by CATHY L. CLAMP; FRANCIS RAY; BEVERLY JENKINS; MONICA JACKSON; GERI GUILLAUME
A thousand questions shouted in his mind at once, but he was so stunned by the sight of her, he couldn’t form words.
Mrs. Harrison beckoned Lydia into the room, then said to Gray, “Mr. Dane, this is the young woman I spoke to you about.”
Still unable to believe what he was seeing, Gray said to Mrs. Harrison, “The lady and I are acquainted.” How could she be here? Forcing himself to calm down, Gray managed to say evenly, “It’s been a long time, Lydia. How are you?”
Lydia met his familiar dark eyes, and bittersweet memories rose from her heart. “I’m doing well, Gray. And yourself?”
For Gray, seeing her again was like finding water after a trek through the drought-stricken Texas badlands. “I’m well.”
Lydia understood his surprise all too well; she, too, had been caught off guard by seeing him here. This was a decidedly awkward meeting, to say the least. Because of their shared past, she once again wanted to turn and hightail it back to her room; however, she reminded herself that she was no longer sixteen and in love with him. She could handle this.
Mrs. Harrison, unaware of the subtle currents flowing between her boarders, said cheerily, “Well, since the two of you are already acquainted, why don’t you take a seat and catch up on old times? I’ll bring out the food directly.”
Lydia had no desire to catch up on old times, especially with Gray, but rather than decline and appear waspish, she said, “Thank you, Mrs. Harrison.”
After the landlady’s departure, Gray and Lydia were left alone. Their eyes met for a long moment. They were both aware of what stood between them, as well as what they’d once shared. Gray wanted to reach out and caress her cheek. He wanted to ease her into his arms, hold her close, and whisper to her how very sorry he was for what he’d done to her and to their love. However, such fantasies were the stuff of dime novels; reconciling with her wouldn’t be easily accomplished, even if she was open to reconciliation—which he tended to doubt. In reality, Gray was just glad to see her. Keeping that in mind, he gestured her over to the table.
Lydia walked past him with a continued confidence in her ability to handle this evening. From the letters she’d received from her mother, Lydia knew Gray had moved back to the area a few years ago and that by coming home she stood a good chance of encountering him. And now she had. She told herself that the passage of time had dulled her heart to the love she once had for him and to the pain he’d caused her as well. She was over Gray.
When Lydia reached the table and took her seat, he politely helped her with her chair, but she was unprepared for the heat of his nearness. It had been a lifetime since he’d touched or kissed her, but the woman in her reacted as if it had been but yesterday. Blaming it on her fatigue and the shock of seeing him again, she set her unsettling reaction aside, all the while chastising herself for letting anything about him affect her.
Savoring the faint lingering scent of her perfume, Gray stepped away from her chair and sat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table. Honeysuckle. She met his gaze for a second, then slowly looked away. He wasn’t offended. In truth, he’d earned her disdain, so he used the opportunity to observe her profile more fully. He still found it hard to fathom her being here. On a beautiful June day back in ’68, Lydia Cooper had disappeared from his life as if she’d never been born, and tonight she’d walked back into it like a specter. Had she married? He saw no rings on her slim brown fingers, but he knew that to be no true indication. Many married women wore no ring. Had another man claimed her heart, the heart that had once been his own? That the answer might be yes did not sit well with Gray, even though he knew he’d tossed away the right to have any say in her life fifteen years ago.
Mrs. Harrison returned, bringing with her a roast chicken, vegetables, and corn bread. She set the tray of dishes down on the table, then with a departing smile with-drew to the kitchen once again.
Gray looked at the small bounty and his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since leaving Chatham, Ontario, early this morning. He hoped the food tasted as good as it looked. “Shall I carve?” he asked the still-silent Lydia.
“Please.”
Gray and Lydia had grown up together and over the years had shared many things, including chicken dinners at their small local church. “Pass me your plate.”
She did.
Without thinking about the task, Gray cut her the part of the bird she’d always favored in the past: the wing, with a slice of the breast attached. Only after he’d placed the meat on the plate did they both realize the significance of his unconscious act. His remembering what pleased her spoke of a familiarity Lydia didn’t want to acknowledge, but it affected her nonetheless. Shaken, she looked away from his vibrant eyes. She added vegetables and bread to her plate and hoped he didn’t notice how her hands trembled.
Gray did notice, and it made him wonder if the trembling stemmed from nerves or anger. He was too much of a realist to think it might be because she was not as unmoved by his presence as she would have him believe. To believe that was nothing more than wishful thinking. After the way he’d treated her, if she chose to anoint his head with the contents of the gravy boat, it would only be what he deserved. That reality saddened him in many ways, because he’d never forgotten her.
Lydia began to eat. The food was excellently prepared, but she was unable to savor it the way she wanted because her appetite was being blunted by a disturbing truth: somewhere beneath the ashes that had once been her heart, an old ember still glowed. Once upon a time her love for Gray had burned day and night. Now the tiny ember was all that remained. Even though she told herself a snowball in hell stood a better chance, she could feel the ember struggling to glow bright again. After all, how does a woman forget the first boy to hold her hand or the one who on a moonlit night took her behind his parents’ barn and taught her to waltz? Added to that was the fact that Grayson Dane was still an astoundingly handsome man. From the dark eyes, to the square jaw, to the full and, yes, sensual lips, he was the man of a woman’s dreams. He was also a free man again. According to her mother’s letters, he’d been free to remarry for many years now. Anna Mae Dexter had been the cause of the rift that now yawned like a canyon between Lydia and Gray. Fifteen years ago, Anna Mae’s claim that Gray had fathered Anna Mae’s unborn child hit Lydia in her heart like a cold bucket of water in the face.
But Anna Mae and Gray were no longer married. Were Lydia so inclined, it would be very easy to pick up where she and Gray had left off and start again. Her protests to the contrary, Lydia knew that the bonds that had linked them in the past would remain with her to the grave, but she had no plans to make herself or her feelings vulnerable to him again. And on the heels of her disastrous engagement to Burton Shaw, she had widened the criteria to include any other man as well. She was tired of picking up the shards that had once been her heart and soldiering on. She’d come to the conclusion that the perils of love were not for her. Her school and her students were all she needed in life.
Gray found it hard to concentrate on eating as well. He instead wanted to question Lydia about her past, the things she’d done in her life since moving away, the people she’d encountered, but he didn’t ask. He’d given up that right as well. Were he a drinking man, he’d be getting stinking drunk right now so he wouldn’t have to look into her face and see the adolescent she’d once been or remember the fun they’d had. He didn’t want to see that she was still as lovely as the last time he’d seen her, even more so if that was possible, or that maturity had added a sultriness to her honey-colored face that had only been hinted at in her youth. Her tawny brown eyes were still sharp and intelligent and her mouth . . . lush as Michigan in springtime. Drunk he might even forget how much he’d hurt her or the fact that because of his betrayal Lydia Cooper would never be a significant part of his life again.
Lydia set her cutlery aside. She’d eaten enough. She asked him softly, “How is your mother?”
He smiled ruefully, the first he’d s
hown since the evening began. “Age is finally slowing her down, but she’s doing well. I’m sure she’d welcome a visit from you while you’re here.” He wondered how long she might stay in town.
“I’d like to see her as well. She was always kind to me.” Lydia remembered how upset Gray’s mother had been when the scandal surrounding Anna Mae surfaced. Lydia had been so devastated by the news of Gray’s betrayal and the subsequent wedding announcement that her mother had sent her to Chicago to live with her aunt, Queen-Esther, for a while. Mrs. Dane hadn’t wanted Lydia to leave town, but she understood that Lydia’s going away was in everyone’s best interest. To this day, Lydia remembered the tears in Mrs. Dane’s eyes when Lydia came over to say good-bye.
Gray could see the memories fanning across Lydia’s face and the soft sadness in her eyes. Had he the power to go back and change things he would. Back then, he hadn’t known that deceit could ripple across one’s life like a stone skipping on a river or that that same small ripple could turn into a torrent, sweeping away love, lives, and the smile of the girl who’d been his entire world. Lydia had entrusted him with all of herself and he’d proven himself unworthy by trysting with Anna Mae. It had been the mistake of a lifetime, one he realized fully the day Lydia disappeared and his marriage to Anna Mae began. “How’re you getting home?”
“Tomorrow morning’s coach. It leaves at nine.”
“My wagon is here. You’re welcome to come along if you want to get to your mother’s place faster.”
Lydia considered the offer. She wanted to turn him down. One evening with him was enough, but his logic had merit. The coach might not pull into Sumpter until late tomorrow evening, depending on the number of passengers aboard and how many stops it had to make. “What time are you leaving?”
“Seven.”
“Where shall I meet you?”
“Front door will be fine.”
“Then I’ll come along if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.”
What Lydia saw reflected in his eyes reached out and touched her with such intensity, she had to look away from him or be lost. She stood then and said, “I will see you in the morning. Good night, Gray.”
He nodded. “Good night, Lydia.”
As she walked away and disappeared from Gray’s view, he whispered softly, “Sweet dreams, my lady. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 2
True to his word, Gray was waiting when Lydia ventured downstairs early the next morning. He greeted her distantly. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning.”
“Mrs. Harrison has some breakfast waiting. We can load up your trunks afterward.”
In a way, Lydia had hoped to awaken this morning and find last night’s reunion had been a dream, but of course it hadn’t. Gray was as real as her heartbeat. “I’m not very hungry, but I’ll have some tea while you eat.”
“Tea isn’t going to keep you warm on a morning like this. It snowed again last night.”
“I’m well acquainted with the weather, Gray. I was born here, remember?”
He’d forgotten how prickly she could be sometimes, and because of the past she had even more of a reason to be so. “You still need to eat.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Stubborn as ever.”
“And you’re as bossy as ever.”
To which he replied softly, “Touché.”
Lydia had to admit she still found him mesmerizing, but when she reminded herself of what all that mesmerizing had done to her soul, she had no trouble shaking it off and saying to him, “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get under way.”
“And the sooner we bury the past, the better off we’ll both be.”
“Don’t pry open a box you can’t close, Gray.” That said, she turned away and walked into the dining room.
Gray knew he’d deserved that. He was trying to push her into a conversation she plainly didn’t want to have. He had to respect that, but how could he confess to her the depths of his remorse if she wouldn’t talk to him? He supposed had the shoe been on the other foot and he’d been the one wronged, heaven and earth would turn to dust before he opened up to her again, but that didn’t solve his dilemma. If he couldn’t talk to her, he couldn’t tell her that for the past fifteen years he’d never stopped loving her.
They shared a silent breakfast, and because Lydia didn’t want Gray fussing like a mother hen, she had a piece of toasted bread to accompany her tea. He, on the other hand, had a plate piled high with grits, eggs, sausage, and bread, all of which he washed down with hot cups of Mrs. Harrison’s excellently brewed coffee. Lydia knew he was a full-grown man, but she couldn’t believe how much he ate.
When he was finished, it was time to depart. Lydia pushed away from the table and went in search of Mrs. Harrison, who was in the kitchen cleaning up. After thanking the elderly landlady for her kindness and hospitality, Lydia paid her boarding bill, then left to meet up with Gray for the ride home to Sumpter.
He was already outside seated on the bench seat of the wagon. Lydia had taken a few moments to pull on a pair of wool men’s trousers that were now hidden beneath her wool dress and cloak. Her legs were nice and warm as her boots crunched atop the snow.
He held out his hand and she stuck her gloved hand into his so he could help her up. She tossed her handbag onto the seat above, then, after hiking her skirts a short ways, climbed up aided by the strength of his grip.
“Thank you,” she said to him as she adjusted her cloak and the plush velvet bonnet covering her head and ears.
“You’re welcome.” He snapped the reins and the horses started forward.
Last night’s snowfall had blanketed the trees and the surrounding countryside with a white brilliance that twinkled like diamonds under the pale sunshine. The temperature was cold enough to make a person seek shelter beneath layers of clothing, but since both Gray and Lydia were accustomed to the weather, they were dressed warmly enough.
Gray, guiding the team, looked over at Lydia sitting statuelike in her heavy cloak and hood. “It’s not as cold as I thought,” he said.
“No. It isn’t too bad. The sunshine helps.”
“We should be home in an hour or so.”
Lydia nodded her understanding, then trained her attention on the rolling fields of white. Seeing the snow reminded her of her childhood days when times were simpler. On a day like this, she, Gray, and the rest of their friends would need their snowshoes to reach the small school they all attended. If there was no school, they’d rush to get their chores done, then meet at the old tree to go sledding or skating or play snow snake, the game taught them by their Pottawatomie friend, Patrick. She remembered many an early morning lying on her back in a fresh field of snow making snow angels. She wistfully realized she hadn’t made snow angels in ages; being headmistress prevented such joys.
Gray wondered what she might be thinking, but he did not want to ask and risk raising the tension again, so instead he asked, “How long you planning on staying?”
She shrugged. “I’m not real certain, but until the New Year for sure.”
He found the answer pleasing. “Then, back to Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask what your life is like there?”
She saw no harm in telling him the truth. “I run a school for girls.”
He smiled his surprise. “You’re a teacher?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I do in some ways, but not in others.”
He appeared puzzled by her answer, so she explained. “I enjoy the girls, and the teaching, but not the administrative responsibilities.” Lydia almost added that she was considering closing the school and opening a smaller one here, closer to home so she could be with her mother, but she kept those thoughts to herself. Back when she and Gray were young, they’d often shared their dreams and plans, but the scandal and the passage of time had changed all that.
Gray knew he had no business askin
g, but he wanted to know: “Is there a man in your life?”
In response to the question, Burton Shaw’s face shimmered across her mind’s eye. “No.”
Gray noted her hesitation before answering. He wondered about it but didn’t ask her to explain.
Lydia felt turnaround fair play. “Is there a woman in your life?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No. There’s been no one since I sent Anna Mae packing.”
Lydia heard that the marriage had ended badly. A few months after the wedding, Anna Mae allegedly lost the babe in a riding accident; rumor had it that she hadn’t been carrying at all and that the whole tale had been hatched by Anna Mae and her nefarious kin so that Anna Mae could snag a wealthy husband.
Lydia glanced in his direction and took in the familiar way he held the reins, the way he sat, the confidence in his face. Once, she’d known practically everything about him: his likes and dislikes, that he preferred leather driving gloves to cotton, was allergic to blueberries, and had a small crescent-shaped scar on his back that he’d gotten during a fight they’d had when she was eleven years old. It was from a rock she’d thrown; she’d been aiming at his head. The only thing she hadn’t known about was Anna Mae.
He asked, “When was your last visit home?”
“About five years ago, but it was only for a day or so.”
“That would’ve been before I came back.”
“Yes. Mother wrote me and said you’d only recently returned.”
“Yes, It’s been almost two years now.”
“Where were you before?”
“Texas.”
“So that accounts for the accent I hear.”
“Still pretty thick, isn’t it?” he asked, smiling over at her.
She shrugged lightly. “I suppose. You must have been there quite some time for it to have affected your speech so strongly.”
“Eleven years.”
“Doing what?”
“U.S. Cavalry.”
Lydia found that surprising.
Gray met her gaze, then added, “Joined up after the divorce.”