He turned to the kids who were just closing the door to the pen behind the last straggler. “Hey, why you don’t you both head on up the hill and help Addie Pearl with dinner,” he said. “I’ll help Hannah finish up with the lamb; then we’ll be up, too.”
Jake look a bit surprised but nodded. “If you’re sure, yeah, no problem.”
Bailey, on the other hand, regarded him a bit more steadily and didn’t respond right away. She went to glance past Will to where Hannah was seated, but he shifted, just the tiniest bit, to block her view. Bailey’s gaze went immediately back to his, concern clear in her eyes now.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly, not surprised that the young girl had picked up on the situation, or at least that there was one of some sort. “I’ve got it.”
“I didn’t know,” was all Bailey said, not in defense, but in apology.
“We can’t know what we don’t know,” he told her. “Go on up with Jake, okay?”
Bailey looked like she wanted to say more, to do more, but she nodded and, to her credit, corralled Jake out of the stables as smoothly as she’d helped him corral the rowdy babies moments before.
Jake pulled the plank door closed behind them, trusting Bailey to keep whatever it was she might be thinking about Hannah to herself. He’d talk to her later. Just as soon as he figured out what was going on.
He turned back to Hannah, took a slow breath, and walked over to her, hoping he’d done the right thing. And, despite his reassurances to Bailey, not at all sure he had this.
He looked around for another stool, found one, and pulled it over beside her. He could hear her quiet sobs before he even sat down. “Let me take him,” Will said quietly, as gently as he was able. He reached for the lamb, but Hannah gave just a slight shake of her head, so he withdrew his hands but stayed where he was sitting.
“Sorry,” she managed, her voice choked with tears.
“Nothing to be sorry about. Animals do that,” he said. “Bring out all our protective instincts.”
She ducked her chin in a wobbly nod, her face still cast downward, her gaze on the lamb, who was done feeding now, and dozing in her arms. Hannah was rocking little Snowball, or herself, or both.
Will felt his own chest tighten, his throat, too. He had no idea what had caused this response, but it was no little thing. She wasn’t trying to laugh it off or explain it away, as he’d assume she might, given her open and sunny nature. She wasn’t embarrassed or even really aware of anything except the warm bundle she was cradling to her chest.
He wanted to reach out, to console her, to ease whatever burden this had placed on her soul. Because clearly her tears were about a whole lot more than a poor, undersized, struggling lamb. He, better than most, knew about put-upon souls.
He had the thought that his intent to provide solace might instead be an unwanted intrusion, and he shifted his weight in order to stand up, give her some space and privacy.
“I miss this so much,” she said on a raw rasp. Fresh tears filled her voice, and he could see them tracking down her cheeks.
He settled right back on the stool again, but at a total loss as to what to say to that.
She sniffled again, and finally turned to brush her cheek against her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she said hoarsely. “It’s just . . . some things, I can’t . . .”
He’d never felt so inept in his life. All his instincts had rushed in to protect her, and now he had no idea how to actually do that. It felt intrusive to make any contact, and yet he simply couldn’t sit there, hearing all that pain, and not touch her, try to offer comfort.
He reached up and gently pushed the strands of hair away from where they clung to her damp cheeks. He tucked them behind her ear, then dried the last tears from her cheek with the back of his finger. “I don’t think we’re meant to shoulder everything all the time,” he said, thinking of his own struggles, thinking he could have taken that bit of advice more to heart himself. “We’re as strong as we can be, when we can be.” Seeing her brought to tears, for reasons he didn’t need to know, but identified with nonetheless, made his own voice a shade huskier. “Other times, well, I think it’s okay if we just let ourselves feel what we feel when we feel it. Then we pick up and keep going on.” He dried another tear. “There’s no harm in that, Hannah.”
She nodded, and her breath caught in little hiccups as she finally got her tears under control. She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes a glittering, stormy, pain-filled sea of gray. His finger had still been rubbing against her cheek, and now stroked across her lower lip.
Her mouth parted on a little gasp at the touch, her pupils expanding so rapidly they swallowed up the storm but didn’t eclipse the vulnerability. The responding roar of raw need and desire that rushed to fill every last part of him felt somewhere just shy of feral. It had been a very, very long time—a lifetime—since he’d felt desire on any level. The ferocity of this reaction left him feeling both untamed and a lot untried.
“Hannah,” he said, knowing he should let his hand drop away, not take another step forward when he didn’t know where the mines were buried in this particular field. Both hers and his. But he continued stroking her lower lip. Felt her shudder in response, almost in abject relief to be feeling anything other than whatever pain it was that had been filling her to the point of overflowing just moments ago. “I’m sorry,” he said, searching her eyes for answers, willing his heart to slow down, his pulse, and other parts of his suddenly riled up body to do the same.
She held his gaze, her eyes still swimming, but with teeming, unnamed emotions now rather than tears. She gave her head the slightest shake, as if to say he needn’t be.
He traced the side of her chin with the back of the same curved finger, wanting, badly, to lean in and taste her, draw the rest of the pain from her, take it inside himself if need be. Lord knew he was accustomed to it. What was a little more?
“Thank you,” she said hoarsely, her gaze intent, as if trying to give back a little of what he’d given to her, making him wonder what his eyes were saying, what answers she was getting. “For . . .” She lifted a shoulder, as if to encompass all of it, and the corners of her mouth finally curved upward, the slightest self-deprecating glint finding its way into her eyes, right before fresh tears filled them again. This time she let out a little laugh, as if in apology for her continued ridiculousness with the tears.
And that, more than the pain, more than the vulnerability, that moment of “oh well, this is me” was what reached in and clutched a piece of his heart and held on tight. He wasn’t even thinking, he was just reacting, as he started to lower his head to hers.
Her eyes widened, then darkened, but in a good way, the way every man wanted to see a woman’s eyes change when she looked at him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, as if in anticipation, and all that primal need and want came raging right back again.
He should pull back, check himself, get way more control over his reaction to her before . . . anything. But her lips were parting, and he wanted to taste them more than he wanted his next breath.
His lips brushed hers, the barest hint, and he felt her swift intake of breath. He started to pull back, but she closed the gap and pressed her mouth to his before he could give either of them the chance to think this step through.
He heard the low, thankful groan, and realized it was his own. But as he moved to join in, a sudden, high-pitched bleat pierced the quiet air, sending them both all but falling back off their respective stools as if they’d just been shocked with an electric prod. Like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Or their very adult hands . . . somewhere they shouldn’t be.
The tiny baby lamb was wriggling in Hannah’s arms with surprising vigor, causing her to erupt in watery laughter as she struggled to keep him from flipping right out of her arms.
Will righted himself and helped her with the baby, managing to take him from her as the empty bottle fell to the ground. Holding the still wriggling, bleating baby against
his chest, he offered Hannah his free hand as she was still wobbling on her stool, pulling her upright the moment she grabbed his hand.
Off balance, they both stumbled a step or two, taking care to keep the lamb from being knocked around between them.
The baby seemed delighted by this, his bleats becoming more energized and his eyes quite alert and attentive.
“Come here, you little rascal,” Will said, letting Hannah go when she got her balance and sheltering the baby lamb against his chest. “Let’s get you back to Mama for a bit.” He walked over to a stall at the end of the building and lowered the baby over the door. The lamb’s sibling bleated in greeting and the two butted heads, which knocked the smaller one over, but he didn’t seem to mind, scrambling back up on knobby little legs.
“Look at him.”
Will glanced over to see Hannah standing next to him, peering over the door.
“He’s so much tinier than his . . . sister? Brother?”
“Brother, I think,” Will said. “They’re a pretty hardy breed. He certainly seems to be giving it his best shot.”
Hannah nodded, then rubbed her palms over her face and pushed back the loose tendrils of hair, as if to scrub away whatever feelings and memories the baby lamb had evoked and regain her control.
Will certainly understood that desire. He was a master of wanting to be in control. You weren’t in control five minutes ago, his little voice reminded him. And it didn’t seem to bother you one bit. He opted to ignore that. For now. He wasn’t ready to think about . . . any of it.
Hannah took a deep, steadying breath and turned to face him as they both straightened away from the stall door. “That was very kind,” she said, her voice still husky and a bit raw. “What you did. Giving me privacy while I fell apart all over the place.” She smiled, and even with the splotchy, post-crying face and still-red eyes, her natural warmth was back in her eyes, and to him, she looked as beautiful as ever. “I very much appreciate that.”
That was the Hannah he was coming to know. Open, direct, kind. “I wasn’t sure what to do,” he admitted. “I just figured if it were me, the smaller the audience, the better.”
“You stuck around for the performance,” she said, but her tone was teasing, her still-glassy eyes bright with humor now.
“I thought maybe the lamb might need some assistance,” he offered, feeling his own lips twitch a little.
“The lamb,” she repeated, a wry note in her voice now. “I see.”
He lifted a shoulder, but the smile came out. He wanted to ask her . . . well, everything. He’d only known her to be happy and upbeat, always a positive air about her, even when the farmhouse was trying its best to fall apart around her and her cohorts. He wanted to know what had brought such an unlikely group of women together, why they’d all moved to a place none of them had ever been before—at least no one he’d spoken with knew anything about any of them—to start up a business clearly none of them had any previous experience running.
Addie Pearl was right that it was kind of confounding that no one seemed to know their story. As outgoing and friendly as each of them was, it was practically a miracle that their life stories weren’t already being dissected and analyzed via the Falls’ very well-run gossip mill.
Now he wanted to know the parts of her she’d kept so well hidden. And every other thing that made her who she was.
“I should probably explain,” she said as the silence spun out between them.
“No,” he said, without hesitation. “You don’t have to do that. Not for me.” Wanting to spare her that. And maybe himself as well. He was already a bit overwhelmed by his reaction to her. His one baby step forward today had turned into a full-on marathon and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about any of it. Now was definitely not the time to deepen whatever bonds were forming between them. She hadn’t mentioned their kiss and he was fine with their leaving that subject unexplained as well. For now, at any rate. “I’m just sorry it all came at you like that. Bailey’s going to feel terrible about putting you on the spot. She didn’t mean—”
“Oh, I know,” Hannah said quickly. “I was hoping maybe she hadn’t noticed. You were pretty astute to see what was happening yourself. I tried to fight it, I really did.” She looked back into the stall, but this time she was smiling when her eyes grew glassy again.
“It just took me off guard and I couldn’t seem to get a grip before it swamped me.” She looked back at him, her tone gentler now, and though there was a dry note there, too, her eyes were more serious now, or at least they held his quite steadily. “Just so you don’t think I’m crazy, I should probably tell you—”
“That’s okay,” he interrupted.
And he must have sounded a little more emphatic than he’d intended, because her smile faltered, and her gaze immediately shifted downward. Just for a moment. Then she looked at him again. “All right,” she said. “Thank you again, though.” She was every bit as kind and sincere, but her manner had shifted to something a little more polite now. As if she were speaking to a casual acquaintance, rather than someone she’d just kissed.
He nodded, and the moment stretched. He knew he should say something about—acknowledge the kiss. But now that he’d stuck his foot in it, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“If there’s nothing else we need to do out here, I’ll be starting up the trail,” she said. She smiled. “It will likely take me half a lifetime to make it up that incline, so please, don’t wait for me. At least by the time I get to the top I can blame this on the heat and the steep slope,” she said as she gestured to her face. She turned then and walked to the door.
“I didn’t think you were crazy,” he blurted out before she could walk away. I knew you were in pain.
She turned, her expression soft, her eyes kind. “I know.” She paused a beat, then added, “I appreciate that you understood what I was going through. I’m just sorry. That you had reason to.”
Chapter Eight
Will was in Vivi’s bedroom. He’d been in there for days.
“Hannah, darling, could you come in here a moment?”
Hannah’s hands paused over the stem of lavender, and the buds she was plucking from it. She swallowed a sigh but wasn’t as successful in sublimating the eye roll. She was having a hard enough time being under the same roof with Will. She really wished Vivi would stop finding reasons to send Hannah upstairs to get in his way.
It had been five days since they’d kissed. Kind of kissed. It had been a kiss.
Their parting had been awkward. The kiss, what there’d been of it, not so much. She sighed out loud this time. Their lips might have only been pressed together for a few seconds, but that had been long enough to learn that he knew how to kiss a woman. “This woman, anyway,” she muttered.
But the awkward parting had happened, too. Ending any chance that that kiss might happen again so she could learn what else he might know how to do with a woman. This woman.
She didn’t regret what she’d said to him. That she’d at least put it out there that he knew she’d been suffering, and she suspected he knew because he was intimately familiar with the feeling. It was better than dancing around it. She didn’t want to get all maudlin with him, and maybe it was just as well she hadn’t explained herself. She hadn’t been about to talk to him about Liam. Not directly anyway.
She’d merely been about to tell him that she’d suffered the loss of someone some years back and certain things could trigger strong emotions. And she’d only felt the need to tell him that much because she’d seen the pain mirrored in his own eyes, when he’d brushed the hair from her face, soothing her with more than words. He didn’t strike her as a man who reached out much, not like that. She’d wanted him to know she understood, and that she was truly grateful to him. The look on his face when she’d tried—both times—had made it clear he’d rather not go there. She didn’t know what loss he’d suffered, but she’d stopped trying to learn anything else about him, as that felt like a be
trayal of sorts. He’d gone out of his way for her. The least she could do was respect that he had no desire to open up and share his own story.
Of course, she was fairly certain she’d pieced it together and figured it out on her own. The who of it, at least. He’d mentioned Jake’s mom, lovingly and with great respect, and he’d mentioned that his own mother had helped to raise Jake. Jake had spoken about his grandmother a few times, alluding to his coming to live with her when he was little. But no mention of his mom. It didn’t take a giant leap of logic to assume that Will wasn’t divorced, but a widower. And given Jake had been in the Falls for most of his life, that meant it wasn’t a recent loss. Will had lost his mom, too, so that might be part of it as well.
Whatever the case, it was none of her business. And he didn’t want to make her any part of his business, either. That much had been made clear to her in the past week. He’d honored her request to let her climb that hill alone. He’d gone back to work on the well instead of coming up. By the time she’d gotten to the top, her face was so flushed from exertion she really hadn’t worried what anyone might think about her swollen eyes.
Clearly Bailey had seen something and relayed it to the other two, because Addie Pearl had come out of the cabin to greet her as Hannah had exited the shelter of the tall pines and started toward the cabin.
Hannah had begged off dinner and Addie had kindly acted as if that had been the plan all along. Jake had given the poster to Addie, who’d invited her to come out to the mill a few days later to talk about all of her plans. Hannah had been grateful for her kindness and smiled now as she remembered the wonderfully productive meeting they’d shared just a few days ago. She was especially grateful that Addie hadn’t once brought up Will or so much as hinted around what had happened in the lamb house. Hannah supposed Will might have told Addie himself, but somehow Hannah doubted that.
He’d been at the farmhouse working on the final chimney and fireplace almost every day since, making up for the rainy days the week before. There had been no sign of Jake or Bailey, and that worried her a little. But hadn’t she just been telling herself maybe it was better to take a step back? And that was before she’d kissed Jake’s dad.
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