“I don’t know.” There was worry in her eyes again, and in her voice. “Marriage isn’t always the right answer.”
“It is for people like you and me.” He nearly spoke of the children, but stopped himself. It wasn’t right to use them to press his case. “I’d make you happy.”
“I know you would.” She turned her face into the curve of his neck. “Let this be enough for now. It’s so much more than I ever thought I’d have. Let it be enough for now.”
“For now.” He contented himself with the scent of her hair. “Why don’t we do this? Get ourselves some wine, some of that pie, have a little picnic?”
“I’d like that.” She leaned back, smiled. “I’ll get a couple of plates.” But when she reached for her slacks, his hand closed over hers.
“You’re not going to need those,” he said, his eyes dark and wicked.
She laughed. “I’m not going to serve pie buck-naked.” Then she blinked, felt a quick skitter of her pulse. “Am I?”
“Why don’t we see?”
Chapter 11
School was out, and that made life for two ten-year-old boys close to perfect. The haunted woods that fringed between Bryan’s cabin and the inn beckoned. There they could search for ghosts, listen for the pounding of mortar fire, or hunt for more tangible remnants of war in the dirt and brambles. Even after more than a century, old shells could be unearthed.
Connor had a collection Bryan envied, stubby
bullets that looked like they were made of clay, an old brass button that had survived the uniform it belonged to and, best of all, the metal triangle of a stirrup Cassie had unearthed in the garden of the inn.
The boys had decided it had belonged to a Union general and his trusty steed.
Connor viewed this stretch of summer in a way he never had before. The last year had been exciting when they moved into the new apartment, but he’d still worried often that it would all end. Now he’d come to believe, now he could anticipate the long, hot days, the companionship of his best friend and a home where no one stumbled in drunk with fists raised.
He watched his mother still. Her eyes no longer looked so tired, and she laughed so much more than she had ever laughed before. He liked the way she put pretty things around the house, the flowers, the pale green glass she’d begun to collect from Regan’s shop. But he kept quiet about that, because he knew the guys would rag on him for liking something as lame as flowers or glass bowls.
But not Bryan. Bryan was the best of friends, and didn’t even mind if Emma tagged along with them. Bryan liked to listen to Connor’s stories. Bryan could keep secrets. Bryan was his brother, his blood brother. They had held a solemn ceremony in the woods, pricking their fingers and mixing their blood together to seal the bond.
They spent some of those early days of freedom from books and classrooms in the tree house Jared had built on the edge of the woods nearest the cabin. Some they spent in the yard of the inn, practicing baseball. They would also cut through the trees and visit Shane at the farm. As Bryan said, Shane was very cool, and he never minded if they wanted to play with the dogs and the puppies or hang out in the hayloft of the big old barn.
But almost every day, it was the woods that pulled at them. And tonight they had finally wangled permission to camp out, just the two of them, deep in the haunted woods.
They had pitched Devin’s old tent. It was Devin, Connor knew, who had turned the tide. His mother had worried over the idea of letting the two boys loose for a night, but Devin had talked to her about rites of passage and memories and friendships. He owed the most important night of his life to Sheriff MacKade.
They had built a fire carefully, in a circle of stones on clear ground, as Devin had shown them, and they had hot dogs and marshmallows to roast over it. Cassie had given them a big jug of juice, but Devin had slipped them a six-pack of soda and told them to take the empty cans, along with the other trash, over to the farm in the morning for disposal.
Their sleeping rolls were spread out in the tent, the moon was high and bright overhead, and owls were hooting. The fire crackled, and the scent of scorched meat stung the night air. The sweet, gooey taste of marshmallow was in Connor’s mouth. And he was in heaven.
“This is the best,” he said.
“It’s pretty cool.” Bryan watched his hot dog turn black on the end of his stick, just the way he liked it. “We should do it every night.”
Connor knew it wouldn’t be special if they did it every night, but didn’t say so. “It’s great here. Sheriff MacKade said that he and his brothers used to camp out in the woods all the time.”
“Dad likes to walk in the woods.” Bryan loved using that word. Dad. He tried to use it often, without making it a big deal. “Mom, too. They sure kiss a lot.” He made smacking noises with his lips so Connor would laugh. “Beats me why kissing’s supposed to be so damn neat. I think I’d gag if a girl tried to put her mouth on me. Disgusting.”
“Revolting. Especially the tongue part.”
At that, Bryan executed very realistic vomiting sounds that had both boys rolling with laughter.
“Shane’s always kissing girls.” Connor rolled his eyes. “I mean, always. I heard your dad say he’s got an addiction.”
Bryan snorted at that. “It’s weird. I mean, Shane knows all there is to know about animals and machines and stuff, but he likes having girls hang around. He gets this funny look in his eye, too. Like Devin does with your mom. I figure some girls must zap some guys’ brains. Like a laser beam.”
“What do you mean?” Connor had gone very still.