Preston's Honor(63)

With a head full of whirling thoughts and a heart full of tangled emotions, I left Lia with Hudson and four older women who were all standing around her now. They’d initially given her barely disguised disdainful glances, but it was difficult to maintain negative emotions in the presence of Hudson’s sweetness. And Lia was obviously here by my invitation—me bringing the baby to her had to have made that very clear. They were now all vying for Hudson’s affection by leaning close and cooing at him.

More people arrived, and I got caught up in the duties of the party—taking pictures, cutting the cake that got thrust in front of me, a knife put in my hand as Hudson was plunked into his highchair. I looked for Lia and saw her sitting with her mother again but the look on her face was happy, and she was chatting to a woman next to them.

To everyone’s delight, Hudson smashed cake in his face, his hair, and all over his outfit. I couldn’t help laughing, too, but when my mother picked Hudson up and took him inside to clean him up, holding him away from her so he didn’t get blue frosting all over her, I stood up to go to Lia who was still sitting at the same table. “Will you walk with me?”

She looked up, seemingly surprised and a little nervous, and glanced at her mother who was still sitting quietly where she’d been, sipping a glass of iced tea and eating a slice of cake. She leaned close and said something to her mother, and she nodded and went back to her cake.

“Will Hudson be okay?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder.

“He’ll be fine for fifteen minutes. He has plenty of ladies to fawn all over him.”

We walked along the fence that separated our property from the one next to it and stopped when we got to the large tree she used to sit under when she was a little girl.

She leaned back against the fence, staring out at the rows of farmland. For a moment I stood looking at her, feeling like a boy again, a boy whose heart lurched wildly with joy to see Annalia waiting for him. Only . . . this time she’d run from me. First in her mind, and then in her car. She was back, but she still felt distant as if I’d have to run after her and bring her back. I wasn’t sure how to go about doing that when the chasing was figurative.

Open up. Talk to her. “There’s nothing romantic between Tracie and me. We went to dinner last night—that was all,” I said in a rush of words.

Lia turned to stare at me, her eyes wide with surprise. She was quiet for several beats as she tilted her head and studied my face. “Did you . . . want there to be?”

I thought about that for a moment, really thought about it, knowing I owed her the truth. “No.” I just hadn’t wanted to hurt so much over Lia. But maybe that’s what I needed—to hurt, to regret, to finally feel something—anything—after nearly two years of being the mere shell of a person.

Her gaze continued to move over my features for a moment as if she was trying to determine if I was being completely honest. Finally, she nodded, seeming satisfied with whatever she’d seen.

She looked back to the farmland, and I took in the classic beauty of her profile for a moment before I followed her gaze. “I used to stand here when I was a little girl and wish so hard that I had a home like this. I thought it was the biggest, most beautiful place on earth.” She smiled, but even in profile, I could see that deep sadness dominated her expression. She turned her head to look at me again. “But then I did come to call this place my home, and it felt just as small as any other shack or apartment I’d ever lived in.”

I let out a long breath, understanding that she was talking about the heart of the home, not the actual size. “I know, Lia. It felt that way to me, too.”

She gazed at me thoughtfully for a moment and then looked away.

“What did you do? At your aunt’s? What was it like?”

She leaned her hip on the fence and a ray of sunlight hit her face, making her eyes appear translucent. Her lashes fluttered, long and dark and lush, and her lips tipped up slightly. Ah God. She was so beautiful. She always had been. I was a simple man, a farmer who wasn’t drawn to riches or finery. Except when it came to the bounty of Annalia’s loveliness, a woman who offered all the treasures I’d ever seek in her fine boned features, her full pink lips, her rich velvety skin, and those jewel-like eyes.

It wasn’t only her beauty that called to me, though. I wanted to know her. I wanted her to let me into those secret places inside of her.

“It was strange at first,” she began, answering the question I’d asked about her aunt and bringing me back to the moment. “She’d written to my mother the year before and I’d found the letter and a few more she’d written over the years. Until then I hadn’t even known I had any family at all, much less here in the U.S.

“When I showed up at her door I had the letters with me. She seemed happy to have me there and encouraged me to stay.

“She and her husband own a small pottery shop and I worked there to earn my keep. It felt good to be among family but . . . they were also strangers and I . . . I spent a lot of time alone.”

She frowned slightly. Had she felt like she hadn’t completely belonged there? The thought clawed at me from the inside because although I hadn’t set out to do it, I had probably made her feel as if she didn’t belong with me either. “She never asked me to talk much about myself, although maybe she sensed I wasn’t in a place to do so. She liked reminiscing about the past, though, and what my mama was like as a girl. My aunt is a nice but very reserved person,” she went on, snapping me back to our conversation. “I see where my mother gets it from.” She let out a small laugh that didn’t hold much humor.