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She glanced up the street and for a moment he was struck by how fragile she looked. Her bone structure was delicate and her fingers kneading the material at her hip, long and graceful.
Delicate wasn’t something he’d ever associated with her before. It was a little unsettling.
The wind was high, pressing her long dress to her body and the knot at her neck loosened, sending up long spirals of hair into the night sky.
Betty sighed, glanced his way, and something unfamiliar curled in his gut at the look in her eyes. She was closed off, this one, and yet…
“I don’t suppose you’re going to stop pestering me until we talk about whatever it is you want to talk about?”
“No.”
“Fine. You can walk with me.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond and turned, heading up the street. Beau’s long strides had him beside her in no time and for a few minutes they walked in silence, crossing the bridge as the party echoed around them, carrying across the water.
They turned left and followed the river down a winding path. There were lights along the way, but the glow was dim, and the play of shadows on Betty’s face only managed to emphasize just how beautiful she was.
The problem was, Betty knew exactly what her looks meant.
And so did Beau. He understood the power in her eyes, the sway of her hips and the pout that sat on her mouth. Luckily, he wasn’t interested. This was business.
Nothing more.
Deciding he needed to break the ice between them, or at least thaw the cold front that still hung over Betty, he cleared his throat.
“So, your town is really nice.” Shit, that was lame, but at least it was a start.
“Nice?” she snorted. “I’ve never thought of it as nice. Boring maybe. Incestuous. Judgmental. But nice?” She was silent for a few seconds. “I suppose as a stranger looking in from the outside it looks and feels…nice.” She grabbed a long piece of hair and shoved it behind her shoulder, though the wind had other ideas and it flew around her head like a dark silky halo.
“I don’t know. You’ve got to admit, New Waterford seems like a small town piece of Americana that a lot of folks would love to experience.”
“Really.” She shook her head. “This town is no different from any other town or city, except maybe the bad things are harder to spot. Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, if I could be anywhere else, I would be.”
Beau studied her for a few moments. “If you hate it so much, why come back?”
“I had nowhere else to go.” Her answer was soft, her eyes trained ahead, and he got the impression she wasn’t aware she’d spoken.
They turned right and didn’t stop walking until they found themselves at the end of a meandering driveway. Large flowering bushes lined either side and several feet beyond, he spied a large home. Lights burned from the attic, as well as the main floor.
“Shit,” she muttered, eyes on the house.
“Something wrong?”
Her face was half hidden from the shadows cast by the tall bushes nearby, but something changed.
He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing, but he sure as hell felt it in the air that settled in his lungs. In the electricity that crackled between them. In the way her eyes settled on him when she turned his way.
“So, Beau Simon.”
He didn’t like the way she said his name, rolling the syllables and stretching it out as if he was simple.
“What’s up with the attitude?”
“Attitude?”
“You don’t like me,” he said.
She took a step closer, out of the shadows, and suddenly the Betty Jo Barker he knew—the one from his past—stared back at him.
