thought we would eat on the deck.”
“Great. We’ll be right out.”
Sara retreated, leaving her door open so they could come inside if they wished. Her fingers trembled slightly as she removed crisp sourdough bread from the oven and placed it in a cloth-lined basket. She made a nest for the sauce in the center of the pasta, which she’d placed on a platter with a high rim.
“I’ll take that,” Cade said, coming to the door. He removed the platter from her hand.
“Thanks. Stace, if you’ll put these rolls on the table, I’ll get drinks. Milk or iced tea?”
“Tea for me, milk for the young lady,” Cade said.
Since it was early, the air hadn’t cooled to the point of being chilly. The temperature was a pleasant seventy-two degrees. With the irrepressible Stacy there to bridge any awkward pauses, the tension between Sara and Cade eased and the evening became quite cheerful.
“So, did both of you enjoy your first day of school?” he asked when they were seated.
The two females gave him a thorough review of their day while the shadows lengthened and the sun hid behind the fog bank on the horizon. They finished the meal, but lingered at the table and talked.
“There’ll be no flash tonight,” Cade told them, gazing at the horizon.
Sara thought he looked wistful, but in the next instant, as his eyes met hers, she decided she was wrong. She’d been aware of his gaze on her several times during the meal, but his thoughts had been too obscure to read. Now he merely looked amused and somehow distant.
Not that they’d ever been close, except as children in school together, she mused, her senses keenly aware of him and his physical presence, the innate masculinity that called to something equally strong but feminine in her.
After eating, they all pitched in to clean up the dishes, then Cade and Stacy went to their place so the child could get ready for bed. Sara draped a sweater over her shoulders and returned to the deck.
Twilight deepened into night, and still she lingered. No mosquitoes came out to annoy her. Few sounds from the street penetrated back here. It didn’t even feel as if she were in a city.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Cade asked from his doorway an hour later.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
He joined her on the deck and handed her a glass of wine, which was red and mellow, holding only a hint of tannin from the oak barrel in which it had been aged.
“Very good,” she murmured after taking a sip.
“An eight-year-old Cabernet,” he told her. “It won the blue ribbon in a recent international competition.”
“You should have saved it for a special occasion.”
“I think this is special enough. A fine dinner and interesting conversation, two beautiful women to share the evening—what more could a man want?”
The cheer sounded somewhat forced, but his voice had deepened. It flowed over her with the same dark complexities as the wine, a subtle weaving of spicy flavors that spoke of other pleasures to come—
She stopped the train of thought with an effort. She couldn’t afford to think like that. Rising, she stood by the railing and stared out toward the sea.
Ships were visible as lights that rose and dipped with the movement of the sea. They struck her as unbearably lonely as they sailed off into the night.
But she knew the loneliness was in herself. She swallowed the painful knot in her throat when Cade came over and stood beside her.
“I used to watch the ships when I was a kid,” he said. “I wanted to go on a grand adventure with the sailors, a modern-day Jason on the trail of the golden fleece.”
She heard and understood the undertone of sadness when he chuckled at his boyish ideas. It reached down into her own heart and opened places she’d thought were closed forever.
“We all have dreams,” she said in hardly more than a whisper. “And we all have to grow up.”
“Some more quickly than others. You, I think.”
“And you,” she murmured.
“Perhaps,” he said.
She knew a lot about his life now and wondered if he was thinking of his mother, who’d been sent away to a very private hospital, it was rumored, for the mentally ill. Mark Banning had told them this news.
“When your mother was sent away?” she asked.
He was silent for a long moment. “Yes. It was like the sun went out.”
His voice was so low she had to strain to hear. “Do…do you ever see her?”
“No. My father thinks it would serve no purpose. She has the best of care and, according to him, she wouldn’t be interested in any of her children anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t deny the compassion she felt for him and his loss.
“Into every life…” He shrugged philosophically.
“Some rain must fall,” she finished when he stopped.
His smile appeared, a beacon in the dark. “We’re getting awfully serious, young Sara.”
“I don’t feel young. I haven’t for a long time.”
He touched her shoulder. Warmth flowed from his hand all the way to the center of her. Without meaning to, she leaned into him when he stepped closer. He slipped both arms around her, clasping his hands over her tummy and tucking her against his body.
For some reason, it made her ache inside, as if her heart were weeping. She laid her hands over his. They stayed that way for a long time, not speaking as they watched a few stars appear.
“Without the glare of city lights,” he said, “you can see a million stars. At the ranch, the only way to tell the ocean from the night sky is to note where the stars begin.”
“You have a ranch?”
“Yes. I plan to go up Friday night. Stace and I would like to have you join us.”
“I may have work to do,” she hedged, wanting to go but not sure if she should. When she glanced up, he lowered his head and gently touched her lips with his.
“Sara,” he said, his voice soft, husky.
A tremor rushed over her. He tightened his hold, then stepped to the side, turning her at the same time. They faced each other, their expressions solemn, their eyes questioning. She wondered if his doubts were the same as hers. At the moment, it didn’t matter.
Slowly she raised her hands and caressed along his shirtfront. “Warm, so warm,” she said.
“Burning up,” he admitted.
