or anyone else I left behind," she whispered.
Cade's enigmatic gaze revealed nothing. He crossed his arms over his raised knees and nodded. "Music speaks to the soul."
Lily didn't know how he could be so perfectly attuned to what she had thought was her hidden secret, but she nodded gratefully for his understanding. "I wish I had something as easily transportable as a flute. Jim said we couldn't bring a piano."
Guilt wormed its way to Cade's insides. She was being brave, talking of her husband when she had no knowledge of his whereabouts. He heard the pain in her voice; the music had reached out to it. He very possibly had the power to intensify that pain—or to relieve it. Uncertainty kept him from revealing any more.
"They have a piano in town," Cade said. He'd stood outside Clark's barn any number of times, listening to the intertwining of notes, contemplating making such a joyful noise. The player hadn't been expert, but he'd never heard anything like it before.
Apparently this was news to Lily. She looked up at Cade with something akin to excitement burning in the pale blue of her eyes. "Really? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Then she shut up and her gaze drifted to the pasture beyond the trees.
Her husband had known. He could see that suspicion forming on her face.
"I suppose that's what they do in town on Saturday nights," she murmured. "Jim told me it was too rowdy to stay after dark."
"The other women stay," Cade said without inflection.
Lily had never been close to her sisters, but she had grown up in a household of females and missed the feminine discussions and laughter and shared secrets. Juanita couldn't fill that need entirely; she had been too damaged by her past. Lily didn't know much about the town ladies, but there was no reason she couldn't meet them somehow, if she put her mind to it.
"I wish I could hear the piano," Lily said. Actually, she wished she had a right to play the piano, but that was beyond her ability to speak.
"I'll take you in if you wish to go."
Lily surprised herself by saying, "I would like that, thank you. I don't think Juanita would mind watching Serena, and my father can look after Roy. Do they have other instruments besides the piano?"
Cade stroked the flute as he gazed on the woman sitting boldly in the grass before him. He had never met anyone quite like her before. She was white and female, which should put her completely out of bounds for any conversation at all. But she was his boss, and as such, there had to be a certain amount of communication. She wore trousers like a man, and to a certain extent she spoke like a man, but he couldn't treat her with the same deference as Ralph Langton or with the scorn he felt for the ignorant farmhands he worked with. If she had been a whore, he could have had certain expectations, but she was a lady. How the hell should he treat a lady who wore pants?
"Fiddles, sometimes," he responded while he struggled with the problem.
"Is there dancing?" she asked anxiously.
It was then that Cade realized that this woman didn't see categories as other people did. She saw people through the eyes of a child, as they related to her. It was rather amusing to realize that he had been avoiding her to keep from offending her ladylike sensibilities, when she was more likely offended by his avoidance than his presence. That's what he got for assuming all white women were alike.
"They dance," he agreed.
Cade was enjoying looking at her. Her hair had the sheen of gold in the moonlight. He wished she would let it blow free instead of bound in that braid that never quite held all the silky tendrils in place. She was small-bosomed and slender-waisted, but in the revealing denims, he could see that her curves were in all the right places. Her skin glowed golden from exposure to the sun, but he suspected that beneath her billowing shirt she was as pale as the moonlight. It wasn't a thought he should dwell on.
"I don't dance," Lily informed him
Cade's enigmatic gaze revealed nothing. He crossed his arms over his raised knees and nodded. "Music speaks to the soul."
Lily didn't know how he could be so perfectly attuned to what she had thought was her hidden secret, but she nodded gratefully for his understanding. "I wish I had something as easily transportable as a flute. Jim said we couldn't bring a piano."
Guilt wormed its way to Cade's insides. She was being brave, talking of her husband when she had no knowledge of his whereabouts. He heard the pain in her voice; the music had reached out to it. He very possibly had the power to intensify that pain—or to relieve it. Uncertainty kept him from revealing any more.
"They have a piano in town," Cade said. He'd stood outside Clark's barn any number of times, listening to the intertwining of notes, contemplating making such a joyful noise. The player hadn't been expert, but he'd never heard anything like it before.
Apparently this was news to Lily. She looked up at Cade with something akin to excitement burning in the pale blue of her eyes. "Really? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Then she shut up and her gaze drifted to the pasture beyond the trees.
Her husband had known. He could see that suspicion forming on her face.
"I suppose that's what they do in town on Saturday nights," she murmured. "Jim told me it was too rowdy to stay after dark."
"The other women stay," Cade said without inflection.
Lily had never been close to her sisters, but she had grown up in a household of females and missed the feminine discussions and laughter and shared secrets. Juanita couldn't fill that need entirely; she had been too damaged by her past. Lily didn't know much about the town ladies, but there was no reason she couldn't meet them somehow, if she put her mind to it.
"I wish I could hear the piano," Lily said. Actually, she wished she had a right to play the piano, but that was beyond her ability to speak.
"I'll take you in if you wish to go."
Lily surprised herself by saying, "I would like that, thank you. I don't think Juanita would mind watching Serena, and my father can look after Roy. Do they have other instruments besides the piano?"
Cade stroked the flute as he gazed on the woman sitting boldly in the grass before him. He had never met anyone quite like her before. She was white and female, which should put her completely out of bounds for any conversation at all. But she was his boss, and as such, there had to be a certain amount of communication. She wore trousers like a man, and to a certain extent she spoke like a man, but he couldn't treat her with the same deference as Ralph Langton or with the scorn he felt for the ignorant farmhands he worked with. If she had been a whore, he could have had certain expectations, but she was a lady. How the hell should he treat a lady who wore pants?
"Fiddles, sometimes," he responded while he struggled with the problem.
"Is there dancing?" she asked anxiously.
It was then that Cade realized that this woman didn't see categories as other people did. She saw people through the eyes of a child, as they related to her. It was rather amusing to realize that he had been avoiding her to keep from offending her ladylike sensibilities, when she was more likely offended by his avoidance than his presence. That's what he got for assuming all white women were alike.
"They dance," he agreed.
Cade was enjoying looking at her. Her hair had the sheen of gold in the moonlight. He wished she would let it blow free instead of bound in that braid that never quite held all the silky tendrils in place. She was small-bosomed and slender-waisted, but in the revealing denims, he could see that her curves were in all the right places. Her skin glowed golden from exposure to the sun, but he suspected that beneath her billowing shirt she was as pale as the moonlight. It wasn't a thought he should dwell on.
"I don't dance," Lily informed him
Similar Books
