BECAUSE YOU’RE HERE. Nothing could have kept me away.
Those words, like Conner’s kiss, reverberated through her. She rested her cheek against his chest when it was over, sighed softly. His arms were around her, easy and safe.
It came back to her then, some of what Brody had said to her that day, at the bank. Conner cares for you—when he falls for somebody, he falls hard—he’s rock-solid, the original straight shooter, the kind of guy most women think isn’t even out there anymore.
Conner propped his chin on top of her head. “I hear you had a little run-in with my brother this morning,” he said, as if he’d been reading her mind.
She tilted her head back, looked up Conner. “I’m over it,” she said honestly. “Brody loves you. I realized pretty quickly that he was only trying to look out for you.”
Conner chuckled. The sound echoed through Tricia, just as the kiss had, just now. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I figured that out, after I got past the desire to do him bodily harm.”
Tricia laughed, still gazing into that strong, handsome face. Conner was integrity and commitment personified; if the man signed on for something, he was in for the duration.
Tricia’s doubts about a future with Conner Creed had been slipping away all day, the victims of quiet logic, but as she stood there, drinking in the sight and the feel of him, Tricia said goodbye to the last of her hesitancy.
As frightening as it was, she loved Conner. Furthermore, she would always love him. He was literally part of her, and while she would certainly survive without him, possibly even thrive, she’d still be shortchanging herself, settling for less than she might have had. Less than she might have given.
“What do we do now?” she asked him.
But Conner wasn’t taking the long view, as she was. Not yet, anyway.
“Lay a blanket or two on the floor in front of this fireplace and make love like a caveman and his woman in mating season?”
Again, she laughed, a throaty sound, tinged with mischief. “I thought we had a dinner date,” she said. “Not one for hot, wet, unbridled sex.”
He chuckled, held her closer, nibbled at her lips again. The fire burning on that hearth had nothing on the one Conner had ignited inside her. “With any luck,” he murmured, “our dinner date would have evolved into ‘hot, wet, unbridled sex’ anyhow.”
“But we haven’t had dinner,” Tricia stalled, just to prolong the anticipation a little.
Conner was already unbuttoning the practical flannel shirt she’d put on after she returned from the closing, in order to help Carolyn with all the moving-in chores. With the storm getting worse by the moment, she’d written off the date with Conner as a lost cause.
And now here he was. Seducing her. Making her want him—need him. Her heart raced, and her breath grew so short that she was afraid she’d hyperventilate.
He moved the shirt back off her shoulders, weighed her lace-covered breasts gently in his rough, rancher’s hands before deftly popping the front catch of her bra, setting her free. Her nipples hardened instantly, not from the chill, but in response to Conner’s hungry appreciation of her partially unveiled body.
The bra went, too, after that, sailing off into the surrounding darkness.
Tricia turned her head, overwhelmed by this new and deeper vulnerability. She and Conner had made love before, of course, but this was different. As fantastic as the first round of sex had been, she’d been responding physically but struggling the whole time not to respond emotionally. She’d held back some vital part of herself, even at the frenetic height of satisfaction. Now, she was offering him everything—not just her body, but everything.
She was gloriously terrified, like an astronaut about to step out of some craft into deep space, except that, in this instance, she had no special NASA-designed suit to sustain her, no line to tether her to the last vestige of a world she knew and understood.
“Conner,” she whispered, closing her eyes, letting her head fall back as he toyed with her nipples, chafed them with the sides of his thumbs, preparing them, preparing her for incomprehensible pleasure. “Oh, Conner.”
He kissed her again, lightly this time around, the tip of his tongue exploring the corners of her mouth, promising a deeper, wilder conquering, moments from now. Or minutes, or maybe even hours.
“Wh-what about—protection?” she asked.
Conner was unsnapping her jeans, unzipping them, pushing them down, right along with her panties. He dropped to one knee, worked off her shoes and socks, freed her from the last of her clothing.
She stood bare before him. Cavewoman by firelight, she thought fancifully, breathlessly, fully aware of Conner in every part of her.
Aware, too, of the question suspended between them.
“Conner,” she repeated, with the last of her resistance, the last of her strength.
“I brought something,” he said, and then he took her into his mouth and suckled, and she was utterly, completely, deliciously lost.
Long before Conner allowed Tricia to reach that first, desperately needed orgasm, her knees threatened to give out, and he lowered her to the rug, consumed her with his mouth, his hands, his eyes.
At some point, he must have shed his own clothes, though Tricia had been too delirious to notice until he was kneeling astride her, magnificently naked, his erection huge.
She watched, dazed, as he put on a condom and lowered himself to her.
“I love you, Tricia,” he said, and even though both of them were trembling with need by then, his voice was even, his words clear.
Aroused to a state of primitive need, Tricia answered him with all the honesty in her. “I love you, Conner Creed.”
He delved inside Tricia, wringing a shout of hoarse, welcoming joy from her. “Will—you—marry—me?” he gasped, punctuating the sentence with hard, deep strokes.
Tricia, already teetering on the verge, came then, laughing and sobbing and shouting, “Yes!” all at once.
After the lovemaking—long after the lovemaking— Tricia and Conner dined on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, partially dressed and sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, facing each other.
Valentino, hoping for a bite of one of their sandwiches at first, finally settled for a ration of kibble and went back to sleep.
“Some dinner date,” Conner said, his eyes twinkling.
Tricia smiled, raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. She was wearing Conner’s shirt, with only a few strategic buttons fastened. “I’m not complaining,” she said.
He laughed, raised his iced-tea tumbler, a third filled with wine he’d rummaged for upstairs, in the dark, and clinked it against Tricia’s jelly glass. “Me, either,” he replied.
Tricia took a sip of wine, set her glass aside, and gazed sidelong into the fire. “About that marriage proposal—”
Conner stilled. “Second thoughts?” he asked, and while his tone was light, she knew the answer mattered to him.
She met his eyes. “When I said yes, I meant yes,” she said.
He let out his breath. He looked like Example A of the perfect man, sitting there, clad only in his jeans, with the flickering fire giving him a light side and a dark side, like the moon. “Is this going somewhere?” he asked, with no sarcasm at all. He really wanted to know.
Tricia blushed, searching for words. They were about as easy to capture or even herd in one direction as a flock of frightened chickens.
“We were—making love at the time,” she began, feeling her way.
“Yeah,” Conner agreed. “I’d say that’s the understatement of the century, but, yes, we were making love when I asked you to marry me.”
She was too flustered to be diplomatic. “Did you mean it?” she blurted out. “Or was it just—?”
“I never say anything I don’t mean, Tricia,” Conner said, his expression tender and serious now. “I love you. I want to marry you and make babies together and all the rest of it.”
Her heart soared. “Really?”
His mouth crooked up at one corner. “Yeah, really.”
“When?”
Conner chuckled, reached over to give her braid a light tug and then slip it behind her shoulder. “When do we get married, or when do we start making babies?”
She blushed. “Take your pick,” she said, gasping a little when he slid his hand from her hair to the inside of the shirt, cupped it around her breast. The nipple pulsed against his palm.
He eased her down onto her back. “You’re the bride, so you can set the wedding date. Next week, next year—I don’t care, as long as I can do this whenever I want to—”
To demonstrate his point, he laid the shirt open, baring her to the firelight and his gaze and drawing on her with a combination of tenderness and lust that instantly awakened all the previously satisfied forces within her.
At his own leisurely pace, he attended to her other breast. “And this,” he said, kissing his way downward now. “And, of course, this—”
A soft, sweet climax seized Tricia instantly, made her body ripple like a ribbon trailing in the wind. Instead of crying out, she crooned, surrendering to the slow, luxurious pleasure.
She sighed, when it ended, trembled with contentment.
Conner kissed his way back up to her mouth. “Now, the babies,” he began, as if there had been no break in the conversation, no fiercely delicious orgasm to fuse together all the broken places inside Tricia, “might not be as easy to time.”
He was stretched out on top of her now, wanting her.
And she wanted him. Again. Already.
“Why’s that?” she murmured, her hips already beginning to rise and fall of their own accord, seeking him.
He chuckled, the sound a sexy rasp, low in his throat. “Because,” he said, “there was only one condom.”
“Uh-oh,” she purred.
“Yep,” he muttered, kissing the length of her neck.
“You’re sure you only had one?” The question came out on a series of ragged breaths.
“Positive,” he lamented, back at her breast.
She cried out and arched her back. Grasped his face in both her hands and demanded, “Did you mean it when you said you love me, Conner Creed? When you said you want us to have babies together?”
He nodded.
“Then have me,” she whispered.
And he did.
“GOD BLESS THE POWER COMPANY,” Tricia said, hours later, when the electricity set things to clunking and then whirring all around her and Conner. The lights came on in her kitchen, and the furnace roared to life two floors below, in the basement. Exquisite curlicues frosted the glass in her bedroom window.
Warmed by each other, four quilts, two blankets and one dog, Tricia and Conner slowly began to untangle their limbs.
“I think we ought to stay here until the house warms up a little,” Tricia said.
Valentino, curled up at their feet, gave a doggish sigh.
“Or a lot,” Conner agreed. “Is that my leg, or yours?”
Tricia laughed. “If it’s hairy, it’s yours,” she teased.
He put his arms around her, held her close against his chest.
“Now, I know that isn’t my hand,” he said, with a grin in his voice. And the slightest groan of renewed lust.
Valentino yawned broadly, jumped down off the bed, and padded out into the kitchen. Moments later, he was lapping up water from his bowl. Next, he crunched away on his kibbles.
Conner gave a strangled chuckle and groaned again.
“I’ve decided on a wedding date,” Tricia told him.
“I—can’t wait—to hear about it—” Conner choked out, rolling onto his side and then poising himself above her.
“I think we should get married right away,” Tricia said, getting a little breathless now herself, as Conner began to caress her with slow promise. “As soon as we can round up Natty and your family.”
“Umm,” Conner muttered. “You don’t want a regular wedding?”
“Weddings—take too long to—oooooh, Conner—plan. There’s the dress—the cake—the invitations—the—oh, God, do that again—”
He grinned. And did it again.
Valentino came back into the bedroom, collar tags jingling, and made a low, whining sound, almost apologetic.
“He needs to go out,” Conner rasped. “Now. Of all times.” He groaned loudly.
Tricia sighed, resigned to the inconveniences of pet ownership. “Yes,” she said. “Now, of all times.”
Conner rose, grumbling, and scrambled into his jeans. Reclaimed his shirt from the floor, where it had fallen the night before, soon after they came upstairs, and put it on. Looked around for his boots, which were still downstairs.
Tricia started to get up.
“Stay there,” Conner told her. “The dog and I will head downstairs and try to tunnel our way out the back door.”
The room was brutally cold, without Conner to keep her warm. It would be a while for the furnace to overtake the chill. So Tricia huddled inside the bedcovers, with only her head sticking out. Before she could protest that Valentino was her dog and therefore her responsibility, both of them were gone.
Tricia spent a couple of minutes trying to work up her courage to climb out of bed; the least she could do was woman-up and get out there in the kitchen to put the coffee on. Conner, after all, was braving postblizzard conditions; he’d need the hot brew when he came back inside.
The soles of her bare feet nearly stuck to the floor, and goose bumps leaped out on every square inch of her skin.
Teeth clattering together, hugging herself, Tricia hip-hopped to her dresser, snatched a pair of black sweatpants and a blue woolen hoodie from a drawer, and plunged back into bed. She hid there, waiting for the chills to subside, and began squirming into the clothes, still under the covers, when she heard Valentino coming up the inside stairs, with Conner.
She got tangled in the sweatpants and then the sheets, and as she struggled on, she heard a familiar masculine laugh from the doorway.
“No fair starting without me,” Conner said.
Tricia fought her way into her clothes. Her voice muffled by layers of covers, she replied, “This is not funny.”
Again, he laughed. “Of course it is,” he said. “It’s a hoot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a wrestling match going on under those quilts.”
“Just for that,” Tricia said, dressed at last, “you can make your own coffee.”
“Is this what it’s going to be like when we’re married?” Conner teased.
By the time she tossed the blankets back, she was smiling. “Probably,” she said, glancing at the window, which was still opaque with frost. “What’s going on outside? Is it still snowing?”
Valentino squeezed past Conner in the bedroom doorway and shook himself, hard, sending icy moisture flying in every direction.
“No,” Conner said, after a pause to enjoy Tricia’s consternation over the impromptu christening, “but there must be two feet of the stuff on the ground. The sun’s out and the sky is clear and blue enough to break your heart.”
Tricia stroked Valentino’s damp head, looking around for her slippers. Then she remembered—she’d donated them to the rummage sale.
She got out a pair of socks and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull them on.
“I suppose you have to go and feed cattle or something,” she said, because this intimacy—taking the dog out, making coffee—was in some ways more profound than making love. It was a reflex, that attempt to establish a distance between them, however slight.
Conner nodded. “Yep,” he said. “I’m a rancher, Tricia. That’s what we do.”
“What if the roads haven’t been plowed?” she asked reasonably, slipping past him to enter the kitchen.
“That truck will go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll put chains on the back tires and then roll.”
She reached for the coffee carafe, filled it with water at the sink. Through the kitchen window, which hadn’t frosted over, she could see the pristine shimmer of a snow-whitened world. It looked almost magical, but Tricia’s feelings were bittersweet. On the one hand, she was glad the storm was over, at least for now, so people could start digging themselves out and get on with their daily life. But on the other, she didn’t want Conner to leave.
“You could ride along, as far as the ranch house, anyway,” Conner ventured, his voice quiet and a little gruff. “Keep Kim and those little dogs of hers company while Davis and Brody and I go out and check the herd.”
Tricia hesitated long enough to push the button on the coffeemaker. Sighed. “I’d better not,” she said. “Winston— Natty’s cat—is supposed to arrive any day now. I have to be here to take delivery if, by some miracle, the truck gets through.”
Conner approached her, pinned her gently against the counter in front of the coffee machine. “You could call the delivery company to make sure,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re set on putting some space between us.”
Tricia blinked up at him. She was getting aroused again, starting to ache in needy places. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’ve seen my soul and I’ve seen yours,” Conner replied, kissing her forehead. “If you’re like me, you’re happy, but you’re scared, too.” He drew back just far enough to hook a finger under her chin and lift, so that she had to look at him. “We love each other, Tricia,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to find our way forward from there, like everybody else, but we’ll make it. One step at a time, we’ll make it.”
Tricia relaxed, with a soft sigh, and put her arms around Conner, let herself lean into him. Her cheek rested against his heart; she could feel the strong, steady beat of it. “You’re right,” she said, thinking of her parents, and their ill-fated union. “Nobody gets a guarantee, do they?”
He stroked her hair, coming loose from its usually tidy braid. “Nobody gets a guarantee,” he agreed. “But we can stack the odds in our favor, Tricia.”
“How?” she asked, thinking that if she loved this man any more than she already did, she’d burst from it.
“Davis told me one time that he and Kim have stayed married all these years mainly because neither of them was willing to give up on the other. They scrap once in a while—they’re both strong-minded people—and they’ve had their share of disappointments and setbacks, too, but they don’t quit.”
Tricia nodded, loving the feel of Conner Creed, the scent of him, the warm strength of his arms around her, the pressure of his chest and hips. “Natty adored my great-grandfather, Henry, but according to her, the secret of a good marriage is not expecting to be happy all the time, because no one is. Whenever she and Henry went through tough times, Natty said, they made sure they were on the same side, stood shoulder to shoulder and took on whatever came their way.”
“Natty’s a pioneer,” Conner said, with amused admiration.
Out on the street, a mighty roar sounded, and Valentino tilted his head back and howled once, like his distant ancestor, the gray wolf.
“Snowplow,” Conner told him. “Take a breath.”
Valentino went over to his bed, sighed, and lay down on top of his blue chicken, resigned.
After coffee and a couple of slices of toast, Conner took a quick—and lukewarm—shower, got dressed again and, after giving her a kiss and a promise that he’d be back no matter what, headed for the ranch.
Tricia waited until the water was hot before taking her own shower.
She dressed warmly, in jeans and a bulky blue sweater, found Doris’s Denver number in her address book and dialed. Tricia figured the great-aunt-and-grandmother combo might already have left for New York, where they would board the cruise ship, but it was worth a try.
Doris answered on the other end, greeted Tricia in her fond but businesslike way, and called out, “Natty Jean! It’s for you.”
Tricia smiled to herself as she waited
“Did Winston get there yet?” Doris asked, while both of them waited for Natty to made her way to the phone. “Buddy stopped by and picked him up this morning. He said the highways were clear all the way to Lonesome Bend, thanks to a whole night of plowing.”
“No sign of Winston yet,” Tricia answered, smiling, “but I’ll be sure to call and let you know when he arrives.”
“That’s good,” Doris said. “Natty Jean frets about him, you know.”
“I know,” Tricia said gently. “But Winston will be fine here, with Valentino and Carolyn and me.”
Doris didn’t get a chance to respond; Natty must have wrested the handset from her, because the next voice Tricia heard was her great-grandmother’s.
“Is Winston there, dear?”
The smile was back. “No,” Tricia said, “but I’m expecting him anytime now. Shall I tell him you called?”
Natty laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Right after you call me to say he’s safe and sound.”
Tricia repeated her promise.
“So the old house is still standing, then?” Natty inquired. “Phew! I haven’t seen that much snow fall in one night since the blizzard of 1968. You wouldn’t remember that, of course.”
“The house is as sturdy as ever,” Tricia said. “Will the weather be a problem for you and Doris, cruise-wise, I mean?”
“Heavens, no,” Natty informed her, and her tone made Tricia think of Conner’s words, earlier that morning. Natty’s a pioneer. “The airport is already open again and, anyway, we don’t leave until day after tomorrow.”
“Send me a postcard?”
“Of course, dear,” Natty said. “At least one from every port.”
Tricia’s heart warmed. “There’s something I need to tell you, before you go jetting off to board the QE2, or whatever your ship is called.”
An indrawn breath. “I presume it’s something good?” Natty murmured.
“Very good,” Tricia said, feeling so happy in that moment that her throat thickened and her eyes burned. “You were right, Natty. About Conner being the right man for me, I mean.”
Natty’s voice was fluttery—and loud. “Doris!” she called, making Tricia wince and hold the handset away from her ear for a moment. “Doris! It’s happening—just like I told you it would—” A pause, with Doris muttering unintelligibly in the background. “Well, of course I mean that Conner and Tricia have fallen in love! What else would it be?”
Tricia chuckled. “We’re getting married,” she said.
More delight on Natty’s end, followed by, “Oh, dear, that’s wonderful. When, though? Not before Doris and I get back from our trip, I hope.”
“Not before then,” Tricia promised. “I couldn’t get married without you there, Natty.”
“I should hope not,” Natty said stoutly. Then, brightening, she went on to ask, “Are you planning on living in sin in the meantime, dear?”
“Maybe not living in sin, but it’s safe to say there might be some dabbling.”
This time, it was Natty who laughed. “Henry and I lived in sin for a whole week,” she confided. “Hush, Doris, it’s true and you know it. Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“You and great-grandpa lived in sin?” Tricia couldn’t help being intrigued, though a part of her pleaded silently, Don’t tell me!
“Well,” Natty said, after clearing her throat and lowering her voice to a confidential tone, even though Doris had obviously gotten the gist of the conversation and, thus, the proverbial horse was out of the barn, “we didn’t move in together, like young people do today, but we did run off to get married. We were so busy honeymooning that we forgot all about the wedding, though, and Papa showed up and made a terrible scene before he dragged me back home. Mama was furious, and when Henry came looking for me—he was very brave, my Henry—she met him at the front gate and told him she’d shoot him with an elephant gun if he didn’t make an honest woman out of me. I’ll never forget what he said to her. ‘Eleanor,’ he told Mama, just as bold as you please, ‘I can’t make Natty an honest woman, because she already is one. But I’d be proud to make her my wife.’ Isn’t that what he said, Doris? Don’t deny it, you were hiding behind the lilac bush the whole time, and you heard everything.”
Tricia smiled, imagining the scene. She’d probably never pass through the gate out front again without thinking of her spirited great-grandparents and the romantic scandal they must have created, back in the day.
Some things, she thought happily, never change.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
Tricia carried the phone into her bedroom, which was at the front of the house, and wiped a circle in the thawing frost covering the window. A large brown truck was parked at the curb, undaunted by the high snowbanks.
“I’m pretty sure Winston is here,” Tricia announced.
“Well, then, you go and welcome him, dear. Doris says they have computers on the ship, so I’ll be in touch after we set sail.”
“Natty?” Tricia said, moving through the house, toward the inside staircase. “Yes, dear?”
“I love you.”
Natty gave a pleased little chuckle. “Well, I love you, too, dear. Take good care of Winston.”
“I will,” Tricia promised, disconnecting and laying the handset on the wide windowsill in the entryway so she could open the door.
“Meow,” Winston complained peevishly, from inside his plastic carrier.
The driver, presumably the aforementioned Buddy, wore earmuffs as well as a stocking cap, a heavy scarf and a quilted uniform to match his truck.
“Tricia McCall?” he asked.
“That’s me,” Tricia said.
“Reooooow,” Winston insisted.
Buddy handed Tricia the electronic equivalent of a clipboard, so she could sign for the cat.
“He’s been doing that since we left Denver this morning,” Buddy said. “Miss Natty gave me all his gear, but that’s still in the truck. Maybe you ought to take him inside, though, while I fetch it. I wouldn’t want the noisy little feller to catch a cold or anything.”
“Good idea,” Tricia said. She stepped into the house, set the carrier down on the floor and opened the little gate.
Winston shot through the opening like a furry bullet and made a dash for the stairway.
Valentino gave a brief, happy bark of welcome, already partway down the stairs.
Just as Buddy was handing over the pet-store bags filled with cat toys, a fluffy little bed, a new litter box, a five-pound bag of cat food and three cans of sardines, Carolyn drove up.
She passed the retreating Buddy on the as-yet-un-shoveled walk, high-stepping it toward the porch.
“I see you survived the storm,” Carolyn called, her voice sunny.
Tricia thought of the chain of tumultuous orgasms she’d enjoyed, first on the floor in front of the downstairs fireplace and then upstairs, in her bed. Survived was hardly the word, but for now, she’d keep that to herself.
“Come in,” Tricia said, smiling at her friend. “Before you freeze.”
Winston zoomed past, evidently running off some of his excess energy.
Carolyn laughed and raised one eyebrow in good-natured question.
“That’s Winston,” Tricia explained. “When he calms down, I’ll introduce the two of you. In the meantime, the coffee’s on upstairs, and you look like you could use a cup.”
Carolyn nodded, and the two of them climbed the stairs.
In Tricia’s kitchen, they settled themselves at the table, their steaming cups in front of them. Tricia was bursting with her news, but she wanted to tell Diana first, now that Natty knew.
Carolyn took on a serious expression. “I think you should know about Brody Creed and me,” she said.
Surprised, Tricia studied her. “That’s not necessary,” she said carefully.
“It is for me,” Carolyn said. “I know you and Conner have something going, and he’s Brody’s brother, of course, and—well—it will just be too awkward, keeping secrets.”
“Okay,” Tricia said, drawing out the word, wondering if, as curious as she was, she really wanted to hear this story.
Carolyn took in a long breath and let it out very slowly, in a here-goes kind of way. Her high cheekbones were pink, partly because she’d been out in the cold, certainly, but mostly because she was embarrassed.
“A couple of years ago,” she began, “I was housesitting for Davis and Kim, while they were on the road. One night, Brody showed up—I thought he was Conner, of course, but I realized my mistake as soon as I got a good look at him, standing there under the porch light. I told him the Creeds weren’t home, and he said that was just his luck, or something like that. He looked so tired and discouraged and—well, sort of scruffy—that’s mainly how I knew he wasn’t Conner—he said he’d spend the night in the barn and head out in the morning.” Carolyn stopped, sipped her coffee, swallowed in a way that looked painful. “He didn’t leave in the morning,” she said finally. “And after that first night, he didn’t sleep in the barn, either.”
Tricia waited, knowing there was more.
“I thought—” Carolyn paused again and gave a bitter little laugh, shaking her head, “I thought I meant something to him. We talked about so many things—he told me about growing up as an identical twin, and all about his falling-out with Conner—but there was one thing he left out.”
Again Tricia waited. The moment was too delicate not to.
“He was about to marry another woman—and she was carrying his baby.”
Tricia ached for Carolyn, and for Brody and the unknown woman and the baby. It was a lose-lose situation, all the way around.
“That’s pretty much it,” Carolyn said, her eyes filling.
Tricia reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Let’s have one more cup of coffee,” she said, “before we go downstairs and start taking your things out of boxes and putting them away.”
“I—” Carolyn cleared her throat, blushed harder. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to know—”
“Don’t worry,” Tricia replied. “As my dad used to say, mum’s the word.”
Carolyn laughed, wiping away tears at the same time. “Mine used to say that, too,” she said. Tricia smiled.
Winston jumped unceremoniously into Carolyn’s lap and settled himself there, purring loudly. Valentino, standing nearby, looked a little envious.
Carolyn stroked the cat’s back, smiling down at him.
“I guess I’ve made another friend,” she said.