here.” Liam jerked his head towards the side yard. “We’re buildin’ a castle.” He gave Sara a thumb’s-up and grinned broadly. “Like Dunmorey.”
Sara was still gulping air, still bashing down the panic, when Flynn came around the corner of the house. It had begun to snow again and his midnight hair was dusted with sparkling white snowflakes. He looked rugged and handsome and gorgeously reminiscent of the first time she had seen him.
She started trembling.
His intent green gaze fixed on her. “Something wrong?”
“No. I just—” she dragged in a breath “—didn’t realize you’d gone outside.” Her fingers still gripped the porch pillar. “I thought…”
But she couldn’t admit what she’d thought, couldn’t acknowledge aloud her terror at the belief—even for a split second—that he’d done the most devastating thing of all: taken her son.
She shook her head. “I didn’t know where he was. I thought…never mind. Just…carry on.” And with those words she turned abruptly and hurried back into the house, shaken, relieved and shattered all at the same time.
She shut the door and sank down into one of the wooden kitchen chairs, trying with trembling fingers to peel of her snow-soaked socks.
The back door opened, and Flynn strode in.
“You thought I’d taken him.” His words were flat. His eyes accused her.
She tried to quiet the shaking and forced herself to concentrate on peeling off the socks before she would answer. Then she stood up, needing to be on a level with him, needing to find her self-control before she could reply. “I didn’t know what you’d done.”
But she couldn’t deny her panic—it was still there in her voice and she was sure he could read it on her face.
Flynn’s jaw tightened. He pushed the door shut behind him.
Sara shot a glance towards the side yard. “Liam—”
“He’s building the turret. I told him I wanted to see it when he was done. And I will see it,” he said firmly, “but not before we get this straightened out.”
Sara swallowed and straightened, not liking his tone. “Get what straightened out?” Her voice was steadier now. She wished her nerves were.
“What you obviously think. I did not come to steal my son away from you.”
She bristled at the words “my son.” But she knew he was just making a point. “I didn’t imagine—”
“You damned well did!”
“All right, fine. I did. But only because he was gone! And you’d said you’d take him to Ireland! What was I supposed to think? I’d finished showering and dressing and you weren’t there!”
“What sort of man do you think I am?” His eyes were stormy now, a turbulent sea green.
He didn’t wait for her to answer that. She wasn’t sure she could have, anyway. She didn’t actually know what sort of man he was, did she? Once she’d thought she had, but that had been all wrong.
“We talked about Dunmorey,” Flynn said patiently, as if explaining things to a small, not-too-bright child. “And we talked about forts and building castles and it was snowing and we decided it would be fun to build a snow castle. Okay? We didn’t go to Ireland. We were in the garden.”
Sara nodded numbly, knowing she should feel foolish, still feeling the residual effects of her momentary panic. “You didn’t say,” she mumbled.
“I didn’t realize you wanted me to stick my head in the bathroom and announce it.” A corner of his mouth quirked, and the way his eyes slid over her made her wish she had a suit of armor on, not a cashmere sweater and velvet pants.
She wrapped her arms across her chest. “Of course not!”
He didn’t reply for a moment, as if considering what to say. Then he shook his head gravely. “I’m sorry you were upset. It never occurred to me to tell you. I thought you’d figure it out.”
“Well, I didn’t. I didn’t know what you’d do. I don’t even know you.”
“You did,” he said quietly, and the serious husky tone of his voice sent those goose bumps skittering down her spine again.
She hugged herself. “No.”
But he nodded. “You did, Sara.” His tone was insistent. “I think you knew me better than anyone else on earth.”
“Then why—” The anguished words burst from her before she could stop them. But fortunately she managed to shut her mouth before she sounded like a pathetic twit. And thankfully, the phone chose that moment to ring.
She spun away from him and grabbed for the phone on the countertop. “Hello?”
“Oh, dear. You already know.” It was Celie, sounding worried and apologetic.
“Know?” Sara echoed. She braced a hand against the counter. Celie wasn’t going to tell her about Flynn, was she? The Elmer grapevine being what it was, that was distinctly possible.
“About Annie.” Annie was Celie’s four-year-old. “I thought you must from the tone of your voice. You sound…weird. Upset. Because I can’t babysit tonight. She’s running a fever. They sent her home from preschool. She’s vomiting now. You don’t want Liam here tonight.”
“No, I—”
“I’m so so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Sara said. “I’ll work something out.”
“Maybe Jace could come down when he gets back from Billings, but it won’t be until late and—”
“No, really, it’s fine. Don’t worry. I…have to go. Hope Annie’s better soon.” She hung up and stayed facing the cupboard for a moment, getting her equilibrium back before she turned around. It would be all right, she assured herself. She just wouldn’t go.
“Trouble?” Flynn asked when she finally turned around.
Sara shrugged. “Celie was going to babysit Liam tonight. Now she can’t.”
“Where were you going?” There was something so proprietary in Flynn’s tone that it set her back up.
“On a date.”
His brows drew down. “With who?”
“Obviously, you wouldn’t know him. His name is Adam. He’s the foreman at one of the ranches nearby. And he’s a sculptor, too,” she added. It was true and it was definitely impressive. She’d seen some of Adam’s work.
Flynn’s jaw tightened. “Is it serious?”
“His sculpture?”
His
