to get here.
“Can I help you?” Crossing his arms, Tom deliberately blocked the steps. The man wasn’t sporting a holster or gun belt, but there could be a knife hidden somewhere on his person.
The man scowled. “I’m looking for Jane.”
“Who should I say is calling?”
“Roy Crowley.”
* * *
Jane hadn’t felt this low in a long time.
Seeing the hurt and confusion in Tom’s eyes, knowing there were things about his time in Kansas he wasn’t telling her, she’d come close to giving in to his plea. Whatever he’d endured was bad. So bad he wouldn’t voice it.
Tom was adept at masking his troubles with his carefree, upbeat manner, something she hadn’t recognized as a young girl. Interpreting his words and gestures through the eyes of a mature woman gave her fresh insight into the man she’d assumed she knew everything about. Just now, he’d attempted to hide his disappointment from her. To protect himself? Or was he doing what he’d always done—protecting her?
He wouldn’t want her to feel guilty for not helping him. But she did. Jane genuinely liked Clara. Ached for what she’d endured. She had it in her power to help her, make her life a little brighter, and she was choosing not to. That went against everything her ma had taught her.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Her future was at stake. Her peace of mind. She’d concocted a sensible plan to get over him, and she must stick to it at all costs. Even if it meant putting her own needs above a little girl’s.
The sick sensation in her middle belied such thoughts.
Mrs. Drummond will be wonderful for Clara, she reassured herself, like a substitute grandmother.
“Jane.”
Startled out of her reverie, she jerked her head up. “What is it?”
Anger blazed in Tom’s eyes, which glowed like the most brilliant peridot gems. Hands fisted at his sides, his jaw worked. “You have a visitor.”
“Roy?” Who else would evoke Tom’s murderous expression? The sick sensation intensified. This day was getting better and better.
“I’ll get rid of him if that’s what you want.”
His hard, lean body filling the doorway, tension coming off him in waves, he looked like a stranger. A lethal one.
Always her protector. If only... Stop. Wishing for the impossible has gotten you nothing but heartache.
Untying her apron, she hung it on a hook beside the back door. “I can’t avoid him forever.”
“You don’t have to see him today.”
She stopped in front of him. The temptation to seek refuge in his arms was strong. “Better here than on a street corner, with the townsfolk for an audience.”
“Fine,” he clipped out. “But I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
This was where she should point out she didn’t need him watching over her, that she could handle Roy on her own. Instead, she nodded her acceptance. His fierce determination to protect her, despite that it was motivated by friendship alone, made her feel cherished.
Tom had directed Clara to remain in the main room. She sat on the couch, big eyes taking in the paintings on the chinked-log walls, the photographs on the mantel. “We won’t be long,” he told her on their way outside.
The sight of her former fiancé in her yard evoked fresh waves of humiliation. Her cheeks burned. Maybe agreeing to Tom’s presence hadn’t been the wisest idea. Surely this fiasco called into question her sound judgment. Her ability to discern people’s true natures.
“Why are you here, Roy?” At least she sounded calm. Unfazed.
He came to the porch’s bottom step, brown eyes pleading. “I came to apologize. You ran out of the church so fast, you didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
Behind her, Tom made a sound of disgust.
Roy’s lips thinned. “Can we speak in private?”
“It’s too late for explanations. If you’d been honestwith me from the beginning, we would’ve been spared a public spectacle. Go home to your wife, Roy.”
“Laura.” He shook his head. “She’s been trouble since the day I met her. That’s why you were so refreshing, Jane. You’re sweet and biddable.”
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