“Hello, Lily.”
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