"Now its my turn to ask a question about you. "
Every muscle in Marians body tightened. "I dont recall saying Id play this little game. "
"Its not a game, Mariah," he said with a soft laugh. "Its called conversation. "
She tried to relax. "Oh. All right, then. Ask a . . . nonpersonal question. "
"Why dont you leave the farm?"
The question caught her off guard. She tensed, expecting to shatter at the words.
But, amazingly, nothing like that happened. She felt almost relieved.
No one had ever asked her that question, and deep down, some part of her wanted to answer.
She was tired of pretending it was nothing. Tired of being afraid all the time. Maybe if she tried, just this once, to answer the simple question, things would finally begin to change. Maybe if she could talk about the gate, she could someday open it. And who better to confide in than someone who wouldnt be around to remind her of her shortcomings if she failed?
She took a deep breath and tried what she had never tried before. "W-When I was younger—" she laughed bitterly "—much younger, I wasnt afraid of anything. "
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Anyway, I—" Fell in love with a loser and ran away with him.
She tried desperately to form the words, but the confession wouldnt come.
Humiliation clogged in her lungs and washed across her cheeks. God, she couldnt say the words. Not even to a drifter who didnt care and had no one to tell and no right to judge. Her hands curled into tight, impotent fists.
Defeated, she pushed up to a sit and stared dully at her tired brown skirts. "I went as far as Walla Walla. " She forced a brittle laugh—that much was true at least. "Then I came home. "
"Something happened in Walla Walla. "
"Something. " Her voice was as dead as the leaves strewn on the drying grass.
He rolled over onto his stomach and looked up at her. His face was surprisingly earnest. "I know you dont think much of me, but if you ever want to talk about it . .
. "
Heat crept through her body at his simple offer—one no one else had ever made.
She wanted to lean toward him. Their faces were close now, and if she moved—even a little—theyd be close enough to kiss. The realization sparked a girlish sense of giddiness—and then an older, wiser womans fear.
Yearning pulsed through her body, made her fingers shake and her throat go dry.
God, she wanted to touch him right now, to run her fingers through his too long hair and pretend her past was only that.
But, as always, she didnt have the courage. She couldnt give him anything of herself. But she could give the truth, and surprisingly, she wanted to.
"Its not you," she said.
He frowned. "Whats not me?"
"Ive been unfair to you, treated you badly because . . . of someone else. "
"Someone who hurt you?"
"Yes. He was a lot like you. . . . But perhaps not as much as I first thought. "
"In what way? Handsome, charming?"
At his easy smile, weakness washed through her, calling to her in a sly, seductive voice. Touch him. . . . Just try it.