“So I’ll go away and leave you alone, is that it?” It was rare for her to lose her temper, but she was on the verge of that now. “I’m sorry my mother’s disappearance has inconvenienced you so much.”
She grabbed the door handle to get out, but he reached across to stop her hand. He was very close, and for an instant she could smell the fresh male scent of soap and shaving cream, could see the fine sun lines that fanned out from his eyes, could feel the heat that emanated from his body.
Her gaze met his, her breath catching abruptly. His brown eyes grew even darker, and the air between them seemed to thicken with something she didn’t want to name.
He drew back abruptly. “Look, I didn’t mean that. Yes, this is messing with my plans, but I know that’s not your fault.”
She took a ragged breath. “Don’t you understand? The least thing, no matter how unimportant it might seem to you, could lead me to the truth. I have to know what happened to her.”
“The truth.” He seemed to muse for a moment, the lines in his face deepening, growing harsher. “Even supposing it’s possible to find the truth, you might not like it. Have you considered that?”
“I’ve thought of nothing else. But I have to know.” Her mind flickered to her father, and she forced herself to concentrate on this moment, on this man who might be able to help her. “I’ve spent my life wondering. Whatever the answer is, knowing has to be better than this.”
He sucked in a breath so deep that his chest heaved. “All right.” He nodded toward a bench set under the hospital’s portico. “I’ll wait for you there while you have the test. Then we’ll talk about my uncle. I’ll answer as many questions as you want. But I’m afraid it’s not going to lead you anywhere at all.”
LINK SAT ON THE bench, outwardly relaxed, trying to watch the world go by. Or at least, that portion of the world that had reason to be at the hospital on this sunny fall day—an extremely pregnant woman with a nervous husband in tow, an elderly woman carrying a handful of mums, an Amish couple with a young child.
People were sometimes surprised that the Amish availed themselves of modern medical facilities, but the Amish had no quarrel with the medical profession. They didn’t believe in insurance, however, so if someone needed expensive care, the whole Amish community would pitch in to help.
He nodded as the couple came closer—they lived in Spring Township, although he couldn’t call their names to mind at the moment. The two adults nodded back, and the little boy gave him a wide grin. Whatever brought them here today, it didn’t seem to bother the child.
Unfortunately, focusing on the passersby didn’t really resolve the dilemma he faced. Why had he agreed to talk to Marisa about Uncle Allen? For that matter, why had he brought her to the hospital to begin with?
The second question was easier to answer. She’d looked so flattened by Adam’s revelation that Link couldn’t help himself. His parents’ training ran too deeply to be ignored, especially when he was here in Lancaster County.
It is our duty to help those who need it.
He could almost hear his father’s voice saying the words. They’d come in answer to his whining about the fact that they’d stopped to help an Amish couple whose buggy had been run off the road by a speeding car, making him late for a baseball game. He could still remember the mix of fear and pride he’d felt watching Dad lead the frightened horse out of the twisted buggy shafts.
Pride. He’d always been proud of Dad, even during that terrible time when everyone thought he’d committed suicide. Link’s chest tightened. Mostly he’d felt guilt then, that he hadn’t been around when Dad needed him.
Even when they learned Dad had been killed by an employee who’d been ripping off the company, he’d still felt that somehow he’d failed by not being here.
His father had taken responsibility for others as a matter of course, and Trey was just like him. As for Link… He’d never forget what happened when he’d tried to follow suit.
He forced his thoughts back to Marisa. If he didn’t talk to her about his uncle, she’d go to other people for her answers. He could imagine the talk that would generate, and there had been enough talk already.
So he’d answer her questions, drive her back to Springville and that would be an end to it. As for that sizzle of attraction when he’d gotten too close to her in the car…well, that was best ignored. He didn’t need anything else tangling him up with Marisa Angelo’s problems.
He tilted his head back, letting the slanting autumn sunlight touch his face. Gentle sunlight, a far cry from the blazing sun that dazzled the eye and made a man see things that weren’t there—
A shadow bisected the light, visible even with his eyes closed.
“Link? You look as if you’re going to sleep.”
He hadn’t seen Marisa approach, but she was there. She sat down on the bench, a careful foot away from him, which might mean that she’d felt exactly what he had in the car and was inclined to be just as cautious.
“That was fast,” he said.
“It’s an awfully simple process, given what’s riding on it.” Her eyes were shadowed for a moment, but then she focused on his face. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“Nope. Ask me anything you want about Uncle Allen. I’ll try to answer.”
She studied him, those golden brown eyes seeming to weigh the sincerity of his words. Or maybe his motives.
“What did your uncle do? For a living, I mean.”
“As little as possible,” he said, his tone wry. “He always said that my father inherited the family work ethic. Allen had a teaching degree, but I don’t think he ever taught.”
“He could afford to do nothing, in other words.” She sounded as if she didn’t approve.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he did, either.
“Uncle Allen had a nominal title in the family corporation, and he made a token appearance at the office once in a while.”
“Corporation?” Her eyebrows lifted.
He shrugged. “That makes it sound more important than it is. Morgans have been here a long time. They acquired things—land, businesses, rental properties.”
“You help to run those?” She was probably trying to equate that with the manual labor she’d caught him doing.
“Trey’s in charge since Dad died. I was in the military by then, so I let him.” He’d taken as little responsibility as Allen had, in fact.
“I see.” She was frowning, as if trying to figure him out.
He’d do better to keep this on Allen, not on him self. “Anyway, Allen’s main interest was local history. He wrote some articles, did a little dealing in Pennsylvania Dutch folk art and furniture. Ostensibly that was his business, but he didn’t have a shop—just bought and sold out of his home.”
“He
