“Will do.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him and she began climbing the path, feeling the gratifying pull on her muscles.
“Of course, being behind you also gives me a wonderful vantage point of your rear view and legs. I might have to stop and rest a little more frequently than usual.”
She wanted to laugh out loud. Was he flirting with her? It had been so long since she’d taken her mind off of rows of numbers and bottom lines that she thought she’d become immune to the yin and yang of relationships. She kept her gaze focused forward and tried to keep the smile out of her voice. “If you say something like that one more time, I will push you and I will not help with the recovery of your body.”
He laughed softly behind her. “Tough lady. Just the way I like them.”
She gave him a warning look over her shoulder, then kept walking, feeling the steady thump of her heart, the tapping inside her chest a welcome reminder that it still beat there. Placing her hand on the scar, she increased her pace and led the way up the winding path.
They walked slowly and mostly in silence, as if by mutual agreement. Caroline stopped to rest several times, and he tried not to be obvious as he checked out her color and paid attention to her breathing.
While they walked, Drew followed behind Caroline, enjoying the view much more than he should have. He should go back to that store and buy those shorts in her size in every color. And not so much for the way they made her look, but because of the way they made her move. She wasn’t the timid accountant with the acerbic tongue. Instead, the shorts seemed to transform her into a confident woman who strode forward without looking back. Even her hair, unbound from the military-style ponytail she normally wore, seemed to agree as it swayed and bounced with every step. He only wished that Caroline could see herself from this vantage point. He was pretty sure she’d see what he saw—a woman who embraced the past, not a woman who seemed to be buried in it.
He heard the sound of water before he saw the clear bubbling stream racing around rocks on its journey down the mountain. Caroline stopped and he moved closer, watching as the stream was guided into a dammed lake that lay on the other side of two large gray boulders, a small waterfall gushing between them and spilling into the lake. They appeared like sentinels guarding a private lake, allowing in only a privileged few.
“We used to come here to swim.”
He watched her blond hair blow across her face, grasping at the small smile on her lips as if to keep it there. Squatting, he scooped his hand in the water. Its iciness stung him and he quickly shook it dry. “That’s pretty cold. Can’t imagine what it’s like in the winter.”
She stepped closer, a mysterious smile on her lips. “It’s pretty damned cold, from what I remember.”
“You speak from experience.”
Caroline sat on a large rock, her feet near enough to the splashing water that dark moisture spots appeared at the toes of her shoes from the spray. “Jude used to dare us to swim across and back. The last one had to go again until there was nobody else left in the water. I always won.”
He sat down next to her feeling the oddest compulsion to tuck her stray hair behind an ear. She looked so young sitting there on a rock with her knees pulled up and her fair hair blowing around her face; almost like the young woman she would have been if life hadn’t interfered. “Did you pack your bathing suit?”
She drew back, shaking her head vigorously. “I don’t swim, remember?”
“Well, I remember you
telling
me that, but I don’t seem to remember why.”
“That would be because I never gave you a reason because I don’t have to give you one. In other words, it’s really none of your business.”
He took a deep breath, smelling the wet leaves and damp earth, and it reminded him of Shelby for a minute, of her earthiness and her scent after she’d been working in her garden. “You’re wrong, you know. I think I know you well enough now that I can claim the right to stick my nose in your business. It’s because of Jude and Shelby, I think. Their relationship makes us practically related.”
She shook her head, then rested her chin on her knees. “I can say his name around you without . . . reliving certain thoughts. Maybe it’s because you were married to Shelby and I used to be able to tell her anything.” She looked at him, her gray-green eyes piercing. “But I certainly don’t feel like we’re related.”
He didn’t look away. “So why don’t you swim anymore?”
Her expression hardened, but he could see she was trying to remain calm. “So why won’t you let me sell your furniture ideas?”
He watched her for a long moment, unwilling to drop his gaze. “Touché,” he said.
Caroline stood abruptly, the color bright in her cheeks. “I thought we were just going to have a little nature hike, and here you are trying to play shrink with me again. Either stop it right now or take me home. I keep telling you that I’m
fine,
but you won’t seem to listen.”
He stood, too. “I’m sorry, but I’m hard of hearing. That’s what made me such a good lawyer.”
“But did it make you a good husband?”
“Ouch.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the words had stung much more than he wanted her to know.
She looked stricken, as if she’d been the one slapped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She took a step backward, her foot slipping on the rock she’d been sitting on, and he grabbed her arms to steady her. “No, probably not. But you’re right. It did make me a lousy husband—and father. I wasn’t at first. And then I realized that Shelby . . . Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is why we moved here. I wanted to concentrate on Jewel, hoping to take the place of her wonderful mother and relearn how to be a father at the same time.” He pulled her closer, trying to make his point. “The guilt nearly killed me when Shelby died—but I figured it would be more productive to continue living. What a waste that would be—living as if you were already dead.”
She tried to push away from him, but he held firm to keep her from falling backward.
“You don’t know the first thing about guilt!” She slapped at his chest, but he wouldn’t let go.
“And you do? What is it, Caroline? What is it that has changed you from the loving and creative girl you used to be and into this prickly shadow of a woman I see every day?”
Her face turned a mottled red, and seeing her so wounded from his words was like a kick to the gut. He wasn’t in a courtroom any longer. If only he could remember that where Caroline was concerned. But every time she told him a story from her childhood, he became more and more determined to find that girl again.
Slowly he released his grip. At the same time she pushed against him, the force sending her backward, her arms flying and her feet trying to find purchase on wet leaves and rocks. He reached for her, and their fingertips touched for a brief moment before she slipped over the edge and landed in the cold water of the lake below.
Drew quickly scrambled down the embankment, somehow managing to keep his balance. She’d disappeared under the water, and he had already thrown the backpack to the ground and was preparing to dive in when she surfaced, treading water and gulping for air. Before he could call out to her, she began a freestyle crawl toward the edge. He watched in awe, trying to think of what she reminded him of. On land she was frail and fragile, but in the water she was strong and confident, graceful and filled with subtle beauty. He felt as if he had finally caught a glimpse of the Caroline she had once been, and he knew then that he couldn’t give up on her. She was there inside the hard shell she’d built around herself. He would find her; he had all the time in the world.
When she reached the edge she staggered from the water, and Drew was alarmed to see that her lips were a pale shade of blue. She stood shivering and glaring at him, like some water goddess that had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, and he had the absurd urge to laugh. Instead he reached into the backpack and pulled out a pair of sweats.
He handed them to her, and she grabbed them without a word, slogging her way out of the water.
“Are you going to be all right? Your mom gave me her cell phone, and I can call for help if you need it.”
She shook her head vigorously, spraying icy water on him. Instead of pressing the point, he turned his back to her. “Go ahead and change—I promise I won’t look.”
After a minute he felt her sodden shorts hit his back, quickly followed by her shirt and sweatshirt. He moved out of range before the boots could follow. He heard them land close by, and he smiled to himself, admiring her aim.
When he stopped hearing her grunting and swearing and the rustling of clothes and leaves, he turned around. “I have a pair of thick hiking socks, too, if you . . .” His words trailed off, lost somehow as he looked at her. She was the frail woman again, appearing even smaller in his oversize sweats, her wet hair hanging limply around her face. The neckline of the sweatshirt hung low over her chest, exposing the top of her bra and most of a long purple scar.
She seemed to know what he was staring at, and she quickly yanked the neckline up, her hands shaking, but he didn’t think it was just the cold. As he moved toward her, he heard her teeth chattering, sending a startled alarm to his brain.
“We’ve got to get you warmed up.”
Anticipating her resistance, he scooped her up in his arms before she could protest, and sat down on a dry patch of grass against a tree and away from the water, holding her close. Her body shivered under his fingers, each bone trembling like a fallen leaf in a strong wind. She surprised him by huddling into his chest, her hands folded against her face, shoulders rounded as if in defeat. That, more than anything, tugged at his conscience.
“I’m sorry,” he said into her bowed head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Her body tensed for a moment, but the trembling soon took over. “I’m too c-c-c-cold to f-f-fight with you, so don’t t-t-t-talk to me.”
He pulled her closer, trying to transfer his body heat to her. “That’s way too tempting for me to ignore.” Being careful not to uproot her position, he struggled to untie the sweatshirt he’d knotted around his waist. He slipped the neck hole over her head, then pulled the rest of it over her body, leaving her arms clenched in front of her. Bending his face to the back of her neck, he breathed his warm breath onto her damp hair. “Your scar doesn’t make you ugly, you know. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about it.”
He instinctively tightened his hold on her, anticipating her resistance. But instead he felt her shoulders begin shaking violently, and this time he knew it wasn’t from the cold.
Why are you doing this, Drew? Why can’t you leave her alone?
He wasn’t sure of the answer. He knew only that she needed somebody desperately and that he was there. Being there was what Shelby told him had made her fall in love with him. And it was the first thing he’d stopped doing when he had finally acknowledged that he would never be Shelby’s first choice.
Caroline’s warm tears soaked through his shirt, and he pulled her closer.
“I d-d-d-don’t c-c-c-cry. I n-n-never c-c-c-cry.”
He cradled her head as something snapped inside him, like a bubble bursting from bright sunlight. He saw things with a clarity he usually experienced only while crafting out of a block of wood something he could see in his head. It wasn’t about the scar. It had never been about the scar.
Lifting her face, he pressed his cheek against hers, remembering the words somebody else had once whispered in his own ear on the day he’d buried his father. “I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.”
She pulled her head back slightly so she could look in his eyes. “Shelby . . . right?”
He nodded. “One of her favorites. She said it once to me, and I thought it was appropriate for you right now.”
She dropped her eyes, staring at the middle of his chest where her tears had made a dark spot on his shirt. “It’s not because of the scar that I don’t swim.”
“I know.”
Her tear-soaked eyes flicked up, an unasked question lurking inside.
Drew spoke softly. “How did Jude die, Caroline? Does it have anything to do with your scar?”
Her brows puckered, and she nodded, her eyes studying his shirt again. Her trembling had subsided, but he kept his arms held tightly around her.
He waited until she looked up again and started to speak. “It was a car accident. Jude was killed in a car accident, and my heart was damaged so badly that I needed a new one.”
He let the words sink in. “Were you driving?”
She looked away toward the lake and shook her head. “No. He was. I was in the passenger seat.”
“Then why do you feel so responsible for his death?”
Her eyes were dry as she continued to stare out over the water. “Because I promised my mother that I wouldn’t let him drive. He was being punished because he had just gotten another speeding ticket. But he was Jude, you see.” A brittle smile lifted her lips, and just as quickly it died. “Nobody could ever tell him no. He told me Mom would never find out. So I switched seats and let him drive.”
His grip tightened. “It was an accident, Caroline. You couldn’t have stopped it.”
“But he wasn’t supposed to be driving. It had been raining, and when the car slipped on some wet leaves, he didn’t know what to do.”
He couldn’t take looking at her empty face and dry eyes. Gently he pulled her head to his chest. “You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was an accident.”
“You don’t understand. Jude wasn’t supposed to die. Everybody loved him, and people like that just don’t die.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “And every time my mother looks at me, I know that she can’t help but think that the wrong child died.”
Oh, God.
He couldn’t speak. All the words in the world could not heal the wounded woman he held in his arms. But then he remembered the woman who cared enough to save an injured bird and who had once planned to travel around the world, and he knew that he would have to at least try.