Only in My Arms Read Free Page A

head.
    "You're welcome to come to breakfast at the house. If you're hungry, that is."
    He was. The train from West Point had deposited him in Baileyboro long before any boarding house was serving a meal. He'd chosen to walk the five miles to the Granville mansion rather than cool his heels at the station. Now, not only was he hungry, it seemed he hadn't walked far enough. "No, thank you," he said. "I think I'll go straight to Walker's."
    She could have said, "Suit yourself." God knew as well as she did that it was what she wanted to say. Mary didn't, however, believing she might as well behave with charity in her heart right now rather than confess a lack of it later. "Walker and Skye have returned to China," she said. "They left soon after Maggie's graduation. There's no one at the mansion except the groundskeeper and his wife." She took the path that led into the forest and then to the summerhouse, leaving it to Walker's friend to follow her or not.
    He drew abreast of her more quickly than she would have thought possible. His passage was both swift and silent. She made no comment about his decision to join her. The fingers of her right hand ran absently along the length of her rosary.
    "My name's McKay," he said. "Ryder McKay."
    Mary acknowledged the introduction with a brief nod. "I don't recall Walker mentioning you, but then I haven't spent much time with him. It's unfortunate he's not here to greet you."
    "I doubt he'll think so," Ryder said. "He wanted to return to China."
    "My sister was excited as well. Skye imagines herself to be some sort of adventuress."
    "Then she married the right man."
    Mary glanced at him sideways. "Yes," she said quietly. "I think she did." They walked along in silence, their path shaded by the sweeping boughs of pine and oak and hickory. When it rose more steeply, she raised her gown and revealed she was still barefooted. She had no difficulty crossing the uneven ground. "What led you to the pool?" she asked as they came over the rise. The summerhouse was in front of them now, a hundred yards distant across an open field. Black-eyed Susans, columbine, and daylilies dotted the green. "Why didn't you come to the house if you thought Walker lived there?"
    "It was too early. I looked around, but no one was up. It seemed more polite to wait."
    "But what led you to the pool?"
    "The scent of water."
    "The scent? But—"
    He shrugged, cutting off her question. It wasn't something he could explain and it wasn't something she could understand. She probably wondered why he hadn't gone directly to the river, but that had a different scent than the place she called the pool and he called a watering hole.
    Mary didn't pursue her question. The summer home beckoned her, its newly painted, white wooden frame gleaming in the sunshine. The windows winked at her. At the entrance to the enclosed back porch, she wiped her feet on the hemp mat and then slipped them into a pair of soft black leather slippers. She picked up a pail of raspberries she had picked earlier in the morning. Raising it in front of her, she said, "I was already up when you came by. I just wasn't home."
    "I stand corrected," he said somewhat stiffly.
    She hesitated a beat, fighting the urge to look away. "I'm sorry about what happened at the pool," she said quickly, before the apology stuck in her throat. "I should have told you at the beginning. I knew it would make a difference."
    There was a hint of roughness in his voice and an intensity about his light gray eyes. "Why didn't you?"
    Mary didn't respond. She preceded him into the kitchen, knowing it would take a lot of soul-searching to answer that question honestly.
    The kitchen of the summerhouse was spacious. A large, solid rectangular pine table dominated the center of the room. Kettles and skillets and cooking utensils dangled from iron hooks on a wooden frame that was suspended from the ceiling. One of her sisters—she couldn't say now which one—had christened it the pan