out there. This makes three now that will burn away their sins and I have not a doubt there will be more.” Thomas took his eyes from hers and peered into the woods. “Their supernatural powers have kept them hidden. My father will find them out though.”
Isabella bit down on her trembling lip. Surely, Mrs. Worth be a mistake .
Determined not to waste their time together, she took a deep breath, stepped around Thomas, and leaned against the barn wall. “My father was in town today. Is that why you think he may know of Mrs. Worth?”
“I saw him. You did not think I forgot, did you?” Thomas leaned against the wall next to her. “‘Tis the only reason I allowed myself to come tonight. I wanted to wish you well on your birthday.”
If it were not for the darkness of the night, Thomas would see Isabella’s flaming cheeks. She bit down on them, though a smile lit her face anyway. “Thank you.”
“I happened to see your father carrying a rather nice gift. I asked him if he needed help, but he declined. I was hoping he would agree so that I might have seen you.”
Isabella’s cheeks grew a touch hotter. “I would have liked that.”
His hand slowly reached for hers and she met him in the middle, palm pressing against palm. He brought her hand up by the fingers and placed a soft kiss there. “I have one request before I take my leave. Would you be so kind as to grace me with a letter written on your new desk?”
Her lips would not move. His face held all the emotion, all the devotion she had within, though she could not bring herself to voice her attachment. She turned her head to the ground and squeezed his hand.
He pressed hers in response. “I must leave.” His look mirrored the loss she felt. “Farewell, dear Isabella.”
“Farewell,” Isabella choked out.
And he was gone.
She wondered if his cheeks burned like hers, if his hand tingled at the spot where he kissed her, and if his heart thudded in his chest.
It felt like a dream, a joyous dream. Only a whisper of his retreating step on the grass proved he was ever there at all.
She crept back to the house. Thomas filled her thoughts, like always. She reached her bedroom and pulled her nightclothes on, already half dreaming as she slipped into bed.
CHAPTER THREE
Sarah
“It’s 9:30!” I screamed into the lacy pillow.
A roaring lawn mower had been driving me crazy for over half an hour. The constant noise made it sound as if the grass had been cut directly underneath my window a gazillion times.
A picture popped into my mind of Rose in a bathrobe and curlers driving a huge beast of a lawn mower, commanding and taming the machine like she had with my mother last night. I jumped up, threw the covers off, and ran to the window to see, already smiling in anticipation.
It wasn’t Rose. Nope. For sure not Rose.
“Holy…mm mmm.” I stretched my neck out to see better and bumped my head on the windowpane. “Ouch.”
I rubbed at the blossoming sting and then placed my palms on the warm glass. The real life picture also made me smile. A guy, about my age, tanned to a deep bronze, pushed a mower around a beautiful backyard garden with rows and rows of red roses.
He wiped his face using a shirt that was slung over his shoulder. He smiled into the distance and I followed his gaze. My aunt had just come around the side of the house. She pointed at the row next to him. He nodded, his sun-tinted golden brown hair falling into his face like some sort of Roman god.
I tore my gaze from him and watched as Aunt Rose pruned a single red rose from one of the many bushes. She looked less severe this morning. Dark gray curls, with slivers of white mixed in, framed her face. She wore a typical outfit I’d seen on plenty of late night TV Land reruns. A belt cinched together a pair of long blue shorts that hit the knees and a sleeveless white top. The usual mom wear, for TV anyway. Definitely not my mom. If Cici wasn’t
Isabella bit down on her trembling lip. Surely, Mrs. Worth be a mistake .
Determined not to waste their time together, she took a deep breath, stepped around Thomas, and leaned against the barn wall. “My father was in town today. Is that why you think he may know of Mrs. Worth?”
“I saw him. You did not think I forgot, did you?” Thomas leaned against the wall next to her. “‘Tis the only reason I allowed myself to come tonight. I wanted to wish you well on your birthday.”
If it were not for the darkness of the night, Thomas would see Isabella’s flaming cheeks. She bit down on them, though a smile lit her face anyway. “Thank you.”
“I happened to see your father carrying a rather nice gift. I asked him if he needed help, but he declined. I was hoping he would agree so that I might have seen you.”
Isabella’s cheeks grew a touch hotter. “I would have liked that.”
His hand slowly reached for hers and she met him in the middle, palm pressing against palm. He brought her hand up by the fingers and placed a soft kiss there. “I have one request before I take my leave. Would you be so kind as to grace me with a letter written on your new desk?”
Her lips would not move. His face held all the emotion, all the devotion she had within, though she could not bring herself to voice her attachment. She turned her head to the ground and squeezed his hand.
He pressed hers in response. “I must leave.” His look mirrored the loss she felt. “Farewell, dear Isabella.”
“Farewell,” Isabella choked out.
And he was gone.
She wondered if his cheeks burned like hers, if his hand tingled at the spot where he kissed her, and if his heart thudded in his chest.
It felt like a dream, a joyous dream. Only a whisper of his retreating step on the grass proved he was ever there at all.
She crept back to the house. Thomas filled her thoughts, like always. She reached her bedroom and pulled her nightclothes on, already half dreaming as she slipped into bed.
CHAPTER THREE
Sarah
“It’s 9:30!” I screamed into the lacy pillow.
A roaring lawn mower had been driving me crazy for over half an hour. The constant noise made it sound as if the grass had been cut directly underneath my window a gazillion times.
A picture popped into my mind of Rose in a bathrobe and curlers driving a huge beast of a lawn mower, commanding and taming the machine like she had with my mother last night. I jumped up, threw the covers off, and ran to the window to see, already smiling in anticipation.
It wasn’t Rose. Nope. For sure not Rose.
“Holy…mm mmm.” I stretched my neck out to see better and bumped my head on the windowpane. “Ouch.”
I rubbed at the blossoming sting and then placed my palms on the warm glass. The real life picture also made me smile. A guy, about my age, tanned to a deep bronze, pushed a mower around a beautiful backyard garden with rows and rows of red roses.
He wiped his face using a shirt that was slung over his shoulder. He smiled into the distance and I followed his gaze. My aunt had just come around the side of the house. She pointed at the row next to him. He nodded, his sun-tinted golden brown hair falling into his face like some sort of Roman god.
I tore my gaze from him and watched as Aunt Rose pruned a single red rose from one of the many bushes. She looked less severe this morning. Dark gray curls, with slivers of white mixed in, framed her face. She wore a typical outfit I’d seen on plenty of late night TV Land reruns. A belt cinched together a pair of long blue shorts that hit the knees and a sleeveless white top. The usual mom wear, for TV anyway. Definitely not my mom. If Cici wasn’t
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