He’d been sitting beneath a purple umbrella at a circular wrought iron table near the shallow end, where Isabella had attempted to coax Savannah in. He stood, picked up Isabella’s colorful striped beach towel from the table and held it toward her as she reached the edge. For the past two days, he’d sat nearby, smiling when appropriate, offering his frightened little girl encouraging words but obviously torn apart over her fear.
“Should I keep this up, Isabella? She says she wants to swim, but should I keep bringing her here? Putting her through this? And putting you through this, too?”
She accepted the towel and wrapped it around her as she prayed for God to give her the right words. She had so much admiration for Titus Jameson, and something else, too. A longing to comfort him, to see him happy again. Even now, standing so near to him, close enough that his woodsy scent tickled her senses, she wanted to offer him more than words. She wanted to hold him, tell him that she was sorry for what Nan had done and let him know that he didn’t have to go through this alone.
“You aren’t putting me through anything,” she said. “I’m here because I want to be here, and I do think Savannah will work her way through this eventually.”
Titus cleared his throat. “I read online last night that children aren’t inherently afraid of the water. It’s their life experiences and the attitudes of those around them that generate that fear. Savannah used to play in the kiddie pool at home all the time until she was three, so I’m afraid that Nan’s leaving has something to do with this fear. But she wants to conquer it, and I want to help.”
“I want to help her, too,” Isabella said. He had no idea how much. In fact, she wanted to be the kind of person to Savannah that she’d always wanted for herself growing up. Someone she could depend on. Someone she could trust.
“I can tell that you do, and I appreciate that more than you could know.” His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, and then he pointed toward the round table. “Do you have time to stay for a few minutes and talk while she’s visiting with Abi?” He paused. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about everything Savannah’s going through, and I’m thinking I’d benefit from a female perspective.”
“I’d hoped to be in the pool for at least an hour,” Isabella said, “so I have plenty of time.”
“Trust me, I’d hoped you would be, too.” He moved to the table and pulled out a chair for Isabella.
She couldn’t recall Richard ever pulling out her chair; however, she did remember a time he reprimanded a waiter for neglecting to do so. “Thank you,” she said, impressed with the gentlemanly gesture that came naturally to Titus.
The umbrella covering the table shaded his face, so she couldn’t be certain, but it appeared his cheeks tinged a fraction as he said rather stiltedly, “You’re welcome.”
Isabella situated herself on the metal chair, taking a moment to tuck the top end of her towel securely at her chest and making sure as much of her skin as possible was covered. Water still dripped from her hair, but the warm afternoon air, combined with the thick terry towel, kept her from being too chilled as she waited to see what he wanted to talk about.
They sat for a moment, and Isabella tried to be patient as she eagerly anticipated Titus asking her advice. But his attention seemed to bounce between the barn, where Savannah stood near the fence rail petting Brownie, and the mountains, where the orange sun blazed vibrantly, with an occasional—and very quick—glance at Isabella in between.
Finally, unwilling to wait any longer, she cleared her throat. “You wanted to ask me something?”
This time, she was certain his cheeks turned a shade darker before he spoke.
“I’m sorry, Isabella. But it’s been three years since I’ve even had a conversation with a woman.” He shook his head, ran his hand through his hair.
Isabella watched as the dark strands fell messily around his chiseled face. He had such a strong presence, something that he didn’t appear to realize, which made him even more appealing.
“I mean, I’ve spoken to women, but nothing much beyond a hello, or about the details of whatever I was building for them.” One corner of his mouth kicked up in a half smile.
Isabella’s heart melted a little more toward this compelling man, and as she waited for his attention to land on her again, she gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I understand.” Then, to help him out, she said, “If it’s any consolation, I’m not used to a man wanting to hear my opinion about anything, so I may not be any more comfortable sitting here and answering your questions than you are sitting here and asking them.”
* * *
Titus was so thrown by her statement that he forgot about being uncomfortable talking privately to a woman for the first time in three years. Isabella wasn’t used to a man wanting to hear her opinion? Why not? What man had made her feel her views weren’t worthy, and why hadn’t Titus considered what might be going on in her world? He hadn’t even thought about what had happened in her past to bring her here, to Claremont. She was such an intriguing, striking woman. Why would she have moved to a place this tiny? Was she trying to get away from the guy who didn’t appreciate her?
“Who made you think your opinions didn’t matter?”
She pushed a wet auburn lock of hair behind her ear and shifted in her seat. “I thought you wanted to ask me a question.”
“I just did.” Titus wasn’t backing down now. The thought of someone treating Isabella with anything less than the respect she deserved bothered him—a lot.
She pulled her towel tighter around her petite frame in an act that, whether she realized it or not, showed that she wanted protection. Titus could identify that now. He wondered how many clues that Isabella had been hurt he’d missed over the past two weeks.
“Did he hit you?” Titus asked.
Her grip on the towel tightened, eyes widened. “Oh, no. Never.”
He believed her, and he was glad she hadn’t been physically harmed, but he also knew that some guy hadn’t treated her all that great, either. “So who was it?” Titus had been nervous about talking with Isabella, but now that the conversation was focused on her and on how someone could have done anything to hurt her, he wasn’t nervous. On the contrary, he was engaged. And ready to make some man pay.
“My husband.”
For the second time in two weeks, Titus felt sucker punched. Isabella was married? Well, of course she was. A woman as beautiful as Isabella, as kind and caring, would naturally have a husband. His attention moved to the bare ring finger on her left hand.
She followed where he stared and said, “My ex-husband, I should say. Our divorce was final six months ago. He tried for ten years to make me into what he wanted, and I let him—” she lifted slender shoulders “—but then he decided that wasn’t enough.” Her green eyes studied him as she added, “But it’s okay. I’m happy now, getting a chance to start over. He started over, too.”
“He’s a fool.”
Her soft laugh broke the tension. She straightened in her chair, gathered her hair and draped it over her right shoulder. “Thank you for that, but you’d probably like him if you met him. Most people do. He’s a fairly popular guy, especially in his social circles.”
Titus hardly heard her statement. His focus had fallen on her hands, maneuvering the long auburn waves that now curled past her shoulder. He wondered if her hair was as soft, as silky, as it appeared. Even now, still damp from her time in the pool, the red-brown ringlets caused him to wonder how they would feel in his hands, against his cheek or brushing against his lips.
And he again reminded himself that he had no business thinking about