“This is Orchard.We don’t take kindly to change.”
Billie tugged on Charlene’s hand.“Can Adam go with us?”
“No, dear.He’s going out tonight with…a friend.”She glanced at Jane, her shrug apologetic.“It seemed to be a sudden decision.”
“Okay,” Billie said.“But we can bring some back, in case Adam doesn’t like his dinner.”
They left together, with Billie still complaining about the bath.Jane cut the shelf paper, then slipped it into the space.She didn’t care that Adam was going out on a date; it wasn’t her business.If his cool response was to be believed, her return to Orchard hadn’t affected him at all.
That couldn’t be true, she thought, sagging against the shelf.But it was.If he’d come after her all those years ago, if he’d forced her to listen to him, given her a sign he cared, that she was more to him than a convenience, she might have been convinced to stay.He had let her go without a word.
Like it or not, they were going to be neighbors.He couldn’t avoid her forever.Even if he didn’t care about her, he had to be angry about the past, about what had happened.When he learned the truth about his daughter, the daughter that had been kept from him—
Jane bit her lower lip.She’d only seen Adam truly enraged once.The collections manager at the bank had tried to intimidate a delinquent widow by using physical force.When Adam found out, he’d been a man possessed.The rage in his eyes, the barely controlled violence in his stance, the deadly quiet voice he’d usedto fire the employee, had frightened her and had made her wonder if she knew him at all.
Looking back through the eyes of an adult, she realized he had kept himself from her.The essence of what he was—the promising oldest son forced to grow up before his time—had remained hidden.She’d been no match for him.Even his carefully reinedin passion had frightened her virgin body.No wonder he’d let her go without a word.What had there been to say?
She opened another package of shelf paper and unrolled it along the counter.The easiest thing would be for her to go along with him and play her own game of pretending nothing had happened.But that wasn’t an option for her.She had to think of Billie and protect her.Until they had put the past behind them, they couldn’t face the present.Until he had dealt with his anger, she couldn’t trust him with his daughter.
* * *
Jane sat at the window seat in the guest room.In the trees, morning birds called to one another and their young.It wasn’t yet seven, but already the humid heat threatened.Another Southern Sunday, she thought, pulling her light, cotton robe closer around her body.
Last night Adam had stayed out late.She’d waited up as long as she could, but exhaustion had forced her to bed.This morning she’d rushed to the window and had caught a glimpse of him jogging off.He had to come back sometime, and she’d be waiting.They still had a lot to discuss, and avoiding each other wasn’t going to make it go away.
After washing up in the bathroom, she pulled on shorts and a blouse.She would dress for church after her talk with Adam.She checked to make sure Billie was still asleep.Her child lay curled up like a possum.The light sheet covered everything but the tip of her head.Jane silently shut the door and made her way down the stairs.
The house echoed with morning stillness.Underfoot, the hardwood floors felt cool and smooth.Adam had pulled up the old wool carpets and replaced them with scatter rugs.Most of the furnishings remained the same, but yesterday she’d caught sight of a complex entertainment unit in the game room.While he’dkept the family portraits and photographs, the darker paintings had been exchanged for bright moderns and a few lithographs.An original cartoon cell hung in the hallway outside her bedroom.The changes in the house were minor, but no less important for their subtlety.
Reaching the bottom stair, she sat down and waited.It had been almost an hour.Hehadto return soon.So what was she going to say?How far was she willing to push him?Telling herself that dealing with his anger herself was better than risking it spilling over to Billie was one thing.Facing Adam in a rage was quite another.
The girl he’d known before would never have defied him.If he’d told her he didn’t want to talk about something, she would have never mentioned it again.That girl had been lost somewhere between Billie’s birth and the present.
The back door slammed and jerked her out of her reverie.Here goes nothing, she thought grimly as she rose and brushed her damp palms against her shorts.She walked through the dining room and into the kitchen.And stopped.
Adam stood with his back to her.His bare back.Since he’d last jogged out of sight, he’d removed his T-shirt.Sweat glistened on his skin, the sheen defining the rippling muscles clenching and releasing like thick ropes.One hand held the refrigerator door open.He reached in and pulled out a bottle of juice.He shook the container, then raised it to his lips.As he drank, her throat tightened and swallowed.A bead of moisture dripped from the bottle onto his chest and was lost from view.Her gaze drifted down, past the flat midsection rising and lowering with each deep breath, past the bulge indicating his gender, to long, powerful legs.She knew the exact moment he became aware of her presence.The sudden tension of his body forced her to look up.
He hadn’t shaved.Stubble darkened his jaw and outlined the firm line of his mouth.A smattering of hair, damp and matted from the run, arrowed toward his waist.Her breathing grew ragged.Not from exertion, but from apprehension.She had initiated this meeting, it was up to her to tell him what she wanted.But her tight throat wouldn’t allow speech.
Adam closed the refrigerator and set the bottle on the counter.After grabbing his T-shirt off the chair, he wiped his face and chest.
“What do you want?”
He stood with his hands on his hips.The elastic of his shorts dipped scandalously low; he looked every inch a dangerous man.Billie had the same way of standing, of looking defiant and angry.But Billie was only eight, still a child.Adam was—Adam was the girl’s father.
“I ordered a replacement for the window,” she blurted out.
His mouth twisted with irritation, but he didn’t speak.
“I wanted you to know.It should be here Monday.They’ll install it and everything.”
“Fine.”
He stood there, perhaps sensing there was more, or waiting for her to leave.Those eyes, she thought, at last letting her gaze meet his.Those damn eyes.He still made her feel young and foolish.At seventeen, the six years difference in their ages had loomed between them like an uncrossable bridge.He’d been forced into adulthood by the death of his parents and the responsibility of his siblings.She’d been forced into adulthood by her own actions.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last.
“Did Billie break something else?”
