I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. Was she going to say something? Bloody hell.Anything?Was this hitting too close to home for her?Wasthat all I was to her?
“You’reeasy,” Jeremy went on. “You’reconvenient.” He smirked, first at me, then her. “I’m not angry, Erin. If this is what you think you need, do it. We’re even. I forgive you.” He saluted me. “Stand down, farmer. I’m removing myself fromyourland.”
Laughing, he stomped off the porch.
And still, Erin said nothing.
22
Those Sensual Touches in Summer
Erin
Callan said he wasn’tangry, but he was. I could tell. His posture was too stiff. When he told me I was going up to the house for the night, my protests only made his eyes harden even more.
“Well, you’re not staying down here,” he said. “Jeremy’s lost his bloody mind. Did you see his face? There’s something not right about him.”
“He won’t come back…”
But I didn’tknowthat. I wasn’t certain. Callan could hear the waver in my voice, and he wasn’t taking chances.
“The house or Mim’s,” he said. “I don’t care which, but you’re not staying on your own again until I know Jeremy’s on a plane.”
Callan was imposing, his shoulders brushing the doorway and his mussed red hair skimming just under the wood. I guess they didn’t have men as big as the Wolcott boys when convicts builtthe cottages. Was I scared of Callan? Never. But I wasn’t going to argue with him.
I tossed some clothes and toiletries in a bag and followed him up to the house. His hand didn’t seek out mine to wind our fingers together, and there was no heavy arm over my shoulders. Jeremy’s harsh words had eaten away at the closeness between us.
Was this our first fight? Could you fight without saying any words?
When Callan threw open the front door, I swiveled my head from the hallway leading to his room and glanced at the staircase instead.
“I guess I’ll sleep in Bron’s old room,” I said.
He jerked his chin down. I’d guessed right. “I’ll bring you some linen.”
And he did.
He dropped a set of sheets on the bed and strode for the door, but he paused, a hand on his hip, his lips flattening to a line, eyes locked on me. I knew that face. He was stopping himself from saying something. What, though?Good luck with the divorce, but I’m over all the drama?
“Goodnight, Erin.”
The only sound after that was his footsteps creaking down the stairs.
I stood in the center of the room, blinking at the dots of blue tack where posters of movie stars and boy bands used to crowd the lilac walls.Think. That grim frown and those hard blue eyes were nothing likemyCallan. Why hadn’t I reached out to grab his hand and asked him to tell me what was wrong?
But I was too much of a coward to march myself downstairs and demand an answer now. I had a shower. I stared at myself in the foggy mirror as I dragged a brush through my hair. I tuggedon the flannel shirt Callan had left at the cottage, messing up the buttons trying to do it up. Nothing helped.
If I wanted an explanation about what was going on inside Callan’s head, I wasn’t going to find it in his sister’s old bedroom.
The ends of my hair were wet from the too-hot shower, and my skin was still red, but I didn’t want to waste any more time. I padded down the stairs and stopped outside his room. The light was off, but moonlight slipped through the gap in his curtains, a silhouette of his bare back just visible.
My heart was pounding too loud to hear my knuckles tap on the door. “Cal?” I nudged it open.
He flew off the edge of the bed. His wrist swiped under his nose and over his eyes as he closed the distance between us. “Ez, what’s going on?” His blue eyes were glassy. “Are you okay? Did Jeremy call?”
“No. I…” He was close enough to touch, but my fingers swam in air, not quite catching him. What was I afraid of? “There’s something not right between us. I said something…did something…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
