Page 67 of Magnolia Summer

Celia coughed to clear her thoughts, then slipped outside to join Truett. “Will should be out soon. He’s helping Harley get settled into bed.”

* * *

Now Truett would finally findout what was on her mind.

“Shall we take a little walk?” Truett stepped back to let her get down the back steps and then offered her his arm. When she slipped her hand inside the crook of his elbow a delicious warmth engulfed him.

They wandered slowly across the yard. Night came late this time of year, so the light from the sun still had not completely faded. Already the cicadas’ nightly harangue accompanied the chirp of the crickets and the distant song of frogs down by the creek. He let the familiar sounds calm his pulse as he waited for Celia to speak.

They made their way around to the tree they had felled earlier, near the edge of the yard. She let go of his arm and turned to face him. The deepening twilight made her eyes look like polished amber stones he’d seen in a jewelry store in New York, sparkling and brilliant.

Oh, how he was reminded of their kiss. His gaze fell upon her lips, but when he forced himself to focus on her voice, he couldn’t help but note the pain and discomfort in her tone, delivering the unwelcome truth that her thoughts were far from where his had gone.

“Truett, I have something to say to you, and I’m just going to say it before we get interrupted.” She cast her eyes cautiously toward the house.

“I’m listening.” His heart thumped hard against his chest. Was she about to tell him how sorry she was about how she had treated him?

She took a deep breath, then hesitated.

“Maybe I should sit down first.” His attempt at a joke did not put her at ease. He decided he’d better, and sat down on the felled tree.

“You must be tired. Thanks for all you did to remove the danger of this tree.” Her face softened as she glanced at him then stared off into the black forest.

His muscles had done more work today than in recent memory, and he was already feeling sore, especially in his shoulders. His legs felt as though they’d been wrung out then hung to dry.

“I was glad to do it for you.” Wait. He hadn’t meant to say it wasfor her. But the words were out and he wouldn’t take them back.

“Oh, Truett, what I want to say is that I’m worried about you.” She turned her face toward him and clasped her hands in front of her.

His heart skipped a beat at her look of concern, his breath deserting him.

She spoke in a breathless whisper. “I know you’re the one who saved James Burwell from being lynched.”

His stomach twisted.

“I know you’re the hooded horseman on the wanted posters. You must be careful.” The words seemed wrenched from her throat. Her face twisted with fervency. Her brows were creased, making her appear a little afraid.

“How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know. I figured it out.”

“You did?” His throat grew tight.

A thrill passed through his gut at the thought that she knew him better than anyone. She had seen him not as a weak poet but as a daring hooded horseman. None of the folks he’d grown up with—not even his mother—had deduced the truth.

But Celia had.

“Don’t you see?” She gazed into his eyes. “If I figured it out, someone else will, too. Or they might find your hood and cape in the cave just like I did—”

“Wait a minute. You found a black hood and cape. What makes you think they belong to me?”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye and clasped and unclasped her hands.

Was this conversation about to get even more interesting?

* * *

Celia blinked several times,trying to frame a response that would preserve her dignity. If she confessed how she’d pressed the clothing against her face, breathed in his scent, remembered their kiss . . . what little pride she had left would disappear like smoke.