She was opinionated and passionate and had a crazy understanding of the world and where she saw her place in it. He didn’t know anyone else like her, and he’d wanted to be close to her, but she was his best friend’s little sister and, as such, off-limits to the likes of him. They’d come close, once, to being more than friends, but even then he’d quickly come to understand that being rooted in this small town wouldn’t be enough for her.
One hesitant step brought her closer to him, and her eyes locked with his.
Wynn broke the contact first, looking away as a mockingbird shot toward the sky, scolding them for being in the same space.
Latham met her at the edge of her car. “It really is good to see you, Wynn.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s good to see you, too. It’s been too long. I won’t stay away that long again.”
He wanted to ask her what kept her away, but they weren’t really friends anymore. “What can I do for you?”
“My mom asked me to come and give you some pictures of what she’s thinking about for the table she wants you to build for her. She could’ve texted them, but she insisted. You know Bertie.”
“I do. There’s no getting around her when she has her mind set on something. Come in. I was about to take a break. Want a Coke?”
“Water?”
He grinned. “I have that, too.”
“I didn’t even know that you were handy with a saw in high school.”
“I could’ve probably made a birdhouse in high school, but it wouldn’t have been pretty.” He looked up from the small fridge in his office—a stall with a desk made from two sawhorses and some old boards. It suited him, though.
He handed her a small bottle of water. “I didn’t start seriously working with wood until about six years ago. I moved back here to be with Pop after Gran died. I do some carpentry work and odd jobs, but there’s just not that much to do in Red Hill Springs. I needed a hobby, desperately.”
“So you just decided to build something?” She was wandering from photo to photo, which he had meticulously hung on the wall. Every item he ever built, starting with the first wooden box, was represented there.
“Yeah, I found some plans for a porch swing online and decided to make it. Back then, I had to get the lumber store to do all my cuts for me.” He waved a hand at the huge saw in the back of his shop. “Now I use mostly reclaimed wood and I do everything here.”
She ran a finger down the table he’d been working on this morning. “Beautiful. You’re really talented. It’s a kind of art.”
Surprised, he searched out her face. “It is, in a way. I remember you being the artist, though.” He glanced at his watch. He needed to leave soon so he could get his jobs done and be at the college before five. “So Bertie sent you out here with some photos?”
She handed them to him and smiled, the first real smile he’d seen from her all day. “I think it was a ploy to get me out from under her feet. I’m not used to being at home, but Bertie isn’t used to me being home either.”
His hands, smoothing the thin magazine sheets, stilled, and he asked the question he’d been wanting to know the answer to since he first heard she was back in town. “Are you planning to stick around for a while?”
The smile vanished. “I’m not sure. I’m still trying to figure all that out. I better go. Tell your pop I said hi.”
He followed her to her car. “You’re welcome to stay and tell him yourself. I teach a class at the college, so I’ve got to get going or I’d go in with you.”
When she opened the door, he reached for her hand. She stared at it. “It really is good to see you again, Wynn.”
She looked down where their two hands joined and didn’t move for a long second. She swallowed hard. “I have to go.”
“Take care.” He watched as she drove away, his eyes following her little blue car until it disappeared around a curve.
He didn’t wonder that he was still as fascinated by her as he had been as a teenager, just accepted it as a fact. That was his nature. But he did wonder what brought her back to Red Hill Springs and what it was that made her eyes look so sad.
Wynn lay on the floor in her brother Ash’s house, building a block tower with three-year-old Levi, whose adoption would be final in a couple of weeks. He was babbling constantly now, words mixed with sounds that had some resemblance to words.
There’d been a time, not that long ago, when they wondered if he would ever speak, or stand. He’d been broken, physically and emotionally, when Ash’s wife, Jordan, became his foster mom. Together, Jordan and Ash had patiently helped him become a healthy, happy toddler.
When he pulled up to standing using the coffee table, she had to dive to save her glass of ice water from his busy fingers. “Guys, he’s really doing so well.”
Ash turned from where he was finishing the spaghetti sauce on the stove. “He took two steps yesterday.”
“What? With no hands? Levi, you big boy! Aunt Wynn is so proud!”
Levi let go of the coffee table and clapped his hands, delight shining in his dark brown eyes. Out of the crew of foster kids at Red Hill Farm, he was the first she’d bonded with, maybe because she felt wounded, as well. Her wounds were just on the inside.
Her brother turned a speculative blue gaze on her. “I heard you were out at Latham’s today. You know, he had a crush on you in high school. He thought we didn’t know, but it was so obvious.”
Wynn opened her mouth and closed it again.
“Ash, don’t forget the bread!” Jordan winked at Wynn as she poured the noodles into a colander and served them into bowls.
Ash pulled out a pan of perfectly toasted garlic bread and grinned at his wife. “Last time we had spaghetti, someone-who-shall-remain-nameless-but-wasn’t-me forgot the bread was in the oven and the entire house filled with black smoke. So the fire alarm is going off, the baby’s crying, Jordan’s screaming that the new house is going to burn down. It was awesome.”
“Ashley Sheehan, you don’t have to tell all the family secrets.”
His grin turned wicked. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her about the time you—”
“Ash!” Jordan dove across the kitchen to smash her lips against his, presumably to keep him quiet.
He came up laughing. “Okay, okay, I give.”
“I thought so.” A satisfied look on her face, Jordan picked Levi up from the floor and tucked him into his high chair. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“You guys are nuts.” Wynn stood, sliding her feet back into her short suede boots. “But the spaghetti smells delicious.”
They were nuts in the best possible way. The little glances, the subtle—or not-so-subtle—innuendos, all hinted at a content life, a happy marriage, something Wynn wasn’t sure she would ever have. Not now.
She’d let herself be blinded by her boss’s shine and bigger-than-life persona, somehow convincing herself that her place was behind the man, supporting him in his bid to change the world. He’d encouraged that, cultivated it, made her think she was indispensable to him as the love of his life.
She’d believed him.
She’d even believed him when he told her he wasn’t ready