Holding the Dream Page 0,131

left in her life. Years. And she was not going to stand here and cry over some old coin and a misty legend.

This was reality. She blinked back tears. Her reality, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

She found the key, replaced the coin in her pocket. But it was harder than she'd imagined to use the key, knowing it would be the last time.

It was just a house, she thought. There was no reason for her to love it, no reason to feel this aching sense of welcome when she opened the door. There was no reason at all for her to walk to the glass doors and want to weep because the pups were napping in the sunshine.

And geraniums were blooming in gray stone pots. Wind chimes of copper and brass sang in the breeze from the sea. Shells that she had gathered with Byron from the beach were arranged in a wide-mouthed glass bowl on the redwood table.

It was so perfect, she realized, so simply perfect. That was why she wanted to weep.

When the dogs' heads popped up in unison, and they scrambled up to bark and race, she realized she hadn't heard the car. But they had. They reacted just that way whenever they recognized the sound of Byron's return home.

Jolted with panic, she turned around and faced the door as he came in.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't realize you'd be home early."

"I don't suppose you did." But he'd known, thanks to Laura's call, that she would be there.

"I came to get my things. I... I thought it best to come by when you were at work. So it would be less awkward."

"It's awkward now." He stepped toward her, eyes narrowed. "You've been crying."

"No, not really. It was..." Her fingers slid into her pocket, touched the coin. "It was something else entirely. And then I guess it was the dogs. They looked so sweet sleeping in the yard." They were at the door now, tails waving furiously. "I'll miss them."

"Sit down."

"No, I really can't. I want to get back to the shop, and... and I do want to apologize, Byron, for shouting at you the way I did. I really am sorry for that, and I'd hate to think we couldn't at least be civil." She closed her eyes on her own absurdity. "This is very awkward."

He wanted to touch her, badly wanted to touch her. But he knew his own limitations. If he so much as brushed his hand over that short cap of hair, he would want to touch more, have to touch more until he was holding her against him and begging

"Then let's try being civil. If you won't sit, we'll stand. There are a few things I'd like to say." He watched her open her eyes, saw the wariness in them. What the hell did she see when she looked at him? he wondered. Why couldn't he tell?

"I'm going to apologize as well. I handled things badly last night. And at the risk of getting kicked in the teeth again, I admit that you weren't that far off the mark in some of your, let's call them... observations about my character."

He walked to the doors, jingling the change in his pocket. The dogs, still hopeful, sat sentry on the other side of the glass. "I do plan things out. We have that in common. I admit I eased you into living here. It seemed to me that it would help both of us get used to it. Because I wanted you here."

When he turned back to her, she struggled for a reply, but found none.

"I wanted to take care of you. You see vulnerability as a weakness. I see it as a soft, appealing side of a strong, intelligent, and resilient woman. It's in my nature to protect, to fix - or at least try to fix - what's wrong. I can't change that for you."

"I don't want you to change, Byron. But I can't change either. I'm always going to resist being guided along, however well intentioned it might be."

"And when I see someone I love stressed out to the point of illness, taken advantage of, hurt, I'm going to do whatever it takes to turn it around. And when I want something, when I know it's right, I'm going to work toward making it happen. I love you, Kate."

Her heart swam into her eyes, filled them. "I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what