The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,62
hearing from us very soon.”
Why should good news make her feel so bad? “I’ll look forward to it.”
She could feel Brody’s eyes on her, watching her, assessing her, and she refused to look his direction. Right now she needed every bit of strength to maintain her composure.
Her beautiful home. Her stomach knotted, and she felt the same stab of grief she did when she thought of Frank. Not that anyone could equate the two losses—a husband and a house-but they were wrapped up in each other, inseparable. If she could have the first back, she would also have the other.
Esther trailed the other three as they made their way back through the house. Brody had secured Ranger in his crate at the beginning of the tour through blatant bribery. Esther appreciated his offer to entice the dog into dreaded captivity but now he wasn’t there to nip at their heels and distract her from her unwelcome, unwarranted attraction to Brody McCullough.
“Good-bye,” she called to James Delevan and the agent as they descended the front steps and headed down the walk toward a low-slung Mercedes sedan. Esther didn’t know whether the car belonged to the man or the young woman, but they both looked perfectly at home in it. She paused outside the front door, waiting for Brody to say good-bye and leave as well, but he lingered, and she couldn’t simply shut the door in his face, no matter how much she might want to dash into the house, fling herself on the bed, and bury her face in the pillow.
“Esther…” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Look, I know that was difficult for you—”
“I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice belied her words.
“I don’t think you are.”
She lifted her chin, turned to look him square in the eye. “I don’t believe you’re in a position to form an opinion one way or the other, Dr. McCullough.” She hadn’t ruled Sweetgum society for almost three decades for nothing. “Although, of course, I appreciate your concern.”
“I think I should take you out to dinner.”
Esther shook her head, mostly to disguise the way his statement made her knees shake in a similar manner. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not talking about being hungry.”
She arched one eyebrow, giving him her haughtiest look. Oh? “Then what are you talking about, doctor?”
“Common decency Concern. Being a friend.”
“A friend?” He was her vet, for crying out loud. “I wasn’t aware we had anything more than a professional relationship.”
He shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. “Esther Jackson, you are one tough nut to crack.”
“How flattering.”
But he refused to be chilled by her manner, to be frozen out. “You can’t fool me though. That’s the thing. I know your secret.”
“My secret?” Everything within her froze. Which one? She had a number to choose from.
“I’ve seen you with Ranger. You’re not the ice queen you want people to think.”
The words ice queen hit her hard. She was composed and in control, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have feelings, didn’t experience pain or feel happiness as deeply as anyone else.
“What people think of me is out of my control.”
“Not entirely.” He took a step closer, and for a moment she feared he would reach out and touch her. Feared it and wished for it, all at the same time. “You’re a lot like your house.”
Her head snapped up. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful. Polished. Decorated like you were getting ready for a photographer from Southern Living. But it’s all window dressing.”
“Window dressing?” Hurt pinged through her chest. “Are you saying I’m a phony?”
He shook his head. “No, no. What I’m saying is that the house is a facade. It’s everything you would expect it to be, but there’s no warmth here. No passion.”
Anger blossomed in her stomach and rose upward. “You have no right—”
“There it is. The passion. It’s behind all the window dressing. Just like what you’ve created out there.” He motioned toward the back of the house. “That view from the veranda—the yard, the garden—that’s where the life is. Every part of it is a testimony to your touch. I can tell just by looking at it. Not like the house. You hired a decorator for that, didn’t you?”
How could he know that? How could he see into her soul when he barely knew her?
“I have no idea what you—”
“Have dinner with me,” he said again. “Please.”
Their gazes met, locked. Esther had never felt like this in her life. No one