to consider the beans that carpeted the floor, Len’s shoulder brushed hers. He didn’t move away. Tired, she thought. “Look at that,” he said, his voice rich with content. “Not bad.”
“Not bad, nothing,” she said, flushed with accomplishment and the feel of him close. “We did it.”
Len turned toward her and an amused smile tilted the corners of his mouth. He reached forward and brushed away a scrap of bean pod she had stuck above her eyebrow. “There,” he said. “You couldn’t go out in public like that.” But he held her gaze, and Willow saw something unexpected enter his eyes as he smoothed her hair behind her ear and let the palm of his hand glide down her cheek.
Oh, she thought. There was a pang—a pain, almost—of clarity, a sharp note rising through a pool of warm water.
Willow reached up and laid her own hand over his. With the lightest pressure she guided its path over the planes of her face. When his fingers grazed her lips she let them fall open. The rough tip of his first finger fell between her teeth, and her tongue rose to cradle its callused pad. She felt the shock of it surge through them both.
If they didn’t look at each other, Willow thought, it was possible they were imagining this. Imagining that she slid from the bench to kneel on the floor. That when she faced away from him and stretched forward on her knees like a cat to scoop the beans toward her, stretched and scooped, that’s all it was, gathering the shelled beans into a pile before her. That when he dropped to his knees behind her, leaned over her to stretch, to scoop, one arm supporting himself and the other snug around her belly, her ass drawn hard to his hips and his hand reaching toward the warm center of herself, he was helping her collect them, mound them into a hill beneath her.
Willow rolled to face him.
Len looked terrified. She wondered if she looked that way, too. Her legs in the soft wool trousers lay gripped between his. Len’s chest was bare and he was trembling. Willow laid her spread hand against his breastbone and felt his breath swell against it. Slowly she ran her fingers down his chest. When the bottom of her hand rested on the waistband of his jeans, Willow curled her fingers against the tight muscles of his belly.
The muscles pulsed and he drew a sharp breath and tore his gaze from hers.
Willow placed both hands on the knobby bones of Len’s hips and drew him toward her as she lay back into the beans. The pile rustled and gave as they surrendered their weight to it. So they were going into this, Willow thought. They were crossing the line they had stumbled close to and withdrawn from a hundred times since Willow first arrived at Bow Farm. Willow felt Len press against her and wanted him then with something close to fury. She did not give a damn about any line. She reached down for his belt buckle, slid the leather from the keeper. Her fingers fought the button of his jeans as her hips arched hard toward his.
A sound outside startled them.
Len’s head jerked forward. They heard the rapid slap of footfalls approaching.
Len leapt from her, banging his elbow hard against the wringer-washer. Willow felt her body shudder at his sudden absence. She scrambled awkwardly from the floor, her face hot, and reached for her shirt. Len grabbed his own, thrust his arms into the sleeves, and threw open the door.
The late-afternoon sun flooded in. “Len!” Wrecker said. He pulled up short and looked at the man.
“What is it, son?” Len said. His voice shook.
The boy sounded casual. Meg’s foot was stuck, he said. He couldn’t get her loose. He glanced back and forth between them when Willow appeared at the door.
Len stepped down and put a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. “Let’s go see about that,” he said, and the two of them walked together. Willow waited long enough to catch her breath, waited for the heat to recede from her face, and followed behind.
Meg wasn’t far. She lay on the ground amid blackberry brambles and made small whimpering noises. Willow felt her heart sink. Somehow Meg had crossed into middle age while they’d had their backs turned. Her cardigan was twisted and her dress had a tear Willow knew she would offer to mend. On her feet were sturdy brogans that