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She spun around, the hand that had flown to her throat slowly falling to her side. Burke stood in her doorway, the light in the hallway throwing his shadow into the room. She closed her eyes. When he was still there when she opened them again, she willed her heart to settle back into its rightful place. Darn him for unraveling so many of her vows in the blink of an eye. Darn him, dam him, darn him.
“May I come in?”
She found herself nodding, but she couldn’t force any words past the knot in her throat.
“The place looks good,” he said, folding his overcoat over the back of a chair. “Different. It suits you better now.”
Darn him, dam him, dam him for saying the one thing in all the world that could soften her resolve. She’d been living in this apartment for three years, but she’d purchased it only a year ago, after Melody had learned that she and Clayt were expecting a second child close on the heels of their first. Louetta had welcomed the opportunity to buy the diner, using the money her dear mother had left her after she’d died. At first, painting and wallpapering had been something to do to fill Louetta’s time now that her mother was gone. Nobody had been more surprised than Louetta when she’d discovered she had a flair for decorating. And nobody was more proud of their home.
“How are you feeling?”
He was probably referring to her fainting episode, but at the moment she didn’t care. “Fine, and you? I mean, you look pretty good for somebody who just woke up from a coma or was released from prison in some third-world country.”
He nodded stiffly. “I deserved that. I thought about calling. Writing. I’m afraid it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”
Louetta held very still, grappling with her conscience. Asking him to sit down would have been the polite thing to do. The old Louetta had been nothing if not polite. Folding the afghan Lisa had used earlier, Louetta reminded herself that the old Louetta was gone. Thank God. And although few people could put their finger on exactly what had changed, she was aware of the differences.
“Yes, well, the easy way isn’t always the right way,” she said stoically.
He’d strolled to the other side of the room, where a shelf held several photographs. He turned slowly, and she couldn’t help noticing how easily he moved. There was an air of efficiency about him. It was there in the way he shortened the distance between them, in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her.
“No matter what you think, I didn’t take the easy way out two years ago.” He started to continue, stopped and tried again. “I know this is awkward,” he said quietly.
She nodded again. Strangely, there hadn’t been any awkwardness between them the first time they’d met. Of course, two and a half years of soul-searching, of waiting and hoping and not knowing hadn’t been between them then.
“What are you doing here, Burke?”
Burke opened his mouth to speak, but his gaze flicked over her, and he forgot what he was going to say. She’d been wearing a simple cotton dress, prim and proper in every way, the first time they’d met. Although the skirt and sweater she was wearing tonight weren’t blatantly sexy, they fit her body perfectly, accentuating instead of hiding. “You’re as pretty as a picture.”
For a moment he thought she was going to smile. Instead, she tucked a wavy strand of hair behind her ear and made a disparaging sound. “You and Wes could both use a lesson in originality.”
For a moment, Burke’s brow furrowed. But then he noticed the poinsettia plant sitting on the low table in front of him, and understanding dawned. “Stryker’s already sent you flowers?”
She shrugged. “It has all the markings of the Crazy Horse crowd.”
“Mind if I read the card?”
“Be my guest.”
It took Burke longer to reach for the card than it did to read the poem written in a man’s messy scrawl. “Roses are red, violets are like paint. I got you these flowers, but a poet I ain’t.”
Burke made a derisive sound. “You’re considering marrying a man who writes poetry like that?”
Louetta’s head came up, vexation flashing in her eyes. “Wes is a rodeo rider, not a writer.”
Shaking his head, Burke couldn’t help remembering the summer his stepbrother had spent reciting “There Once Was a Man from Oklahoma.” Glancing at the card, he said, “I suppose it contains a certain sincerity.”
“Wes Stryker is very sincere.”
Burke didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. He’d come here to try to explain. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Lily’s relationship with another man.
But Lily was pacing on the other side of the room, talking as she went. “Wes was one of the few people who didn’t tease the living daylights out of me when we were kids. He always had an easygoing smile and a kind disposition.”
“How long have you and Stryker been an item?”
“I’ve been seeing him for several weeks now.”
“Do you love him?” Burke caught a whiff of her perfume, and the question he wanted to ask—Do you love me?—went unsaid.
“That’s none of your business, Burke.”
He was across the room in a flash, the coffee table with its scraggly red plant and hand-written card the only thing separating them. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice deceptively low. “That doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Have you ever awakened him in the middle of the night with a whisper and a strategically placed kiss?”
Everything inside Louetta went perfectly still. Her cheeks were probably flaming. For once, she didn’t care. Darn him for reminding her of how wanton she’d been that night. Darn him for stretching her emotions tighter with every passing second. Darn him for making her aware of a warming sensation low in her belly. Darn him, darn him, dam him.
“This may come as a surprise to you,” she said, turning her back to Burke as she stared unseeing out the window. “But I don’t hop into bed with every man who leaves a five-dollar tip.”
“I never said you did, dammit.”
She turned slowly, her skirt swishing around her knees, a lock of hair falling onto her forehead. There was a quiver in her fingertips as she smoothed the tresses out of her eyes. She’s changed, Burke thought. Her voice was as soft as always, her eyes the same gray he remembered. The blame in them, however, was brand-new.
He’d hurt her. And she’d found him guilty without hearing his explanation, his reasons. He didn’t really blame her. Two and a half years was a long time. No one knew that better than he did.
There was no excuse for the need running through him, no excuse for the determination to change her mind. No excuse except he wanted her. No matter what she thought, what had happened between them hadn’t been all his doing. Two and a half years ago she’d changed his plans for the evening with one heart-stopping smile. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to see her smile at him like that again.
“Would you tell me something?” he asked.
It probably took a lot of courage to meet his gaze the way she did. It required a lot of strength on his part to keep his feet planted where they were. “Would you have said yes to Stryker’s proposal if I hadn’t shown up tonight?”
Her shoulders stiffened, her back straightened. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but I was thinking about telling Wes ‘maybe.’ He would have made a joke out of that in front of everyone. He’s very patient, and very funny.” She stopped, gazing into the distance. “And very honest. I don’t believe he’s ever told a real lie.”
Burke felt something he didn’t much like uncoil deep inside him. Jealousy, anger and finally, grim acceptance. “Sounds like a hell of a guy,” he declared. “Lily.”
Reaching for his coat, he turned on his heel.
The door closed just short of a slam, Burke’s footsteps on the stairs echoing through Louetta’s small apartment. Lowering her hands from her cheeks, she stared at the door, wondering how she could have failed to hear the thud of footsteps when Burke had arrived.
Up until the moment he’d uttered that last word, she’d thought the meeting was going quite well, all things considered. The conversation may have been a little stilted, but at least she’d kept from blurting out how she’d waited for him during those first months when she’d believed he would return, how she’d died a little more inside with every passing week. She’d kept her feelings inside, remaining strong throughout the entire conversation.
And then he’d gone and called her Lily.
Her feet carried her to the window as if they had a mind of their own. She didn’t want to watch Burke walk away, but she couldn’t help herself. She remembered how he’d looked up at her from the middle of the street that long-ago April night. Tonight he used the sidewalk, his strides long and powerful. He’d put on his coat, but he hadn’t bothered to button it, the wind billowing the dark fabric behind him. Tonight he didn’t look back.
“Lily, ”she’d whispered the night they’d met. “My name is Lily Graham.”
He’d shaken her hand, his smile one of wonder, his touch simple, natural, undemanding and just firm enough to let her know he was glad to be with her. Simple or not, it had started a fire in her, and had caused her to do and say things she’d never done and said before.
She would never forget how deep his voice had dipped when he’d told her the name suited her. She would never forget how it had sounded when he’d murmured it in the dark of night and in the wee hours of the morning.
Lily hadn’t been a painfully shy woman who’d been voted “the girl most likely not to” by the boys in her graduating class. They’d thought it was funny, but it had hurt, just as a thousand other small things had hurt. Her shyness had been a handicap most of her life, one that Louetta had learned to endure, just as she’d learned to hold her head high. Lily had been all woman, sure of herself and her rightful place in the universe.
Oh, Burke. Why did you have to come back and remind me of everything I’ve been missing all these years?
“Lily, ” Burke had said tonight.
She lowered her head in shame, and wished with all her heart that she was half the woman Lily had been.
One second the cup was in Louetta’s hand, the next second it shattered on the floor. She saw it happening, yet she still jumped a mile.
“Slippery little buggers, aren’t they?” red-haired Jason Tucker, a twenty-three-year-old ranch hand who could blush as darkly as Louetta, said with a boyish grin.
Nodding, she scooted down to her haunches to pick up the pieces of the second item she’d broken that morning. She was a wreck, that was all there was to it. At this rate, she was going to need another set of dishes by suppertime.
Jed Harley had been very understanding about the milk she’d spilled in his lap, and Boomer Brown hadn’t said anything when he’d gotten a saucer full of coffee along with his refill, although his wife, DoraLee, the owner of the Crazy Horse Saloon and Louetta’s least likely friend, studied Louetta’s face and cast her an understanding smile. Cletus McCully ate without complaining about the eggs she’d scorched, although he did mention that she was as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks.
He was right. She nearly sprang straight into the air every time the bell jangled over the door.
She had no doubt that every one of the usual breakfast crowd noticed her skittishness. They probably attributed it to nerves at the thought of shy little Louetta Graham having two suitors. They had no way of knowing about the guilt sitting like a rock in the middle of her swirling stomach.
Leaving the diners to sip their coffee and mull over their gossip, she used extra care busing the rest of the tables. She felt a headache coming on as she carried the tub of dishes into the kitchen and promptly turned on the tap.
“Girl, ya got a minute?”
“Cletus!” Louetta nearly came out of her skin, the dishes in her hand splashing as she dropped them into the water. “Yes, yes, of course. What is it?”
The old man snapped his suspenders and did such a poor job of pretending to be interested in the fifty-year-old oven that Louetta would have smiled if she’d been physically able.
Choosing a different tack, he shook his craggy old head and glanced at the door. “I’m hiding from those...those manhandlers.
Dropping the clean forks and knives she’d just washed into the rinse water, Louetta heaved a big sigh, but at least she could manage a semblance of a smile. “Are Gussie and Addie Cunningham putting the moves on you again, Cletus?”
“The moves! Jumpin’ catfish, those two women are more wily than sailors and just as determined. What’s worse, they don’t know the meaning of the word no.”
Louetta lowered a stack of plates into the deep, stainless steel sink. Gussie Cunningham and her sister Addie had moved to town a couple of years ago, not long after they won the lottery in Wisconsin where they used to live. They were both eccentric, without a doubt. Slightly over sixty and still single, they claimed they were just good old gals who were looking for decent men to call their own.
Up to her elbows in soapsuds, Louetta said, “They’re lonely, Cletus. Neither of them means any harm.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t mean them any harm, either, but sometimes desperate situations call for desperate measures. And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll hide out in here for a while. I used to help Melody out now and again, you know. When she had to run an errand, or step out for a minute, I mean, or do something about whatever was causing her to lose sleep at night.”
Louetta stopped. Staring past the lines in Cletus’s face, into knowing brown eyes, she said, “What makes you think there’s someplace else I want to go?”
“Isn’t there?”
There was no use wondering how the man could have known. Cletus McCully wasn’t much taller than Louetta’s five feet seven inches. And yet he was a very big man. Swallowing the lump that came out of nowhere, Louetta closed her eyes and called for courage. Opening them again, she reached behind her back and untied her apron. She handed it to Cletus, and at the last minute kissed his lined cheek. “I know where Melody got her heart.”
“Don’t go gettin’ maudlin on me, girl. And if you slip out the back, nobody has to know you’re gone.”
Louetta dried her hands on a towel, slipped her coat from the peg by the door. Before she lost her nerve, she stepped into the back alley and headed for a certain doctor’s office on Custer Street.
Burke was wandering. Pacing was more like it. The furnished apartment attached to the doctor’s office was part of the deal he’d worked out with Doc Masey before agreeing to move to Jasper Gulch. It wasn’t the rain that had made his decision to leave Seattle so easy. He’d been feeling dissatisfied, at loose ends, unconnected to his life there for a long time. A thirty-five-year-old doctor in a prestigious city hospital, he’d felt more like a paper shuffler than a physician. Ever since he’d been stranded in this quaint, one-horse town, the idea. of treating the same patients for years on end, of making house calls and delivering babies who would grow up and bring their babies to him had become a fantasy. Of course, in his fantasy Lily had welcomed him back with open arms.
There was no woman named Lily. She’d been a daydream, a myth. Louetta was real. And Louetta was a lot more stubborn than he’d expected. Hell, she acted as if his soul was darkened by sins, stained by mistakes.
Oh, he’d made his share of mistakes in his life, there was no doubt about that. He wondered what measure God used to gauge a person’s wrongs. Was a sin a sin? Or did good intentions balance difficult decisions? Because he’d had the best of intentions. Look where they’d gotten him.
Once he’d arrived back in Seattle two and a half years ago, and he’d faced the fact that he couldn’t return to Jasper Gulch, he’d done everything he could to put thoughts of Lily out of his mind. They’d returned when he’d least expected them, unbidden, real enough to touch.
Hell, it was happening right now. He was thirty-five years old. Way too old to be paralyzed by sexual impulses in the middle of the morning. Pacing to the desk, he yanked on the lid of a box filled with books and immediately began placing them on a high shelf. A knock sounded on the door behind him. Continuing his task, he called, “Come on in, Doc. The door’s open.”
The doorknob jiggled, and the door creaked open.
“Back from your house call so soon?” Burke called without looking.
The room, all at once, was very quiet. Turning, he found Lily standing in the open doorway, the light of a gray November morning behind her, the purse in her hands clutched so tightly her knuckles were white.
“Come in,” he said, his voice a low rumble in the still room.
She wet her lips nervously. “I can’t stay. I wanted you to know that my name is Louetta. But my father always called me Lily.”
During the time they’d been apart, Burke had remembered everything about Lily with a clarity that had surprised him. He saw inside her with that same clarity right now. She was scared. Why shouldn’t she be? He’d hurt her. The fact that he couldn’t have lived with himself if he’d chosen any other way didn’t matter. He’d hurt her, and she was none too sure he wouldn’t hurt her again.
“I should have known you wouldn’t lie,” he said, placing a medical book back in the cardboard box.
Her lips parted and she blinked. God, he loved disconcerting her, loved the heat in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks. Something powerful took hold inside him, something elemental, earthy and a lot more pleasant than his earlier frustration. With one hand on his hip and the other in his pocket, he took a step toward her.
The backward step Louetta took was automatic. Good grief. She’d said what she’d come here to say. Now what?
“Well. Er. Um.” She nearly groaned out loud. What in tarnation had happened to her good sense? “I should be going.”
“So soon?”
The fact that Burke was steadily moving closer wasn’t helping her equilibrium. As one moment stretched to two, she grasped the first excuse that popped into her head. “Isabell usually stops in at the diner about this time of the morning. She’s been lonely since Mother died, and she’ll worry if I’m not there.”
“Does Isabell know about us, Louetta?” he said as if trying the name out on his tongue.
Louetta was accustomed to the ever-changing sounds of the breezes that blew here in South Dakota, but she doubted she’d ever be able to hear the sound of the wind after midnight again without being reminded of Burke. His voice was like that wind, a deep sigh, a gentle moaning, a slow sweep across her senses.
“Does she?” he asked again, more quietly than before.
Although it required a conscious effort to pull herself together, she straightened her back and raised her chin a fraction of an inch. Meeting Burke’s steady gaze, she said, “Don’t worry, Burke. I didn’t broadcast our little tryst.”
“Is that how you would describe what happened between us? As a tryst?”
A dozen possibilities scrambled through her mind, confusing her even more. “How would you describe it?” she asked.
There was an inherent determination in the set of his chin and a hungry light in his eyes as he said, “It was a damn sight more than that.”
His arms were around her before she could take another backward step, and she knew, even before his lips covered hers, that he was going to kiss her.
