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Lissa poured two more cups of coffee. Plunking them down on the table in front of the men, she took a seat across from Jack. "My husband has some doubt regarding my c
ulinary skills, Jim." She looked up at Jack. "Shall I offer them a biscuit?"
Jack almost spit up his coffee. He glanced up from his cup and found himself staring across the table into her eyes. Flyaway hair curled around her face in a halo of honey gold light. Her eyes were on him, only him, and for the space of a heartbeat, he would have sworn she was looking at him with genuine affection. Absentmindedly
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she tucked a lock of disobedient hair around her ear. Her hands moved with a grace he'd never seen before.
Jim started talking about shearing. The words rumbled together, became meaningless as Jack stared at his wife. She was sitting perched on the end of her chair, as if she were really listening. Her elbows were planted lightly on the table?something no southern lady would ever do-? and her chin rested on the knuckles of her left hand. The wedding ring he'd given her so long ago glowed dully against her pale flesh.
"Jack? Jack?"
He was staring so intently at his wife, it was a moment before Jack realized that Jim was speaking to him. "What? Uh, sorry, I was thinking about the west pasture. What were you saying, Jim?"
"I was talking about the British evacuation of the island. I heard that ..."
Jack's attention turned away from the casual conversation. Try as he might, he couldn't concentrate on Jim's words. All he could think about was Lissa, and the way she'd just touched him. Even now he could feel the vague, remembered warmth of her fingers against his arm. He stared at the flowers in the middle of the table until they became an unfocused blur of color.
"Jack?"
His name was a whispered caress against his ear. It sent a bolt of fire through his body. He stiffened.
She was standing behind him, her hand curled possessively around his shoulders. He felt the heat of her touch beneath the soft chambray of his shirt, smelled the lavender-laced sweetness of her skin.
When had she gotten up?
She leaned toward him. A finger-thin lock of hair slipped out from behind her ear and fell against his cheek. "Would you like some more coffee?"
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He cleared his throat. Jim and Minerva looked at him, and he realized then that they hadn't even noticed Lissa's strange behavior. They'd simply kept talking, as if it was normal for a wife to get up and touch her husband in the middle of a conversation. "N-No, thanks. I've got more work to do." Jim immediately got to his feet. "Me, too, Jack. As much as I'd like to chew the fat, I've got a broken stall door that needs mending, and Minerva likes to be home when the kids get home from school. Well, Mrs. Rafferty, thanks for the coffee. It was delicious." Minerva followed suit. "Yes, Lissa, it was lovely." Lissa smiled. "I'm so glad you stopped by. It was lovely to meet ... uh, I mean see you again."
They all walked to the wagon together, and Jack and Lissa stood side by side as the Hannahs left.
"What nice people," Lissa said as the wagon disappeared around the bend.
Jack cast her a startled sideways glance. "Yeah," he said slowly, "they are."
Turning away from her, he headed back to the barn. All the way there he tried to think about the sheep?only the sheep. But try as he might, he couldn't dislodge the memory of her smile.
Strangely, he found himself thinking about that life-after-death thing, and suddenly it didn't seem half as odd as the changes in his wife.
The next day, Jack was still trying to forget the quiet way she'd whispered his name and the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm. Huddled in the dark privacy of the tack room, he tried like hell to tell himself it was all another lie meant to hurt him. But he couldn't believe it this time. Not even for a minute.
Thunk. Thunk.
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Jack paused in his thoughts and listened.
Thunk. Thunk.
Frowning, he laid down the heavy black harness and
can of neat's-foot oil.
The noise came again. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
