrew curls and gave it a teasing tug.
"You look good," he said.
She smiled. "And you look like Mowgli."
"Who?"
"The wild boy from The Jungle Book . Remember? Rudyard Kipling said Mowgli had long, straight black hair that fell like curtains around his face." She turned and went back to the kitchen.
Jeb tucked the "curtains" behind his ears and followed her. It was no good protesting that he'd been too busy for a haircut. That was part of it, yes. But Laney knew how much he hated sitting defenseless while a scissors-wielding stranger snipped and clipped and tried to engage him in conversations he didn't want to have.
She also knew she was welcome to get out her electric trimmer any time she wanted.
"We're grilling steaks," she announced as she stowed the ice cream in her freezer. "And I'm making your favorite garlic-and-cheddar mashed potatoes."
Jeb's stomach greeted that news with an enthusiastic tremor. He was more than ready to drag Laney's grill out of her garden shed and light a mound of charcoal, but he hadn't missed the longing gaze she'd bestowed on that carton of ice cream.
"Dessert first," he suggested.
She gave a little whoop of joy and retrieved the ice cream.
Now , his heart urged his brain. Tell her now.
He cleared his throat. "Laney, I have something to—"
She spoke at the same instant: "Jeb, I never told you about—"
They both stopped and shared a look of amusement.
"You first," Laney said. "I've been doing all the talking since you got here."
"Princess." Jeb shook his head at the ceiling. "You've been doing all the talking since the day we met."
He caught the bubbly laugh he'd been fishing for. He also received a playful swat on the arm. Grinning, he nudged her aside to open a drawer and collect two spoons.
"What were you going to tell me?" he asked.
"I got engaged last month." As casually as if she'd just made some unremarkable statement about the weather, she curled an arm around the ice cream's cylindrical container and pried the lid off.
Jeb had stopped breathing, but this was hardly unexpected news. The last time he'd been home, Tom Johansen had been making a nuisance of himself. Every time Jeb came over to borrow Laney's newspaper or raid her cookie jar, Tom had been here, occupying Jeb's favorite chair and hogging the sports section while he scarfed down the last of the seven-layer bars, the ones Laney always made without nuts
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