them, but she had already fenced him out and returned her attention to O’Henry.
A miniature pickup truck—red and shiny—marked the parking area, which was a half-circle of gravel. Brian pulled in beside the vehicle and cut the engine. Bird song, riotous with joy, filled the air. A butterfly flew in one window of the truck and out the other. He watched its crooked, floating flight.
“Is that her?” Michelle asked.
He turned his head toward his niece. She was looking out the near window and he followed her hopeful gaze. Then, despite the tranquility of the scene, he felt his own heart plummet.
So, she was not here. He should have guessed that fourteen years was too long to expect a person to stay in one place. He should have guessed that a new owner, with an eye for creating beauty and a green thumb, had taken over. He should have guessed that his memory of a hardscrabble little cottage and weed-filled acres had been more accurate.
For that couldn’t be Jessica Moran, rising out of the flowers with her straw sunhat askew.
Jessica had been a short, pudgy girl, hopelessly homely, her hair a peculiar shade of red that had hung long, with untamable bumps and waves in all the wrong places.
The woman who emerged from the flowers was as lithe as a woodland sprite, her naked shoulders slender, tanned and toned. She wore a white sleeveless tank that molded to her small shapely chest and hugged the line of her flat tummy. She had on those pants that men didn’t quite get—something between shorts and slacks that ended just above a shapely calf.
Capris, he remembered Michelle correcting him with a roll of her eyes when he had called them pedal pushers.
The slacks were white, too, or had started out that way, but were now smudged dark at the knee.
The woman took off her hat as she came toward them, and her short hair sprang free and danced around her head in a fury of cheerful-looking auburn curls.
She had a basket over her wrist that overflowed with freshly cut flowers and greenery. Under different circumstances, he might have appreciated her loveliness and that of the scene a great deal more. But all he could think now, was, It wasn’t her.
He got out of the truck, and she skidded to a halt. Her eyes went very wide, and then she glanced over her shoulder, looking like a deer who wanted to bolt back into the safety of the deep green forest that surrounded this little meadow.
He was a big man, and he knew his size could be intimidating, especially to a woman who was in the middle of nowhere and not within shouting distance of a neighbor.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said, and leaned against his open truck door. He let it provide a slight barrier between them, making no move toward her and keeping his voice deliberately deep, calm and soothing. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for…”
But the words didn’t come. She tilted her chin and moved toward him again. He stopped speaking and studied her, feeling the shock of her eyes. They were green and deep, as refreshing as a midsummer dip in a calm, forest pool. They were the kind of eyes a man never forgot, ever.
Even way back then, when she had been a few pounds overweight, plain and beyond the pale of the high school hierarchy, even then he had looked into her eyes and felt enchanted.
Enchanted enough to say, “I’ll call.”
And, of course, then he had come to his senses. And never called.
He could see the same memory of that broken promise from long ago flit across the clear surface of her eyes, and he knew why she had wanted to run.
It wasn’t because she thought he was a menacing stranger. No, it was because Jessica Moran knew exactly who he was.
But she still moved toward him, halting close enough that he could smell the spice and lemon scent of her above the flowers. She squared her shoulders, pointed her chin, and came forward the final few steps, grace and confidence having swept away the clumsy, awkward girl he remembered. She hooked the basket over her forearm and extended her hand.
Her face was narrow, elfin, and dominated by the huge, soulful pools of her unforgettable eyes. Freckles dotted her nose. Surely, she had not always had lips like that, as plump and inviting as a ripe strawberry?
“Brian,” she said, and her voice was clear and melodious. Now he remembered her voice, too, remembered how it had been part of the enchantment. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother and Amanda.”
Her hand in his was small but surprisingly strong. He felt the oddest desire to linger over the handshake and explore the energy coming from her, but she pulled her hand back after the briefest of touches.
He recalled that his sister-in-law, Amanda, had been in the same grade as Jessica at high school. He could not imagine that Amanda, or her best friend Lucinda, had ever offered Jessica anything except small, not-so-subtle cruelties.
Lucinda was the girl who had kept him from ever making that call.
Something about Jessica’s graciousness made his voice stick in his throat. He now remembered things that he should have remembered long before coming down this road.
“Jessica,” he said, finally finding his voice and trying to hide his discomfort and his shock at her amazing metamorphosis. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“I’m sure I’ve changed a good deal since we last saw each other. What brings you here?” Polite, but nothing more.
He hesitated. Now would be the time to admit that he’d made a dumb error and just head on back down her driveway. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Do you remember that time I hit that dog at the end of your driveway, and we brought it here?”
Something flickered behind her eyes—it looked suspiciously like pain—and she nodded, a trifle curtly.
He cursed himself for coming here, for following a desperate whim.
He was glad that Michelle chose that moment to slide from the truck, her little bundle cradled in her arms, her eyes huge, begging. “Can you fix my puppy?”
Jessica gave him a startled look and then turned to the girl. Her eyes widened and she held out her hands. Michelle surrendered the weak puppy, and Brian could not help but frown remembering how his niece had refused to turn it over to him.
Jessica took the puppy, and he could see the tenderness of her touch as she cupped its body, ran her hands over it and then rested them above a heart beating too rapidly. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she shot him another look. He saw a flash in their green depths.
Anger.
Not that he could blame her. He had come with an impossible task. He had placed her in a terrible situation. He could see, from the tiny muscle working frantically in her jaw, that she did not hold out much hope for the dog, and that she knew it was really a young girl’s heart that he had placed in her trust.
But there was none of that anger as she turned and with a movement of her shoulder invited Michelle to follow her down the winding cobblestone path that led to the cottage.
Tiny purple violets grew among the cobbles and every time he crushed one under foot he was enveloped in the soft fragrance
