him again. It was easy to imagine that she had some sort of control over her feelings when he wasn’t around.
And now he was going to be around—in Atlanta—on a permanent basis.
At Hawthorne Lake.
“When did you move to Hawthorne Lake?” she asked, unable to help herself. It had never occurred to her that he wasn’t living on the family estate. Though she hadn’t seen him in years—not since she’d moved her mother out of their old cottage—she knew his grandfather was in terrible health. Not that she cared, of course. He was a rotten man—it was only fitting that he … rot. Which was horrible, she knew, particularly coming from her, but Marion couldn’t help the way she felt. Henry Sherwood was an awful, awful man, the one who was ultimately responsible for the death of her brother. Forgiveness—and perspective, she’d admit—was never going to be forthcoming.
“I’ve always lived there when I was stateside,” he said. “Because Ranger Security is downtown, I considered a loft, but decided I’d rather make the commute than live with the noise.” He smiled at her, his honey-colored eyes crinkling at the corners. “Cottonwood is peaceful. I like watching the sunset over the meadow, listening to the bullfrogs croak from the pond.”
He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d told her he lived in a mud-covered hut. Cottonwood was an old two-story white clapboard farmhouse that was idyllic but not grand. It sat back on a small knoll overlooking a pond and was surrounded by a grove of cottonwood trees, thus its name. It achieved a bit of notoriety during the Civil War, when Robert E. Lee was purported to have stayed there. Her mother had taken them all there the summer before Michael died, during Robin, John and Michael’s “civil war phase.”
They’d tromped over a lot of battlefields and visited several plantation homes, but Cottonwood had appealed to Marion the most because of the second-story porch. At the time it had felt a bit like a tower and she’d been going through her princess stage. Unbeknownst to the rest of them, she’d slipped away from the tour, ducked under the velvet rope and snuck up there. Michael ultimately spotted her from the ground and demanded that she come down—which she’d refused to do of course because “he wasn’t the boss of her”—and it had been Robin who’d coaxed her back. He’d told her that princesses weren’t meant to be locked away in musty old towers, they were supposed to be at Court. That had made sense to her, so she’d come down of her own volition. She smiled, remembering.
At any rate, it was a lovely house, one that held a special memory in her heart and it would definitely accommodate a sizable family.
The thought was oddly depressing.
She cleared her throat. “I imagine it would be.”
He arched a brow, an odd expression in his eyes. Hopeful? “You remember it then?”
She nodded, offered him a grin. “I do.”
“You should come see it sometime,” Robin said, gifting her with another of those charming smiles. “I’ll give you the whole tour, even show you the room Lee supposedly slept in.” His gaze turned mischievous. “I’ll even give you unlimited access to the second-story porch.”
Of course he would remember. Something told her Robin Sherwood didn’t forget much. Still …
Marion made a noncommittal sound and popped another bite of cookie in her mouth. Temping though it was, she didn’t think so. She was too damned aware of him now—the slope of his jaw, the exact curve of his lips, the masculine veins in his large hands, the muscles bunching beneath the fabric of his costume every time he moved, not to mention the tawny curls hugging the shell of his ear. Something about those irreverent curls against the strangely vulnerable skin around his ear, his neck, made her long to nuzzle them with her nose, to breathe him in. Her nipples tightened behind her bra and a ribbon of heat unfurled low in her belly. She felt herself leaning toward him, inexplicably drawn to him.
As always.
With effort, she righted herself.
Robin shot her a speculative glance, one that made her worry that he knew the effect he had on her, that he knew exactly how she felt about him. Every wicked, depraved thought.
“So if Jason wasn’t a date, then what were you doing with him?”
Back to that, were they? She released an exasperated sigh. “Trying to collect a pledge he made to the clinic. He keeps ‘forgetting’ to bring his checkbook.”
Robin frowned and his gaze sharpened. “I wasn’t aware that you were soliciting pledges.”
She knew he wasn’t. Because she hadn’t told him. Thankfully, she’d prepared for this conversation, had been in anticipation of it for three long months. Marion lifted an unconcerned shoulder and feigned an irreverence she didn’t feel. “It’s common practice with non-profit organizations.”
He set his glass aside and she felt the full force of his regard. “I realize that, but when did we start doing it?”
“Two years ago.” She took another nibble of cookie. “We had a big kick-off. It was a huge success. I was able to purchase a new X-ray machine with the proceeds.”
He made a noise low in his throat, but she couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was unnaturally still, as though he were holding himself that way on purpose. Probably to keep from throttling her, Marion imagined.
“Marion, if you needed more money, then why didn’t you just ask for it? You know I would have approved whatever you—”
“The budget is more than generous, Robin,” she said. “And I know that I’m fortunate in that regard. But surely you realize that if I can raise the money to buy the equipment and medicines to treat more people, then I’m going to do it. I didn’t expect a budget increase and I didn’t start doing this in order to angle for one—that’s precisely why I didn’t tell you—but I would be remiss if I didn’t pursue all avenues of funding available to us. It’s part of my job to solicit donations.” She grimaced and heaved a sigh. “Granted, there are some people who are more difficult to deal with than others—like Jason, for instance—but for the most part, people around here are glad to be a part of what we’re doing.” She paused. “I’m proud of that … and I think you should be, too.”
“Of course, I am,” he said, his gaze still annoyingly inscrutable. “I just wish you’d mentioned it to me sooner. I would have been more than happy to help. Get donations,” he added quickly. “Or amend your budget. Whatever would have made you happy.”
It had been so long since someone had considered her happiness that the comment took her aback and left her feeling shaken and out of sorts. Thankfully, Robin looked as startled by the comment as she felt. For one heart-stoppingly agonizing instant, she couldn’t rip her gaze away from his, couldn’t unsee the turmoil roiling in those amazing hazel eyes.
“I knew you’d understand,” she murmured, for lack of anything better.
Abruptly, he stood. “I’d like a list, please.”
Marion blinked and found her feet as well, then followed him to the door. “A list? A list of what?”
“Of the people who currently have outstanding pledges.”
She winced. “That’s a long list.”
He
