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The heady fragrance of the flowers filled her senses. She felt herself lapsing into a lazy, whimsical state that was completely out of character. For a second—perhaps no more than a heartbeat—she felt like a woman out strolling with her man. She felt .
. . special.
A gate creaked open.
Mariah jerked to a stop and snapped her chin up. Her heart started beating faster, drummed in her ears. Fear caught her hard, stabbed through the pit of her stomach.
She couldnt swallow, couldnt breathe.
Mad Dog was a foot or so ahead of her, his hand on the gates glinting silver latch.
He pushed the gate slightly. It squealed in protest and swung backward, smacking against the picket fence in its arc. "Milady?"
She stared at the gate, unable to look away.
He frowned at her. "Mariah?"
His voice seemed to be coming at her from a million miles away. Involuntarily she took a step backward. She told herself she wasnt afraid. She couldnt breathe because of the flowers; suddenly they smelled sickeningly sweet. The ceaseless, annoying chattering of the birds battered her ears and gave her a pounding headache.
For a terrifying moment, she thought she was going to be sick.
He came up beside her, touched her chin. "Mariah?"
She yanked her gaze away from the gate and focused on his eyes, only his eyes. Her heart was beating so loudly, she could hardly hear his words. "Yes?" She tried to sound casual, but her voice was strained and uncertain.
He looked down at her. "Is something the matter?"
The concern in his eyes almost broke Mariahs heart. Suddenly the magic of the afternoon was gone, melted into the pains and frustrations of her past. She shook her head, wet her impossibly dry lips.
It fades. . . .
His words came back to her. Reassuring, pretty words, filled with the hope shed lost so long ago. She wanted to believe them, ached to believe them, but now, standing here beside the gate, she knew they were a lie. For her, the heartaches of the past would never fade.
He touched her chin, tilted her face to his. "Whats going on here?"
She looked up into his handsome features and wished for an insane, desperate moment that she could be what he wanted. That he could be what she needed. But neither one of them could change that much. She let out her breath in a tired sigh and tried not to feel broken. "I . . . have to start supper. "
He frowned. "I see. "
Do you ? she wanted to say. How could you—when I dont even understand it myself? But she said nothing. So she just stood there, staring up at him, wishing—oh, God, wishing—things were different.
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Suddenly he looped an arm around her and drew her close.
She knew she should pull away. It was wholly improper to let him touch her this way. More than that, it was fraught with risk.
But right now, standing in the empty yard, it felt good to have someone—to have him—beside her. The silent, unquestioning support was something shed never had in her life, and it made her feel warm and safe and . . . however inappropriately, cherished. She leaned infinitesimally toward him, resting against the hard ball of his shoulder.
In his arms, she felt safe. The irrational fear of leaving the farm receded again, slunk back into the darkness in the back of her mind. It wasnt that she couldnt leave, she told herself. She just didnt want to. Not now. Not yet.
Maybe tomorrow shed feel like leaving. And if she really wanted to go, the damn gate wouldnt stop her. Nothing would . . . not if she really wanted to go.
Her eyes fluttered shut. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. "Thanks," she said quietly, "I needed that. "
He tightened his hold. She felt each finger like a curl of fire through the worn fabric of her sleeve. "You need a hell of a lot more than that, Mariah, but I guess thisll do for now. " Before she could respond, he leaned toward her and planted a moist, openmouthed kiss in the tender flesh beside her ear.
She shivered at the heat of the contact.
