A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever Read Online Free PDF Page B

look after people?”
    â€œAlways.”
    She turned to grasp the ladder. He helped her lower it to the floor. Her hair brushed his cheek lightly as they moved together, and he had to dismiss the idea of prolonging the moment.
    Just get through it, Matt had said. Okay, that’s what he’d do. He’d take control of this project instead of reacting to it. And the first step in that direction was to have Tory’s workroom right under his eyes. Of course that meant that Tory herself would be, as well.
    He could manage this. All right, he found her attractive. That didn’t mean he’d act on that attraction, not even in his imagination.

Chapter Three
    â€œW ell, what do you think? Will this be a comfortable place to work?”
    Adam looked at her for approval. Light poured into the large room he called the studio from its banks of windows. On one side Tory could see the salt marsh, beyond it the sparkle of open water. At the back, the windows overlooked a stretch of lawn, then garden and stables. Pale wooden molding surrounded the windows, and low shelves reached from the sills to the wide-planked floor. Anyone would say it was an ideal place to work.
    â€œThis should do very nicely.” She couldn’t say that his home had taken her by surprise. This wasn’t a house—it was a mansion. And she didn’t want to say that she’d lived like this once, before her mother’s downward spiral into depression, alcoholism and poverty.
    She took a breath. She’d been handling those recollections for a long time. She could handle this reminder. Besides, being here was a golden opportunity to find out what she needed to about the Caldwells. She just had to get Adam to open up.
    â€œWhy do you call it a studio?”
    He shrugged. “We always have. My mother used it that way. Dad turned the space into a playroom for us kids after she died.” He pointed to a small easel in the corner, the shelves behind it stacked with children’s books, paints and crayons. “Jenny likes to paint in here when she’s in the mood.”
    The room seemed uncomfortably full of his family with one notable exception. He hadn’t mentioned his wife. “Was your mother an artist?”
    â€œShe painted, did needlework, that kind of thing.” Sadness shadowed Adam’s face for a moment. “I can remember her sitting in front of the windows with some project on her lap. She died when I was eight.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” Tory had been five when her father died. She hesitated, torn. If she told Adam about it, that might create a bond that would encourage him to talk, but she didn’t give away pieces of herself that easily.
    She walked to the long table that held the first of the panels they’d removed from the church that morning. Everything she’d asked for was here, ready and waiting for her. She longed to dive into the work and forget everything else. If Adam would leave—
    â€œWhat about you?” Adam leaned his hip against the table, crossing his arms, clearly not intending to go anywhere at the moment.
    She looked at him blankly, not sure what he meant by the question.
    â€œFamily,” he added. “You’ve met Jenny and my grandmother, heard about my mother. What about your family?”
    It was the inevitable question Southerners put to each other at some point. She’d heard it before, phrased a little differently each time, maybe, but always asking the same thing. Who are your people? That was more important than what you did or where you went to school or even how much money you had. Who are your people?
    â€œI’m alone.” That wouldn’t be enough. She had to say more or he’d wonder. “My father died when I was quite young, and my mother last year. I don’t have any other relatives.” At least, not any relatives that would like to claim me.
    â€œI’m sorry.” Adam’s eyes darkened