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Not once did she turn away from the stove or glance back at the table.
Then she heard the soft rumble of laughter.
Ignore it. Ignore him.
But she couldnt. She turned slightly and cast a surreptitious glance at the table.
Mad Dog was sitting in her chair, with his elbows on the table. He was chatting with her father as if they were the best of friends.
Her gaze slid along his profile, noticing the strength in his squared jaw, the softness in his lips. Sunlight shone through the window behind him and wove through his long, sun-streaked hair.
Marians heart felt heavy in her chest. Loneliness slid into longing and moved through her body.
She looked away. It wasnt Mad Dog Stone that caused the ache in her soul, she reminded herself sharply. It was simply his presence, here in her home, talking so intimately with her father, smiling, joking.
Marian had never had a gentleman caller. It was a fact that had never bothered her until now, this moment. Now, when she looked at Mad Dog, so at home at her kitchen table, she felt a wrenching sadness. A regret for the life she didnt have, would never have.
She couldnt deny that deep in her heart, she wanted a man in her life, wanted the endless, undying love Rass and Greta had shared. Marian had grown up believing in that fairy-tale kind of love, had seen it every day in her parents eyes, had expected it.
Now, of course, she knew better. Though, even now, in the long, cold winter nights, she lay in her lonely bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling, and she ached for its loss.
But Mad Dog Stone wasnt the answer to her loneliness. She had to force herself to remember that. Though he stirred something in her—that was undeniable—it was only loneliness that made her respond to him. That, and nothing more.
She forcibly tore her thoughts away from Mad Dog and focused instead on the breakfast. Pushing the hash to one side of the pan, she cracked six eggs into the hot grease.
When the eggs were done, Marian dished up breakfast and sat down opposite Mad Dog, careful not to meet his gaze. She focused hard on her food, studying each bite intently.
But she felt his gaze on her, hot as fire, stinging as a slap.
She kept her head bowed and bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Her heartbeat was erratic, and she couldnt seem to draw an even breath.
She felt . . . vulnerable. It should have angered her, should have made her mad enough to bury the debilitating emotion beneath an avalanche of cool animosity.
Thats how it had worked for years, whenever anyone— even Rass—had gotten too close.
For years shed made herself unapproachable and distant. It had been her armor against an unkind world and a passionate, thoughtless nature.
But this time she couldnt make it work, couldnt shut off her emotions with a mental demand and a steel will.
The strange feelings kept creeping back, insinuating themselves into every fiber of her heart and soul. Inside her, she felt a darkness growing, consuming her, eating through the self-control shed always fought so desperately to maintain.
She was finding it harder and harder to ignore him. Some part of her, some little silent part shed thought shed buried long ago, came sputtering to life in his presence. Something about him pushed past her reserves and made her see the aching, desperate lack in her life, the loneliness, the isolation. Just looking at him, at his easy smile and ready laughter, made her remember what it felt like to be free and unafraid. To be touched and held and loved.
God help her, sometimes when she looked at him, she remembered what she wanted to forget. She remembered how good it felt to be held in a mans arms, how comforting it was to be touched.
And it scared her to death.
Chapter Nine
"Its time for church," Rass said, pushing his empty breakfast plate toward the center of the table. "Your mother is waiting. " He gave Mariah a bright smile. "She was never a patient woman. "
Mad Dog frowned. "I thought—"
"My mothers dead," Mariah said matter-of-factly. "But Rass still visits her every Sunday. "
"Sometimes more often," Rass added.
Mariah softened at the quietly spoken words and smiled at her father. "Usually more often. "
