I've been successful in hiding my real self from you." She lifted her chin, determined to fight the pull of him on her soul. She could stay closed to him. "Did you make me a sandwich?"
"Yes, as you've done for me countless times." He set the plate on the table before her. "And for the record, I see you, Sunshine. You're not hiding a thing."
"Not one thing?" Her voice wobbled again, betraying her.
"No." He understood her now, finally had her figured out. Well, at least as much as a man could ever understand a woman. He reached for the pitcher, filled a cup and set it beside her plate. "Tell me why you're still single. How has not one man dropped to his knee at your feet and proposed to you?"
"You know why." Her voice cracked. She stared at the sandwich he'd made, savory stew meat between slices of homemade bread, and didn't reach for it. "I told you. I'm the independent sort. I've decided never to marry. Best to keep control of my life rather than to hand it over to some man who will just tell me what to do."
"Yeah, because that's what marriage is." He pulled out the chair next to her, swung it around and sat down. "That isn't what marriage should be. I know. I watched my uncle treat his wife worse than a rabid coyote that had come into the yard. I also remember my parents. Seemed to me Ma had more of an upper hand than my pa wanted to admit. They were happy."
"That look on your face—" She hesitated, swiped a lock of tumbled down blond hair out of her eyes. "You were a happy little boy."
"I was. Life has a way of surprising you with what happens next, and sometimes what you experience isn't good. But that doesn't diminish the happier times. It only makes them shine brighter. I always figured one day I would meet a lady, I'd let her lasso my heart and we'd be happy together. Just like that."
"Like your parents?" She arched a slender brow, somehow more dear this way, quiet and unguarded. She reached for the glass of water but didn't take a sip. "So what happened with you? Why haven't you found someone who'll marry you?"
"That's a very good question." He watched her take a dainty sip of water, slow deliberate movements, as if she were holding herself very still, waiting for his answer. He shrugged. "I haven't found the one lady who lights up my life."
"Do you really think I'm believing that malarkey?" She arched an eyebrow at him and set down her cup. "My guess is no woman would have you."
"That too. I'm holding out hope, though. Maybe one day a nice lady would come along—"
"Nice?"
"You're right. I'm setting the bar too high. That any woman will come along, old or young, ugly or not, and she won't find me too repulsive—"
"That will be a long shot right there—"
"And since she's desperate with no other prospects, will settle for me as a husband." He feigned a wistful sigh. "It's my dream."
"Be serious." She scowled at him, laughed, shook her head, scattering those wisps of pure gold. "Tell me the truth. I'm curious now."
"I have told you the truth." She had no idea how much it hurt to not be able to say what he felt. "Not about some lady settling for me, but about her lighting up my life. The trouble is, I can only guess she might feel something for me. I don't know because she hasn't said."
"Oh." Maebry bowed her head, the escaped wisps from her braid tumbled forward like a veil, trying to hide her reaction to him. "Maybe she's not free to say something."
"Maybe." His chest twisted, tight and sweet. At least he had his answer for sure. No more guesswork. At least she understood his feelings, so he leaned in, brushed away silken locks of her hair, delicate against his finger, and kissed her cheek. He felt her exhale, as if she'd been holding so much in. She was sweetness itself and he breathed her in, a faint scent of lilacs and lemon oil.
When he pulled away, she didn't move. He sensed sadness, felt it in the stillness between them. He'd go to the ends of the earth, carry the world on his shoulders if he
"Yes, as you've done for me countless times." He set the plate on the table before her. "And for the record, I see you, Sunshine. You're not hiding a thing."
"Not one thing?" Her voice wobbled again, betraying her.
"No." He understood her now, finally had her figured out. Well, at least as much as a man could ever understand a woman. He reached for the pitcher, filled a cup and set it beside her plate. "Tell me why you're still single. How has not one man dropped to his knee at your feet and proposed to you?"
"You know why." Her voice cracked. She stared at the sandwich he'd made, savory stew meat between slices of homemade bread, and didn't reach for it. "I told you. I'm the independent sort. I've decided never to marry. Best to keep control of my life rather than to hand it over to some man who will just tell me what to do."
"Yeah, because that's what marriage is." He pulled out the chair next to her, swung it around and sat down. "That isn't what marriage should be. I know. I watched my uncle treat his wife worse than a rabid coyote that had come into the yard. I also remember my parents. Seemed to me Ma had more of an upper hand than my pa wanted to admit. They were happy."
"That look on your face—" She hesitated, swiped a lock of tumbled down blond hair out of her eyes. "You were a happy little boy."
"I was. Life has a way of surprising you with what happens next, and sometimes what you experience isn't good. But that doesn't diminish the happier times. It only makes them shine brighter. I always figured one day I would meet a lady, I'd let her lasso my heart and we'd be happy together. Just like that."
"Like your parents?" She arched a slender brow, somehow more dear this way, quiet and unguarded. She reached for the glass of water but didn't take a sip. "So what happened with you? Why haven't you found someone who'll marry you?"
"That's a very good question." He watched her take a dainty sip of water, slow deliberate movements, as if she were holding herself very still, waiting for his answer. He shrugged. "I haven't found the one lady who lights up my life."
"Do you really think I'm believing that malarkey?" She arched an eyebrow at him and set down her cup. "My guess is no woman would have you."
"That too. I'm holding out hope, though. Maybe one day a nice lady would come along—"
"Nice?"
"You're right. I'm setting the bar too high. That any woman will come along, old or young, ugly or not, and she won't find me too repulsive—"
"That will be a long shot right there—"
"And since she's desperate with no other prospects, will settle for me as a husband." He feigned a wistful sigh. "It's my dream."
"Be serious." She scowled at him, laughed, shook her head, scattering those wisps of pure gold. "Tell me the truth. I'm curious now."
"I have told you the truth." She had no idea how much it hurt to not be able to say what he felt. "Not about some lady settling for me, but about her lighting up my life. The trouble is, I can only guess she might feel something for me. I don't know because she hasn't said."
"Oh." Maebry bowed her head, the escaped wisps from her braid tumbled forward like a veil, trying to hide her reaction to him. "Maybe she's not free to say something."
"Maybe." His chest twisted, tight and sweet. At least he had his answer for sure. No more guesswork. At least she understood his feelings, so he leaned in, brushed away silken locks of her hair, delicate against his finger, and kissed her cheek. He felt her exhale, as if she'd been holding so much in. She was sweetness itself and he breathed her in, a faint scent of lilacs and lemon oil.
When he pulled away, she didn't move. He sensed sadness, felt it in the stillness between them. He'd go to the ends of the earth, carry the world on his shoulders if he
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