blinked at her, clearly surprised by her reaction. What kind of people farmed out ten-year-old kids to boarding schools? What kind of grandparent couldn't see that the child left in her care was in pain and needed more than the impersonal attention of someone paid to watch over him?
“It was a very good school,” he said.
“Oh, I'm sure.” A spurt of anger shot through Keira on behalf of a child who no longer existed. “No brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. You?”
God, he had been all alone with a grandmother too busy to give him what he must have craved. A sense of belonging. A sense of safety. Keira couldn't even imagine what that must have been like for him, and a part of her warmed up to his frosty nature a little more. After all, if he'd been so cut off as a child, how could she possibly expect the man to be open to possibilities?
He was watching her, waiting for her to answer his question, and so she gave him a smile that didn't let him in on the fact that she was really feeling sorry for the boy he'd once been.
“I have a sister. Kelly. She's younger than me and was still in high school when our folks were killed. So, I came home from school, watched over her and started running the family diner.”
He frowned. “The coffee shop in town?”
“You noticed it? Yep. The Lakeside was my dad's baby. It's small, but it's been good to us. Made it possible for me to get Kelly into college—well, the diner and a few good loans.”
“What about you?” he asked. “You didn't go back to school?”
“No,” she said, still irritated with his grandmother for some bizarre reason. “I meant to, I really did. But then Kelly was in college, and no way could we afford for both of us to go. And when she graduated, I'd already hired a manager for the diner and was running for mayor, so …” She shrugged.
“Your sister should have taken her turn in town to give you a chance to go to school.”
Keira shook her head. “No, she got a tremendous job offer right out of school and there was no way she could not take it.”
He was silent, but the quiet held a lot of disapproval.
“You could go back to college now,” he pointed out.
“Oh, yeah,” Keira said, laughing shortly. “Just what I want to do. Go to school with a bunch of kids. Sounds like a great time.”
“What's your sister doing now?”
“She's living in London,” Keira said, defensive of a little sister who didn't need defending. “She loves England,” she added with a wistful sigh. “She sends me pictures that make me want to pack my bags and go there for myself.”
“Why don't you?”
“I can't just leave because I want to. I have responsibilities to this town.”
He sighed, frowned and turned slitted eyes on her. “Is that a not so subtle hint?”
“I wasn't going for subtle,” she admitted, smiling up at him despite the glower in his eyes. “Just for a reminder about the responsibilities you and the others have to Hunter's Landing.”
“I'd never heard of your town until a month ago,” he reminded her, “and a month from now, I will have forgotten it.”
“Well, don't we feel special,” she mused.
“It's nothing personal,” he said. “It's just …”
“None of that really matters, does it? You agreed to the terms of the will and—” The toe of her boot caught under a root and she would have gone sprawling if Nathan hadn't steadied her again.
“You're dangerous,” he snapped. “Why don't you pay more attention to where you're walking?”
“Hey, I have you here to catch me.”
“Don't count on that.”
“I am, though,” Keira said, blocking his way by stepping in front of him before she stopped dead. “We're all counting on you. You and your friends.”
The wind sliced in off the lake and cut at them like a knife straight out of a freezer. Keira's hair swept across her eyes and she plucked it free so she could look at Nathan.
He didn't look happy, but what was new about that? His gaze was locked with hers and his mouth was tightened into a grim slash that told her exactly what he was thinking.
“I know you don't want to hear it,” Keira said and reached out to put both hands on his forearms. And even through the icy brown leather jacket, she felt the strength of him, tightly leashed. “But it's true. I can't even tell you how important it is to all of us that you stay for the month.”
“Keira—”
“I know, I know,” she said, lifting both hands in a mock surrender. “You don't want to hear about this anymore.”
“The night of the town party,” he admitted quietly, “I had every intention of calling my pilot and flying out of here.”
“But you didn't,” she said lightly, despite the quick tightening around her insides.
“That doesn't mean I won't,” he pointed out. “I don't want you—or anyone—counting on me. For anything.”
“That's a hard way to live,” she said.
“It's my way.”
“It doesn't have to be,” Keira said, her voice a whisper that was nearly lost in the swirl of the wind. Why was she doing this? Why did she care how Nathan Barrister lived his life?
He laughed shortly, and the sound was so surprising that Keira blinked at him.
“I like my life just the way it is,” he said. “I'm not interested in changing it.”
“Just like you're not interested in a one-month affair.”
His jaw clenched.
Oops.
She didn't know why she'd said that. But now that it was back out in the open between them, she wasn't sure how to un-say it, either.
“Keira …”
A puff of white danced on the wind and flew between them as if trying to end their conversation.
“Was that …?” he asked.
“Snow,” she said.
And in that split second, several more flakes of snow whipped around them, carried on the wind that snapped and rattled at the pine trees. The temperature dropped what felt like twenty degrees and the lowering clouds looked black and threatening.
“Of course it's snow. For God's sake, does spring ever get here?” He inhaled sharply, deeply, and looked at her
