one?” He didn’t turn; he didn’t need to.
“A hunch.” I slid off the stool and went to the refrigerator and pulled out a long-necked Budweiser. “Which was it?”
“That’s private.”
“Yes,” I agreed affably. “Just like my affairs.”
That brought him around. His face was very still a long moment, almost too still, and then it softened. Just a little. “Touche, ”he said quietly. “Well then, how about one of those for me?”
I twisted the top off and handed him the bottle. I took one for myself as well, forgoing a glass; when in Rome, as they say. I climbed back up on my stool, watched him fry the steak, and sipped at my beer.
“Which was it?” I repeated.
“You don’t get anything for free,” he said over the sizzle of the steak. “An even trade.”
I stared at his back. He still wore the hat, even inside the kitchen; I wondered if he slept in it. And then I lifted my brows in minor astonishment. What was I doing wondering how he slept?
Harper turned around. “I was married, once,” he said. “How about you?”
“I thought you said Cass told you about me.”
“Cass doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.” The words were mean, but the tone was gentle. Brotherly. And yet I knew that wasn’t how she viewed him. I’d seen that easily enough when we’d met Harper on the drive in.
“I wasn’t married.
“Spoken for?”
I smiled a little. “You might say that. We didn’t really live together—our jobs kept us on different coasts too often for that—but it was close enough.” I gestured with my bottle. “I prefer it resembling meat instead of old boot leather, please.” He turned down the heat obligingly. “What broke you up?” I felt the tingling in every inch of my skin. Suddenly the kitchen felt cold, except it was me, not the room. I stared at him blankly. “Who said we broke up?”
He shrugged. “Isn’t that why you came?”
I laughed once. There was no humor in it, it was just a blurt of sound. “You thought I came here because of the end of an affair?”
His mouth twisted beneath the moustache. “It’s been done before. Smoketree’s a nice place to escape to, if you feel the need to escape. Some do.” His eyes were steady on my face. “I’ve seen it before,” he told me gently. “Women and men. They come here to pick up the pieces, some of them; others come for the relaxation. I know which you came for. It’s easy enough to see. But not why.”
“Then Cass didn’t tell you much at all.” I stared at the beer bottle in my hands. “Well, you have some of it right. I did come to escape. Picking up those pieces.” I shook my head. “I suppose I’m no different than anyone else.”
He pulled the steak from the pan and put it on a plate. That he set down next to me on the breakfast bar, along with knife and fork.
“Don’t underestimate me,” he said obscurely. “But don’t underestimate yourself, either.”
I looked at him. His face was solemn beneath the hat. After a moment I lifted the bottle. “To your health.”
He smiled. “And yours.”
He drank while I ate. And all the time he watched me.
At three in the morning I found myself staring at my travel clock in bleary-eyed confusion. Then I realized what had awakened me. Barking dogs.
I lay there and wondered how long the noise would continue before someone saw to quieting them. I had slept heavily after the meal, too heavily; now I felt disoriented and too tired to move. But the barking continued and finally I sat up, shoving the heels of my hands across burning eyes.
I heard the shouting then. That got me out of bed instantly and I went at once to the window, drawing back the curtains to peer out into the darkness. And then I realized the darkness was lighted by the gush of flames from the barn.
I dragged on my heavy terrycloth robe, crunched my feet into my slippers and went out the door without even bothering to close it. All I could think about were the horses.
Lenore caught me before I had gone halfway. John Oliver brushed by us both, muttering something about lending what help he could. Lenore’s hand was on my arm as if to draw me back.
“John will do what he can,” she told me confidently.
“So can we.” I went on, paying no attention to her complaints that a burning barn was no