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His head swung toward the woman. He thought of saying he didn’t mean her, that he didn’t give a damn who she was, but that would have been stupid. He needed time to get hold of himself and she had given him exactly that.
Oh yes, he needed time because what he was thinking was surely impossible.
“And you are?” Sheryl said, breaking the strained silence.
“Dante Russo.” Dante forced a polite smile. “Taylor and I—”
“We knew each other in New York,” Tally said quickly. A little color had returned to her face but it only made her look feverish. “He was in the area and—and he thought he’d drop by.”
A horn beeped outside. The Miller woman ignored it. “Funny,” she said, “but Tally never mentioned you.”
He wanted to tell the woman to get out. To leave him alone so he could ask Taylor who this child was, why she’d called her Mama, but he knew better than to push things. The tension in the room was thick. Taylor’s neighbor was already looking at him as if he might be a serial killer.
“No,” he said politely, smiling through his teeth, “I’m sure she didn’t.”
The woman ignored him. “Tally? Is everything okay?”
Tally swallowed a wave of hysterical laughter. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again unless she could come up with a story to change the way Dante was looking at her and Sam.
“You want me to tell Dan to come in?”
“No! Oh, no, Sheryl. I mean—” What did she mean? “It’s as I said. Dante is an old—an old—”
“Friend,” Dante said, his tone level. “I thought I’d stop by and see how Taylor was adjusting to small-town life.”
The Miller woman looked doubtful but Tally said yes, that was it, and smiled, and finally the woman smiled, too.
“Why wouldn’t she adjust? Didn’t she ever tell you she’s a small-town girl at heart? That she comes from Shelby?”
“No. But then, I’m starting to realize there are lots of things she didn’t tell me.” Dante looked at Taylor. “Isn’t that right, cara?”
Taylor didn’t answer. That was good because it meant she knew that whatever she said now would only fuel the fury building inside him.
The horn beeped again. “Dan wants to get going,” Sheryl said. She peeled off a glove and offered Dante a brisk handshake. “Nice to have met you.” She leaned forward, as if to share a confidence. “Tally can use the company. I keep telling her she needs to get out more but what with Sam, well, you know how it is.”
“No,” Dante said, forcing another smile, “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Sheryl grinned. “Men never do. Anyway, it’s good to see someone from her old life drop by.”
“That’s definitely what I am. Someone from Taylor’s old life.”
This time, the horn beeped three times.
“Okay, okay,” Sheryl muttered, “I’m coming. Tally? I was going to say, if you want to come with us, I’m sure Dan’s mother wouldn’t mind.”
For a wild moment, Tally imagined running out into the storm with Sam, getting into the truck, telling Dan to drive and drive and drive until she’d put a million miles between Dante and her—
“Tally?”
What was that old saying? You could run, but you couldn’t hide.
“Thanks,” she said brightly, “but we’ll be fine.”
The Miller woman looked unconvinced. Dante put his arm around Tally. When she stiffened, he dug his fingers into her flesh in mute warning.
“Taylor’s right. We’ll be fine.” He drew his lips back from his teeth and hoped the result would still approximate a smile. “The snow, a fire, candlelight…it’s quite romantic, especially for old friends. Isn’t that right, cara?”
The child, thumb tucked in her mouth, looked at him. Liar, her round green eyes seemed to say. But the woman’s big smile assured him she’d bought the story.
