should go,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
Wishing she had some way of knowing Foley was gone and hating the uncertainty that skittered through her, she nodded. Zach made her uncomfortable, though he had been nothing but nice. She swallowed, unable to ignore the knot of apprehension that settled in her stomach.
He followed her toward the door where she picked up the discarded shoes.
“Thanks,” she said. “And I really am sorry that—”
“I’ll walk you home.”
Feeling more flustered by the second, she shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t want to bother—”
“You’re not.” He stepped onto the dark porch behind her and pulled the door closed.
Her attention focused on the deep shadows beneath the trees up and down the street. Since Foley had been wearing a white shirt, he ought to be easy to spot if he was still here. Aware Zach was looking, also, she felt marginally reassured he didn’t seem to see anyone, either.
With effort, she tried to pick up the conversational thread, but couldn’t remember what had come before. “I’m not what?”
“You’re not bothering me.” In the dark it was impossible to tell, but she had the feeling he was smiling.
“Oh. Well…” She took in a deep breath of air, which was cool, just a little crisp, and carrying the scent of Zach’s soap and the rose garden in the middle of Sadie’s front yard.
Once again at a loss for words, she opened the gate to the picket fence that surrounded the yard and then walked across the graveled street to her small house. If Zach noticed the rocks biting into his bare feet, he didn’t acknowledge it at all.
“Sadie get off okay?” she asked to fill the silence.
“Yeah.”
“She’s been really excited about this trip.” Léa glanced back at him and found him once again studying her. She kept moving forward and didn’t see the first step of her porch until she banged her shin into it, then flinched when he steadied her, his long fingers warm against her skin. At that, he dropped his hands and slid the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.
When she met his gaze, she found him staring at a point somewhere beyond her shoulder, his jaw clenched. Seconds passed before he looked at her. “You don’t have to be scared of me—”
“I’m not.”
He issued another of those noncommittal sounds that was evidently a disagreement.
“Really.” To prove her point, she sat down on the top step of the porch, tucked her feet under her, and set the shoes on her lap. She couldn’t be afraid, she thought. Not of this man, not of Foley, and certainly not of the dark street in a town where she had lived all her life. All she had to do was sit here for a minute or two to prove it to herself.
“Aunt Sadie told you I was just released from pr—”
“Yes,” Léa interrupted.
“And if you’re scared—”
“I’m not.” I’m not, she repeated to herself. And she wasn’t. Not in the way he probably meant. He was simply a big, tough-looking man. She supposed he’d have to be to survive prison, a thought that gave her an inward shudder. She couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like.
She sighed, then, to break the uncomfortable silence, latched on to the first thing that popped into her head. “I just planted petunias, so I’m glad that it’s not going to freeze tonight. I probably planted them way too early. Gram told me I should wait another couple of weeks since we could still have another frost, but I’m hoping we won’t. Still, you never can tell. It snowed on Memorial Day a couple of years ago. And that’s a month away.” Babbling, the way she always did when she was nervous. And proving that she wasn’t as relaxed as she wanted him to think. Annoyed with herself, she said, “Sorry. You probably don’t care about the weather and all.”
“Weather is fine.” He gave her an unreadable look, then followed her gaze to the neat plantings that lined both sides of her walkway. He draped an arm over the porch railing. “What’s with the clown get-up?”
“I own a café, and since I’m not open for dinner, I cater parties.”
“Ah, Rangeview’s answer to Ronald McDonald.”
She smiled. “Something like that, I guess, at least for birthday parties.”
He made a point of looking her up and down. “You mean this isn’t your usual attire for a formal affair?”
“Not hardly. Tonight was Gayla Foster’s eighth birthday.” She shook her head. “And you wouldn’t believe the mess that eleven little girls can make. The next time her mother wants to hold the party at my café instead of her own house, I’m going to charge double.”
This time Zach chuckled, and Léa found herself liking it—and him—in spite of herself, especially after he said, “I suspect little Gayla Foster was fortunate to have you. So, why aren’t you open for dinner?”
“Not enough business,” she said. His appreciation soothed her, pleased her, and was all the more bittersweet because she had felt like a grouse for being frustrated with the mess after the children went home. “Anyone who wants dinner goes to Sandy’s Steak House. For a business as small as mine, dinner isn’t profitable.”
A dinner crowd, though, sounded good compared to the party she had given tonight. Once she had looked forward to dressing up to make the kids laugh. Lately, though, she had found herself thinking about the children she would never have and the birthdays she would never celebrate with them. It was far too easy to feel sorry for herself and angry with Foley for the accident that had resulted in the too premature birth of their daughter. In an instant Léa’s life had changed. Her baby had died and she’d had an emergency hysterectomy. Now, she put on birthday parties—fabulous parties—for other people’s children.
Too many times over the last year she had been told that what had happened was God’s will. The thought always made her instantly angry.
She rubbed the side of her nose, the greasepaint beginning to itch. God’s will or not, it was long past time to stop obsessing about what could never be. One thing she knew for sure—she was supposed to be a mother, so she had started the process to adopt a child. Tomorrow she would have her home inspection, and she’d be one step closer to her goal. God willing, she thought, coming as close to prayer as she ever did these days.
The petunias she had been staring at clouded. Léa lifted her gaze to Zach, realizing she had been silent for too long. When something in his gaze softened, she realized her face was wet with tears. Somehow he was sitting on the step next to her, though she had no recollection of him moving. Next to her shoulder, she could feel heat radiate from his body.
“That’s a good thing you do, Léa Webster.” As if offering an extra measure of assurance, he clasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
A simple touch that made her turn her head and look at him. She wasn’t at
