Moonlight Plains by Barbara Hannay

happening – those shoulders stretching the shoulder seams of his checked cotton shirt, his faded low-slung jeans.
    ‘Morning,’ he said, still smiling.
    ‘Good morning, Luke. I borrowed some of your clothes. I hope that’s okay.’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    His amused glance took in the crumpled cotton shirt she’d found on the shelf in his room and a pair of his track pants that she’d rolled over at her waist and up at the ankles.
    ‘Those old clothes have never looked so good,’ he said.
    Sally wasn’t sure how to react to his compliment so she paid attention to the bacon and eggs in the pan. ‘This smells great.’ Quickly, she added, ‘You were up early.’
    He shrugged. ‘I’ve got those history buffs coming out here this morning.’
    ‘Oh, yes, of course. To see where the plane crashed.’ She frowned. ‘Is there still time to drop me back in town?’
    ‘Of course. No problem.’ He snagged a bright-red enamel mug from the dish drainer. ‘Tea?’
    ‘Lovely.’
    ‘How do you have it?’
    Every time he looked at her, his eyes flashed, sending her happy messages she didn’t want to read.
    ‘White with one,’ she said rather tightly.
    A small silence fell as Luke poured the tea.
    ‘I’ll do the milk and sugar if you like.’
    ‘Sure.’ He handed her the mug. ‘Sally, I’m not quite sure how to put this, but last night . . .’
    She nodded quickly, dropping her gaze again as heat rushed into her cheeks. ‘It was amazing, Luke.’
    It was a mistake to look up at him and see that shining light in his eyes, to see hope, admiration and desire. The warmth of his smile sent a panicky chill snaking through her.
    This was going to be as bad as she’d feared. She’d been reckless and selfish with a really,
really
nice guy and she’d given him the wrong impression.
    She had to get things right, had to set Luke straight immediately. It was only fair. She spoke quickly, before her courage failed. ‘I’m sorry . . . but don’t expect too much from me, Luke.’
    Several beats passed before he spoke. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    Sally’s chest tightened. Now his expression was wary and she couldn’t blame him. She swallowed nervously. ‘I’m afraid . . . I’m not really . . . available.’
    He stared at her, his green eyes serious. He gave a bewildered shake of his head. ‘What is this? Some kind of a joke? You’re not – you’re not telling me you’re married?’
    ‘No, there’s no one else, not now. But I
was
married.’ She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. ‘My husband died, you see, and – and I’m afraid I’m not available
emotionally
.’
    The bacon sizzled and spat in the pan as Luke stood there, clearly stunned, and Sally remembered the way she’d more or less led him to the bedroom last night.
    How could she have been so thoughtless?
    It felt like an age before he spoke. ‘So what was that last night?’ A cool edge had crept into his voice. ‘Diversion therapy?
    ‘No, it was . . .’ Sally stopped. She felt wretched, unwilling to hand out compliments and a rejection in the same breath. ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
    Luke was staring out through the window now. ‘I’m not the first, though, am I? Since your husband died, I mean. Someone like you, unattached, would have offers from all kinds of guys.’
    ‘No. God, no.’ It was so hard to talk about this. ‘You’re the first, Luke.’
    To her dismay, a red flush stained his neck as he continued to stare out the window. His eyes were narrowed, his expression tense.
    Sally felt worse than ever. How could she explain this without making it worse? ‘I thought I was ready.’
    The silence that followed this was excruciating, but then an acrid smell tainted the air. The bacon and eggs were burning.
    ‘Shit.’ Luke whirled around and grabbed the pan’s handle, pulling it off the flame. Tight-lipped, he used an egg flip to free the blackening edges that had stuck to the pan. ‘This