much?”
“Because I like it here.”
He studied her face, looked for signs. “We’re really going to stay in this place?”
Her heart broke a little as she bent down and kissed him. “Yes, we’re really going to stay.”
His grin was quick and bright. “Cool.”
He raced off, leaving her standing alone in the path. She sat on a fallen log, closed her eyes and emptied her mind.
So much tried to intrude—memories, mistakes, doubts. She willed them away, concentrating on the quiet and that place in her own head that was safe from worry.
It was a trick she’d learned as a child, when the confusion of life had been too overwhelming to face. There had been long rides in a rattling pickup, endless hours in smelly paddocks, loud voices, the gnaw of realhunger, the cries of fretful babies, the chill of under-heated rooms. They could all be faced, again and again, if she could just escape into herself for a few minutes.
Decisions became clearer, confidence could be rebuilt.
As fascinated as if he’d come across some mythical creature in the woods, Jared watched her. That exotic face was utterly peaceful, her body utterly still. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a butterfly or a bright bird land on her shoulder.
These woods had always been his. His personal place. His intimate place. Yet seeing her here didn’t feel like an intrusion. It seemed expected, as if in some part of his mind he’d known he’d find her here if he just knew when to look.
He realized he was afraid to blink, as if in that fraction of a second she might vanish, never to be found again.
She opened her eyes slowly and looked directly into his.
For a moment, neither of them could speak. Savannah felt the breath rush into her throat and stick there. She was used to men staring at her. They had done so even when she was a child. It annoyed, amused or interested her by turns. But it had never left her speechless, as this one long, unblinking stare out of eyes the color of summer grass did.
He moved first, stepping closer. And the world started again.
“I hate stating the obvious.” Because he wanted to—and because his knees were just a little weak—he sat on the log beside her. “But you are staggering.”
Steadier now, she inclined her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be plowing a field or something?”
“Shane’s gotten proprietary about his tractor over the years. Aren’t you supposed to be going to a ball game?”
“It’s not for a couple hours.” Savannah took a deep breath, relieved that it went smoothly in and out. “So, who’s trespassing, you or me?”
“Technically, both of us.” Jared took out a slim cigar and found a match. “This is my brother’s property.”
“I assumed the farm belonged to all of you.”
“It does.” He took a drag, watched the smoke drift into the sunlight. “This strip here is Rafe’s land.”
“Rafe?” Her brows shot up. “Don’t tell me there are more of you.”
“Four altogether.” He tried to smother his surprise when she plucked the cigar out of his fingers and helped herself to a casual drag.
“Four MacKades,” she mused. “It’s a wonder the town survived. And none of the women managed to rope you in?”
“Rafe’s married. I was.”
“Oh.” She handed him back the cigar. “And now you’re back on the farm.”
“That right. Actually, if I hadn’t waffled, I’d be living in your cabin.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. My place in town’s on the market and I’m looking for something around here. But you already had a contract on your place by the time I started looking.” He picked up a stick and drew in the dirt. “The farm,” he said, sketching lines. “Rafe’s. The cabin.”
Savannah pursed her lips at the triangle. “Hmm… And the MacKades would have owned a nice chunk of the mountain. You missed your shot, Lawyer MacKade.”
“So it seems, Ms. Morningstar.”
“I suppose you can call me Savannah, since we’re neighbors.”
Janwillem van de Wetering