Page 58 of The Widow and the Wanted

“I was not only speaking of Boone earlier,” she says.

My fingers still.

“No?”

“No.” Her cheeks color, but she holds my gaze with that confounding bravery of hers. “I meant what I said. I envy what you have together. But I would be lying if I said envy was the only thing I felt.”

The fire crackles behind her.

I should make this easier for her. A gentleman would. A kinder man would step back from the cliff and offer her the safety of pretending she had not come near it.

Instead I ask, “What else did you feel?”

Her throat moves. “Curiosity.”

She looks at my mouth. Only for a breath, but I see it.

“I know you love him,” she says.

“I do.”

“And he loves you.”

“Yes.”

Her fingers curl around the edge of the table. She studies me, gathering courage in little pieces. “How does one explore such an attraction?”

The room stills around the question.

“I suppose,” I say slowly, “one begins by admitting it exists.” I look toward the door Boone has gone through. Snow has already softened his tracks beyond the window, blurring the proof of him. “With Boone,” I say, “we denied it for a long time.”

Lula does not interrupt. That is wise of her. If she did, I might come to my senses and stop speaking.

“One night after a skirmish, Boone found me sitting alone beyond the picket line. Fool thing to do. I had blood on my coat that was not mine and a letter from my father in my pocket. I remember thinking I had done every duty asked of me and yet felt less a man than ever.”

Lula’s mouth tightens, but she says nothing.

“Boone sat beside me and said, ‘You can stop pretending with me.’”

The words still have weight after all these years.

Lula’s voice is soft. “Pretending what?”

“That I was not afraid.”

It was bitter cold. Clear sky. Our stars shone above us.

A warmth moves through my chest, followed closely by ache.

“He kissed me first,” I say. “Quickly. As if he meant to steal the thing before sense took it back.”

The cabin feels smaller now. Warmer.

“I had felt an attraction before that night,” I say, and my voice lowers despite my best effort.

Her lips part. “How did you know?”

“The noticing,” I say. “First unwillingly. Then often. Then constantly.” Speaking it aloud triggers a shift in me. A blink, and all at once the world shines with a new clarity. “The way a woman lifts her chin when contradicted. The pleasure of watching her mind move faster than anyone expects.”