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"Don't judge, Phoebe. She's not sick, and until tonight, what went on between the two of us had nothing to do with anyone else."
She started to shake again. "You were going to—What if you hadn't stopped?"
"I'd have stopped. The minute I felt your—" He cleared his throat. "Valerie's a little more flat-chested than you."
Her knees weren't going to hold her any longer, and she collapsed into the nearest chair. He came toward her cautiously, as if he were afraid she w
ould start to scream again.
"What were you doing here?"
She took a shaky breath. "Paul showed up at the party not long after you left. I—I brought you the videotape you wanted." She made a helpless gesture as she realized she'd dropped it.
"But I told Ronald not to send it over tonight."
"I thought—I wasn't sleepy, and—Never mind, it was a stupid idea."
"You can say that again."
"I'm going." By bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she managed to rise to her feet.
"You need a few minutes to settle down before you try to drive. I'll tell you what. I didn't get anything to eat at the party and I'm hungry. Let me make us some sandwiches. How about it?"
There was a boyish eagerness to please in his expression that alleviated some of her residual fear, but he was too large, too strong, and she hadn't recovered from those moments when the past seemed to be repeating itself. "I'd better be going."
"You're afraid to be alone with me, aren't you?"
"I'm just tired, that's all."
"You're scared."
"I was completely helpless. You're a strong man. You can't imagine what it's like."
"No, I can't. But it's over now. I won't hurt you. You know that, don't you?"
She nodded slowly. She did know it, but it was still hard for her to relax.
He smiled at her. "I know why you want to rush home. You're going to wake up your little sister so you can start slapping her around again."
Mystified, she stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Miz Molly and I had an interesting conversation tonight. But I'm not going to tell you about it unless you let me fix you something to eat."
She saw the spark of challenge in his eyes. He was the coach now, testing her mettle, just as he tested his men. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her. If she ran away this time, would she ever stop?
"All right. Just for a bit."
The unfamiliar path was difficult to maneuver in the dark. She stumbled once, but he didn't take her arm to help her, and she wondered if he knew that she would have fallen apart if he had touched her in the dark.
As they walked, he tried to put her at ease by telling her about the farmhouse. "I bought this place last year and had it renovated. There's an orchard and a stable where I can keep a couple of horses if I want. I've got trees on this place that are a hundred years old."
They reached the front porch. He bent down to retrieve the videotape she'd dropped, then opened the front door and flipped on a light before he let her in. She saw a staircase off to the left and an archway to the right that led to the side wing of the house. She followed him through it into a spacious open area that was rustic and welcoming.
The exposed stone on the longest wall glowed buttery in the light of the lamps he turned on. The room encompassed a comfortable two-story living area and a cozy, old-fashioned kitchen with a snug loft tucked above it under the eaves. The scrubbed pine floor held an assortment of furniture including a couch in a hunter green plaid with red and yellow accents, soft, oversized chairs, and an old pine cupboard. A wooden bench bearing decades of nicks and scars from tools served as a coffee table and held an old checkerboard sitting next to a pile of books. Chunky wooden candlesticks, stoneware crocks, and several antique metal banks rested on the mantel above the big stone fireplace. She had expected him to be surrounded by marble statues of naked women, not live in this comfortable rural haven that seemed so much a part of the Illinois prairie.
He handed her a soft blue chambray shirt. "You might want to put this on. There's a bathroom off the kitchen."
She realized she was still clutching the front of her dress. Taking the shirt from him, she excused herself and went into the bathroom. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were large and vulnerable, windows into all her secrets. She straightened her hair with her fingers and rubbed at the mascara smudges with a tissue. Only when she felt calm did she leave the bathroom.
