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"I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said.
"I wasn't embarrassed." She addressed the center of his chest.
"No? Then why are your cheeks red?"
"Because I'm flushed from the warmth of the stove."
"You're still a poor liar." He liked how she felt where he touched her. He liked her scent and the heat of her body. He liked how she was fidgeting, twisting her fingers together nervously, but not pushing him away.
"I'm a little embarrassed. But it's all right. We can talk about your mother if it helps you."
"It's not just her. I didn't know the memories would be so ugly."
She raised her gaze to his. "Are they? Why?"
"Nothing good ever happened to me in this town."
She bit her lower lip. It wasn't hard to figure out what she was thinking. She wanted to know if his opinion of the town included his time with her. Thank God she didn't have the courage to ask that question, because he didn't have an answer.
"What happened when you left? Was it better?"
"Yeah, a hell of a lot better than this place."
"Where did you go?"
"It doesn't matter."
She stepped to the side, away from him. "Why won't you tell me?"
"It's not important. I left here, swearing never to come back. I should have stuck with that decision instead of being a fool and changing my mind."
"Yes, you should have."
She picked up the knife and attacked the dessert. He'd hurt her feelings. He could see that. Justin leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. He didn't have a choice. If he started talking about where he'd been, he would remember why he'd gone in the first place. Next thing he knew, he would be remembering how much he'd loved her. If he thought on that too long, all the feelings from the past might rise again and drown him. He had to keep them dammed and avoid the river of memories, no matter what it cost.
"I'm sure your year here will pass very quickly and then you won't have to come back again," she said. "Just take everything that belongs to you and—" She put the knife down and clamped her hand over her mouth.
"What is it?" he asked.
She stared at him, then slowly lowered her hand to her side. "I just remembered something. Excuse me."
Before he could ask what was wrong, she hurried out of the room. He heard her footsteps on the stairs.
He couldn't call out to her without waking Bonnie, so he went after her. At the top of the stairs he followed the sound of drawers being opened and closed, then the thunk of something heavy being moved.
The long narrow hallway had several doors, but only one of them was open. As he approached it, he told himself to go back to the kitchen and wait. Megan had gone to her bedroom. Obviously, the only emergency was in her mind.
He was about to turn around, when he heard a muffled "Darn it, anyway, where did I put that key?"
Curiosity got the better of him. He walked silently to the open door and looked inside.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Megan bent over an open drawer in a dresser. A large locked box sat on the floor, obviously the source of the loud thump he'd heard. But that wasn't what caught his attention. Instead, he stared at her bed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say. If someone had told him Megan Bartlett had secrets, he would have laughed out loud. If someone had told him Megan could shock him, he would have assumed the person was drunk. He would have been wrong on both counts.
He took one step into the bedroom, then another. At the foot of the bed he stopped. The coverlet was hidden under piles of women's undergarments. That wasn't the shocking part. Of course Megan wore them. But sensible, respectable Megan would wear cotton, or delicate lawn. Perhaps a pink ribbon on her camisole, a touch of lace on her petticoat. But the shimmering fabrics in front of him were satin. He fingered some exquisite lace. And silk.
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. One of the many advantages of growing up around women who entertained men for a living was that he knew the difference between silk and cotton. He knew about expensive, imported French lace and fancy corset covers. He knew what a store owner in Kansas was likely to wear under a conservative calico dress and it wasn't this.
