“Well,” Stephen said, after several minutes passed standing at the fence. “Maybe we could go to dinner one night this week.”
“Okay.”
Still neither of them moved, both looking at the horses grazing. Now that the sun was setting it felt more on the winter side of spring than summer. She wrapped her arms around her middle, the green knit top she wore not quite enough.
Trust him.
Mia had said that when she trusted enough, she’d be ready, that everyone had scars. Though she’d seen no evidence that Stephen did.
“Do you want to say goodbye to me at my door?”
His gaze swung to hers. “What?”
“You said once—”
“I know what I said. Are you asking me to?”
He stepped close, so close she could smell him. He was so big, so strong, and yet she’d stood there sandwiched between the wall of the barn and the wall that was Stephen unafraid. Secure even, like he could and would protect her.
“I was going to make spaghetti. It always makes too much for one person.”
A sexy grin spread across his gorgeous face. “Now it sounds like you’re asking me to dinner.”
If she was normal and if they were dating, the next logical step would be to ask him to dinner. “I guess I am.”
Moving even closer, he touched her cheek, back to serious Stephen. “You sure?”
She nodded. If she wasn’t before, that clinched it.
Chapter 15
So her house had been right here all along. Stephen followed behind Hannah, turning on a barely visible path he hadn’t noticed his first time out. They wound around, moving slowly until the woods opened into a clearing revealing a small log cabin.
She got out and tossed a shy smile over her shoulder before leading him up the steps and onto a porch that ran along the front of the house. She unlocked the door and he followed her inside to a small open space that flowed into the kitchen. “Very nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Need some help?”
“No. I just have to heat the sauce and boil the spaghetti. It shouldn’t take long.” She bit her lip and fled to the kitchen.
He let her retreat and wandered the main room, all pine walls and floor. A cream shag rug lay under the coffee table and a patchwork quilt added a splash of color over the back of a leather couch. The walls were mostly bare, but framed photographs dotted end tables and lined the mantel.
He took a closer look at the pictures. Each one displayed a man or groupings of men, her brothers, he assumed. Hoped. A little girl smiled in most of them. A toddler with tiny pigtails poking out the sides of her head, some a little older, sporting missing teeth and long, white-blond hair, not gold as it was now.
Turning from the pictures, he ran a hand down the solid wooden post, admiring the craftsmanship. “This is really good work. Did the man who left it to you build it?”
“Yes. Long before I knew them.”
Stephen crossed the room and leaned against the counter opposite where she stood at the stove. He watched her open the same drawer three times before finally taking out a wooden spoon. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
“No. I mean…yes. I’m sure I don’t.”
“Okay. No rush.” She, however, looked very rushed, and cute, as her words tumbled out in a heap and he fought a smile.
“Do you want something to drink? I’m sorry, I should have asked you already. I don’t have a lot of company.” She averted her gaze with that last statement, angled her head toward the refrigerator. “I have soda and iced tea. Or water.”
“Tea’s fine.” So maybe it wasn’t just him making her nervous. And if having a man over for dinner was a new thing, he couldn’t help being glad. “So, how long have you lived here? In the cabin?”
“Almost two years.” She poured and held out the glass to him with a hand that shook so much, the ice cubes knocked together.
Damn, was she nervous? Or maybe afraid? Was she hiding from someone out here in the woods? The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable by asking, but he couldn’t help wondering if someone had hurt her, scared her. If so, he’d find out who and do some hurting of his own.
He watched her intently as she got out butter and Parmesan and opened a loaf of French bread. “Here. Let me at least cut the bread.” He straightened and moved toward her. “My mom always told me not to stand around like a log.”
“Okay.” She went back to the stove to stir the sauce.
“So they left everything to you in their will? The property, the house?”
“Not exactly.”
While she explained, he sawed off pieces of bread, buttered them on a tray, and put them in the oven.
“I guess Mr. Bradley had a feeling when he went into the hospital that he wouldn’t be coming home. And he didn’t. He told me there was an envelope for me in the barn office and the next day he died. Just three weeks after his wife. Almost like he didn’t want to live without her.”
Something he could understand, Stephen thought.
“The physical therapy part was just an idea, but the Bradleys liked it, wanted the place used for something good after they were gone. I have a date to go in and state my case. No one will talk to me before then.”
“I could look into it for you.”
“No. But thanks.”
He’d be looking anyway. If the city was looking to take it for revenue purposes, which was possible, they’d be more eager if they thought they had a buyer. He’d do everything in his power to make sure they didn’t. And if his partner hadn’t gotten the message before, he’d make damn sure he did now.