This Time(29)

Belle chewed her last bite of steak and waved her fork at him. Swallowing, she said, "You've done enough for us, Burke. Thanks."

He focused on his food, hiding his desire to spend his days at the Bar J, near her. "Offer stands."

"I guess we could use an extra pair of hands while planting the new fence--"

"I can bring my own tools."

Belle laughed. "Tools I got. I need strong backs and a willingness to work."

"Got both," he said with a chuckle.

"All right, but only if you let me pay you."

"No," he protested. "Belle, please, I don't need the money."

She bristled slightly. "We don't need free labor."

Burke sat back in his chair and rested his hand on his leg. "I didn't mean to imply--"

She interrupted him. "I know, I know. I'm sorry."

"So, you'll let me work?"

Belle stared at him for a long, silent moment.

Lord, how can I lay down my life for my friend if she constantly resists me?

After a moment, he caught the mischievous glint in her eyes. She said, "I'm not too proud to turn down solid, but cheap labor. You got a deal."

Burke's laugh rang across the kitchen. "Deal."

After dinner, they piled the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, and he started a batch of homemade ice cream, a Benning special recipe. Belle sat on a stool at the counter and watched, carrying on the conversation from dinner.

"Did you hear Meg is going to have another baby?"

He looked up from where he poured salt into the ice cream maker. "How many does this make?" He flipped the switch and the machine hummed.

"Their third."

He moved to the sink and filled it with hot, sudsy water, then reached for the pots. "Good for them."

Echoes of old, long ago conversations whispered across his mind. Hours upon hour they used to talk, sharing their dreams and hopes, fears and disappointments. One deep philosophical conversation kept them up until the wee hours of the morning.

"Remember the time we stayed up all night talking?" he suddenly asked.

"How could I forget?"

"Your dad came down to start breakfast, and there we sat in the den, fire crackling in the fireplace--"

She laughed. "What a raucous we caused. I nearly died when Dad grounded me for two weeks."

Burke rinsed the last pot and emptied the sink. "I didn't even know we talked all night," he said, leaning against the counter, wiping his hands. "I never liked saying good-bye to you."

She slid off the stool and walked toward the family room. "But you did say it and in the worst way."

He sighed, flipping the dishtowel over the sink to dry, seeing again the long shadow he'd cast over their lives.

"Candles?" Belle called from the other room.

"Believe it or not, I like them. They're romantic."

"Slap me silly, but Burke Benning is into romance."

"Give me a break, Belle." He flipped off the kitchen light and joined her in the family room, settling on the couch, stretching his long legs over the coffee table. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her, curled up in his grandfather's old chair, the candlelight casting warm hues on the delicate curves of her cheeks and chin.

"Sure, like the one you gave me," she bantered, her green eyes snapping.

The shadow again, he thought, cushioning his head with a throw pillow, shifting his stare to the open beam ceiling. "If I'd have known then what I know now."

"What do you know now?" she asked.

He moved to the edge of the sofa, unable to imagine anyone lovelier than Belle. How foolish he'd been, utterly foolish. "I know that you are an incredible woman. Warm, intelligent, funny. Beautiful."

She shifted in her seat, appearing uncomfortable. "Please," she said, chuckling nervously. "Now, Grace Peterson is beautiful."

"Grace is very gorgeous lady," he admitted. "But she can't rope a cow."

Belle laughed outright. "With her looks and talent, who cares?"

Me, Burke wanted to say, but thought better of it. This evening was not about Grace. It was about them, it was about continuing the healing and restoring a friendship.

"Want to know what else I've learned?"

"What else have you learned?" she asked.

"To never give into my doubts and fears."

"Perhaps the best lesson of all, then."

Silence drifted between them, a peaceful silence, like the kind that comes after a storm.

"Remember Tyler McDermott's thirteenth birthday party?" This time Belle started the reminiscing.

Burke flopped against the overstuffed cushions of the sofa, draping his arm over his forehead. "I held your hand for the first time during the couples' skate."

Belle laughed heartily. "Your hand perspired so bad you couldn't hold on to me."

"Nerves. Pure nerves."

Still laughing, she asked. "Nerves? It was just me."

"Just you," he echoed, tossing his hands in the air, searching for the right words, lifting his head slightly to look at her. "Until then, you were Belle Jamison, my best friend who had the misfortune of being a girl."