before. I want to know the rest. I want the whole truth. I want to know what you saw. I want to know why you were there. Why, if you were following them, your car crashed at all. I want to know all of it.”
“Angel—”
But he was on a roll, and he let her go as he looked around the kitchen and into the living room beyond, the mess of the place giving him an idea. “How long do you think it will take to clear out this house? Top to bottom? Drawers, closets, attic, barn, all of it?”
“I don’t know. Five days maybe?”
“Can you get the power and water turned on today?” he asked, looking back at her.
“I should be able to,” she said, nodding.
“Then let’s do it. I’ll stay here instead of at the hotel on the interstate. We’ll clean it out. We’ll hash it out.” He paused. Maybe giving her an inch would help get him his mile. “I’m sure there are more than a few things you want to know from me.”
She swallowed, then said, “There are, but I don’t think this is the best way—”
He couldn’t think of a better one. The two of them. This house. Their past. “Yes or no, Luna? Yes or no?”
CHAPTER THREE
I f Luna had had the faintest clue Angelo would be at the house today, she wouldn’t have come. Or maybe she would have; she’d never been given the option, so how could she know? And why—oh why, oh why, oh why—had seeing him again had to happen like this, when he was unexpected, and she was ill-prepared, and the past remained suspended between them, sharp-edged and unapproachable? But that question could wait. Others, not so much.
What was he doing in Hope Springs?
Why hadn’t she asked?
How had he known she’d bought the house?
Where was her brain, saying yes instead of no?
He wanted five days of her time. Five days she’d never thought she’d have with him. Five days during which she’d have to watch every word she said, because along with her time, he wanted answers. Would the risk of his finding out about the accident weekend be worth learning how and why things between them had gone wrong? Apparently, some part of her thought so. She just wasn’t sure it was the part she should be listening to.
That was the thing about having been confined to bed after the accident. Luna had learned so much as a fly on the wall,listening to her parents’ friends talk—about Oscar Gatlin’s condition, about how long it would take her own injuries to heal, how like this person’s brother or that person’s wife she might always walk with a limp. She was eighteen years old. The thought of being in physical pain for the next sixty or more had been another turn of the screw. Her body hurt, her soul ached. She missed Sierra desperately.
But the most unsettling talk she’d heard was that of the Caffey parents falling apart, leaving their four children still at home struggling. Leaving Angelo, who’d returned to Cornell after Sierra’s funeral, to act as head of household, though he’d been but twenty, a college sophomore, and half a continent away. Yet not once during the next two years had he let on how bad things were.
It wasn’t until the day his family moved that she found out. How his father’s furniture orders had been canceled when his grief got in the way of his work. How the stitches in his mother’s quilts had grown uneven; then the quilts themselves were left unfinished. With his parents’ savings depleted, bills went unpaid and the collection calls started. The house went without a new roof, the car without new tires. The yard went to seed. Why his parents thought Angelo was equipped to handle all of that when his money was earmarked for school and living, his time for studies and work…
For so long, Mike Caffey had been a local institution, building furniture in Hope Springs longer than Luna had been alive. The coffee table in her parents’ living room was Mike’s, as were the matching lamp tables. Even the shelving unit still in Luna’s bedroom had come from
“Angel—”
But he was on a roll, and he let her go as he looked around the kitchen and into the living room beyond, the mess of the place giving him an idea. “How long do you think it will take to clear out this house? Top to bottom? Drawers, closets, attic, barn, all of it?”
“I don’t know. Five days maybe?”
“Can you get the power and water turned on today?” he asked, looking back at her.
“I should be able to,” she said, nodding.
“Then let’s do it. I’ll stay here instead of at the hotel on the interstate. We’ll clean it out. We’ll hash it out.” He paused. Maybe giving her an inch would help get him his mile. “I’m sure there are more than a few things you want to know from me.”
She swallowed, then said, “There are, but I don’t think this is the best way—”
He couldn’t think of a better one. The two of them. This house. Their past. “Yes or no, Luna? Yes or no?”
CHAPTER THREE
I f Luna had had the faintest clue Angelo would be at the house today, she wouldn’t have come. Or maybe she would have; she’d never been given the option, so how could she know? And why—oh why, oh why, oh why—had seeing him again had to happen like this, when he was unexpected, and she was ill-prepared, and the past remained suspended between them, sharp-edged and unapproachable? But that question could wait. Others, not so much.
What was he doing in Hope Springs?
Why hadn’t she asked?
How had he known she’d bought the house?
Where was her brain, saying yes instead of no?
He wanted five days of her time. Five days she’d never thought she’d have with him. Five days during which she’d have to watch every word she said, because along with her time, he wanted answers. Would the risk of his finding out about the accident weekend be worth learning how and why things between them had gone wrong? Apparently, some part of her thought so. She just wasn’t sure it was the part she should be listening to.
That was the thing about having been confined to bed after the accident. Luna had learned so much as a fly on the wall,listening to her parents’ friends talk—about Oscar Gatlin’s condition, about how long it would take her own injuries to heal, how like this person’s brother or that person’s wife she might always walk with a limp. She was eighteen years old. The thought of being in physical pain for the next sixty or more had been another turn of the screw. Her body hurt, her soul ached. She missed Sierra desperately.
But the most unsettling talk she’d heard was that of the Caffey parents falling apart, leaving their four children still at home struggling. Leaving Angelo, who’d returned to Cornell after Sierra’s funeral, to act as head of household, though he’d been but twenty, a college sophomore, and half a continent away. Yet not once during the next two years had he let on how bad things were.
It wasn’t until the day his family moved that she found out. How his father’s furniture orders had been canceled when his grief got in the way of his work. How the stitches in his mother’s quilts had grown uneven; then the quilts themselves were left unfinished. With his parents’ savings depleted, bills went unpaid and the collection calls started. The house went without a new roof, the car without new tires. The yard went to seed. Why his parents thought Angelo was equipped to handle all of that when his money was earmarked for school and living, his time for studies and work…
For so long, Mike Caffey had been a local institution, building furniture in Hope Springs longer than Luna had been alive. The coffee table in her parents’ living room was Mike’s, as were the matching lamp tables. Even the shelving unit still in Luna’s bedroom had come from
Similar Books
The Cowboy's Secret Baby: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance
Monica Castle
William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise
Anne Perry
Slow Hand
Bonnie Edwards
Robin Cook
Mindbend
Clash of Iron
Angus Watson
Vanished
Kathryn Mackel
Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2)
Isabell Lawless
Shopaholic & Sister
Sophie Kinsella