man’s arms,” he reasoned. “Come on, let’s just get it over with.”
As Brooke slid off the bed, pausing to smooth out her top and shorts, she considered what her mother might be thinking: that Brooke and Ian might be falling in love, and could have a future together, babies and all. But Brooke knew there was no chance of her marrying Ian McCarthy and bearing his children; a future with him would be impossible, as long as she kept from him the truth of what she knew about his mother’s death.
The trouble was, if she told him, he’d surely never forgive her—and if she didn’t, she’d never forgive herself.
Chapter Four
It was after ten o’clock by the time the clean dishes were put away and the counters wiped. The rain had finally stopped, giving way to a dull, overcast evening.
“Join me for some tea?” Dana offered, as Brooke was leaving the kitchen, about to head upstairs to bed.
Brooke hesitated; though every muscle screamed with exhaustion, she felt pretty sure the muddled thoughts tumbling through her head would keep her lying awake for some time.
Accepting the offer, she sank into one of the oak kitchen chairs, while her mother brought a hot cup of chamomile to the table for each of them.
Ian had left a while ago, after which Brooke’s father had settled into his easy chair in the living room to watch the news on TV, leaving the two women alone. Brooke anticipated her mother’s line of questioning, but she supposed it was best to get it done now rather than wait for morning.
“I can’t believe we keep doing this every year,” Dana remarked, sagging dramatically against the tabletop. “I always tell myself it’s our last barbecue; then a year passes and we do it all again.”
“Everyone counts on it, Mom. You can’t disappoint the whole town. There isn’t a whole lot of excitement to look forward to around here, after all.”
Ignoring her daughter’s good-natured slight against Eastport, Dana stayed silent for a moment, tracing the rim of her cup with her fingertip. Finally her gaze flickered up, her dark eyes inquisitive. “So do you plan on talking to me about what happened in your bedroom with Ian, or would you rather pretend nothing was going on?”
Leaning back in her chair, Brooke released a sigh of resignation. “What is there to say?”
“For starters, are you in a relationship with him?” Dana asked, before lifting her teacup to her lips.
“Not really. Sort of,” Brooke offered vaguely, realizing she wasn’t really sure.
Her mother regarded her with a skeptical tilt of her head. “Are you planning on seeing him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can tell you like him.” Dana’s mouth curved upward as she set down her cup. “Your face glowed the minute I mentioned his name.”
“That was embarrassment, Mom.”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly. I’d be happy to see you and Ian together. He’s a fine catch. I think you were fond of him back in high school, too.”
“I was,” Brooke admitted. She stared down at her cup, absently studying the steaming amber liquid.
“I was, too. People didn’t think he’d amount to much, but he’s defied everyone’s expectations. These days he’s our little town’s most eligible bachelor. I know several young women who are dying to go out with him.”
Brooke’s eyes snapped up in time to catch Dana’s gaze sliding coyly away, as she lifted her teacup again. If her mother was trying to spur her with jealousy, it wasn’t going to work—even if the remark did stir the tiniest possessive twinge.
If only things were as simple as her mother believed they were, Brooke thought helplessly. She’d always been able to confide in her mom—most of the time, anyhow. But confessing her feelings for Ian would only make it harder to deny them to herself.
But there was one thing Brooke could tell Dana, now that Ross Kinley was safely in his grave. She took a long sip of
As Brooke slid off the bed, pausing to smooth out her top and shorts, she considered what her mother might be thinking: that Brooke and Ian might be falling in love, and could have a future together, babies and all. But Brooke knew there was no chance of her marrying Ian McCarthy and bearing his children; a future with him would be impossible, as long as she kept from him the truth of what she knew about his mother’s death.
The trouble was, if she told him, he’d surely never forgive her—and if she didn’t, she’d never forgive herself.
Chapter Four
It was after ten o’clock by the time the clean dishes were put away and the counters wiped. The rain had finally stopped, giving way to a dull, overcast evening.
“Join me for some tea?” Dana offered, as Brooke was leaving the kitchen, about to head upstairs to bed.
Brooke hesitated; though every muscle screamed with exhaustion, she felt pretty sure the muddled thoughts tumbling through her head would keep her lying awake for some time.
Accepting the offer, she sank into one of the oak kitchen chairs, while her mother brought a hot cup of chamomile to the table for each of them.
Ian had left a while ago, after which Brooke’s father had settled into his easy chair in the living room to watch the news on TV, leaving the two women alone. Brooke anticipated her mother’s line of questioning, but she supposed it was best to get it done now rather than wait for morning.
“I can’t believe we keep doing this every year,” Dana remarked, sagging dramatically against the tabletop. “I always tell myself it’s our last barbecue; then a year passes and we do it all again.”
“Everyone counts on it, Mom. You can’t disappoint the whole town. There isn’t a whole lot of excitement to look forward to around here, after all.”
Ignoring her daughter’s good-natured slight against Eastport, Dana stayed silent for a moment, tracing the rim of her cup with her fingertip. Finally her gaze flickered up, her dark eyes inquisitive. “So do you plan on talking to me about what happened in your bedroom with Ian, or would you rather pretend nothing was going on?”
Leaning back in her chair, Brooke released a sigh of resignation. “What is there to say?”
“For starters, are you in a relationship with him?” Dana asked, before lifting her teacup to her lips.
“Not really. Sort of,” Brooke offered vaguely, realizing she wasn’t really sure.
Her mother regarded her with a skeptical tilt of her head. “Are you planning on seeing him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can tell you like him.” Dana’s mouth curved upward as she set down her cup. “Your face glowed the minute I mentioned his name.”
“That was embarrassment, Mom.”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly. I’d be happy to see you and Ian together. He’s a fine catch. I think you were fond of him back in high school, too.”
“I was,” Brooke admitted. She stared down at her cup, absently studying the steaming amber liquid.
“I was, too. People didn’t think he’d amount to much, but he’s defied everyone’s expectations. These days he’s our little town’s most eligible bachelor. I know several young women who are dying to go out with him.”
Brooke’s eyes snapped up in time to catch Dana’s gaze sliding coyly away, as she lifted her teacup again. If her mother was trying to spur her with jealousy, it wasn’t going to work—even if the remark did stir the tiniest possessive twinge.
If only things were as simple as her mother believed they were, Brooke thought helplessly. She’d always been able to confide in her mom—most of the time, anyhow. But confessing her feelings for Ian would only make it harder to deny them to herself.
But there was one thing Brooke could tell Dana, now that Ross Kinley was safely in his grave. She took a long sip of
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