should get up and go home before everyone began to wonder what had happened to her. She had a wedding to cater tomorrow. Or maybe it was a birthday party. She couldn’t remember. But there was work to do, menus to arrange.
And God knew she didn’t want to worry her parents. She’d told them that she was only leaving for an hour or so. Since she worked at the family restaurant and still lived at home, or at least, in the guesthouse on the estate, her parents kept closer track of her than they might have had she been out somewhere on her own.
Her fault.
Everything was her fault, Susan thought, upbraiding herself.
If she’d insisted that Miranda go see the doctor when her friend had started feeling sick and began complaining of bouts of nausea coupled with pain, maybe Miranda would still be alive today instead of…
Susan exhaled a shaky breath.
What was the point? Going over the terrain again wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring Miranda back. Miranda was gone and life had suddenly taken on a more temporary, fragile bearing. There was no more “forever” on the horizon. Infinity had become finite.
Susan glanced up abruptly, feeling as if she was being watched. When she raised her eyes, she was more than slightly prepared to see Linc looking back at her. It wouldn’t be that unusual for him to come looking for her if he thought she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. He’d appointed himself her keeper and while she really did value his friendship, there was a part of her that was beginning to feel smothered by his continuous closeness.
But when she looked up, it wasn’t Linc’s eyes looking back at her. Nor were they eyes belonging to some passing stranger whose attention had been momentarily captured by the sight of a woman sobbing her heart out.
The eyes she was looking up into were green.
Intensely green, even with all that distance between them. Green eyes she couldn’t fathom, Susan thought. The expression on the man’s face, however, was not a mystery. It was frowning. In disapproval for her semi-public display of grief?
Or was it just in judgment of her?
Duke was wearing something a little more intense than his usual frown. Try as she might, Susan couldn’t recall the brooding rancher with the aura of raw sexuality about him ever really smiling. It was actually hard even to summon a memory of the man that contained a neutral expression on his face.
It seemed to her that Duke always appeared to be annoyed. More than annoyed, a good deal of the time he looked angry. Not that she could really blame him. He was angry at his twin for having done what he’d done and bringing dishonor to the family name.
Or, at least that was what she assumed his scowl and anger were all about.
Embarrassed at being observed, Susan quickly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. She had no tissues or handkerchief with her, although she knew she should have had the presence of mind to bring one or the other with her, given the situation she knew she might be facing.
Maybe she hadn’t because she’d secretly hoped that if she didn’t bring either a handkerchief or tissues, there wouldn’t be anything to cry about.
For a moment, she was almost positive that Duke was going to turn and walk away, his look of what was now beginning to resemble abject disgust remaining on his face.
But then, instead of walking away, he began walking toward her.
Her stomach fluttered ever so slightly. Susan straightened her shoulders and sat up a little more rigidly. For some unknown reason, she could feel her mouth going dry.
Probably because you’re completely dehydrated. How much water do you think you’ve got left in you?
She would have risen to her feet and started to walk away if she could have, but her legs felt oddly weak and disjointed, as if they didn’t quite belong to her. Susan was actually afraid that if she tried to stand up, her knees would give way beneath her and she would collapse back onto the bench. Then Duke would really look contemptuously at her, and she didn’t think she was up to that.
Not that it should matter to her what Duke Colton thought, or didn’t think, of her, she silently told herself in the next breath. She just didn’t want to look like a complete idiot, that was all. Her nose was probably already red and her eyes had to be exceedingly puffy by now.
Crossing to her, still not uttering a single word in acknowledgment of her present state or even so much as a greeting, Duke abruptly shoved his hand into his pocket, extracted something and held it out to her.
Susan blinked. Duke was holding out a surprisingly neatly folded white handkerchief.
When she made no move to take it from him, he all but growled, “Here, you seem to need this a lot more than I do.”
Embarrassment colored her cheeks, making her complexion entirely pink at this point. “No, that’s all right,” she sniffed, again vainly trying to brush away what amounted to a sheet’s worth of tears with the back of her hand.
“Take it.” This time he did growl and it was an unmistakable command that left no room for refusal or even wavering debate.
Sniffing again, Susan took the handkerchief from him and murmured a barely audible, “Thank you.”
He said nothing for a moment, only watched her as she slid the material along first one cheek and then the other, drying the tear stains from her skin.
When she stopped, he coaxed her on further, saying, “You can blow your nose with it. It won’t rip. I’ve used it myself. Not this time,” he corrected uncomfortably. “It’s been washed since then.”
A glimmer of a smile of amusement flittered across her lips. Susan couldn’t begin to explain why, but she felt better. A lot better. As if the pain that had been growing inside of her had suddenly abated and begun shrinking back down to a manageable size.
She was about to say something to him about his kindness and about his riding to the rescue—something that seemed to suit his tall, dark, closed-mouth demeanor—when she heard someone calling out her name.
Linc. She’d know his voice anywhere. Even when it had an impatient edge to it.
The next moment, Linc was next to her, enveloping her in a hug. Without meaning to, she felt herself stiffening. She didn’t want to be hugged. She didn’t want to be pitied or treated like some fragile child who’d been bruised and needed protection.
If he noticed her reaction, Linc gave no indication that it registered. Instead, leaving the embrace, he slipped his arm around her shoulders, still offering protection.
“There you are, Susan. Everyone’s worried about you,” he said, as if he was part of her family. “I came to bring you home,” he announced a bit louder than he needed to. And then his voice took on an affectionate, scolding tone. “I told you that you shouldn’t have come here without me.” Still holding her to him, he brushed aside a tear that she must have missed. “C’mon, honey, let’s get you out of here.”
A while back, she’d allowed their friendship to drift toward something more. But it had been a mistake. She didn’t feel that way about Linc. She’d tried
