Hope shoved the book she’d been reading under the bar, served beers to a group of fishermen who’d come in from a day on the water, before nodding at a couple of the Moose’s regulars. Not that most of the people in here as the afternoon headed into evening weren’t regulars.
There seemed to be a few more people than was normal for a weeknight and she hadn’t missed the open stares that had followed her around.
She knew what that was all about. The gossip mill had no doubt churned into life the moment Silas had turned up in the Moose the night before, and now that the news of an upcoming town meeting was flying around, people would be drawing conclusions.
Her mother had come straight in from her shift at Mal’s full of questions about why Hope hadn’t mentioned that Silas was back and what this town meeting was about. Did it have something to do with the call she’d gotten about the lease? Or was it about something else?
Hope had decided that she wasn’t going to tell Angela about the oil or about the fact that Silas planned on signing ownership of the town over to her. Her mother would hear about it at the same time as everyone else, which was maybe slightly unfair, but Hope couldn’t risk her mother accidentally letting it slip to the wrong person before the meeting. She couldn’t bear the thought of the argument that would no doubt ensue either, or at least not yet.
Having the town signed over to her would naturally mean that she couldn’t leave, and Angela would be pissed. And that wasn’t even going into the issues with the lease for the Moose. That lease remained in Angela’s name, which meant that legally she could do whatever she wanted with it, regardless of Hope’s wishes.
And what do you wish? Really and truly?
Really and truly, what she wished was that Silas hadn’t asked her to take ownership of the town. That Silas had never come back here at all. That Cal hadn’t died and that oil hadn’t been found…
But hell, what was the point in wishing for that? The reality was all those things had happened, and now here she was, having taken on a responsibility she’d never wanted, a responsibility that was only going to present her with yet more difficulties.
“Hey,” a deep voice said, prompting a small shiver to go through her. “You got a minute?”
Hope turned, her gaze clashing with the deep green and gold of Silas’s.
After the meeting with the mayor, he’d tried to talk to her about it, but she hadn’t been in the mood for a discussion, feeling crushed by the weight of what she’d agreed to and needing some space to kind of forget about it for a while.
So she’d told him she was busy and had shut herself in her office, trying to lose herself in some accounts stuff. And that had worked until she’d had to open up the bar and found herself the object of interested gazes from the various locals who’d poured through the door. A few pointed questions had been asked that she’d neatly avoided, all the while becoming more and more irritated by the fact that here she was getting all the questions while the person who’d started all of this was safely ensconced upstairs, away from prying eyes.
“Not really,” she said shortly, pretending to be absorbed at the till. “It’s busy today.”
“Looks like it.” He glanced around the bar, then back at her. “Rumor mill on high alert already, huh?”
That he’d guessed what the issue was didn’t make her feel any less annoyed. “What did you expect?” She closed the till with slightly more force than necessary. “After you appeared last night and then the news of the meeting today… Well. Everyone wants to know what’s going on.”
If her tone bothered him, he didn’t show it. “And did you tell them?”
“No, of course not.” She folded her arms and stared at him. “What do you want?”
He stared back. “We need to decide how we’re going to handle your mother.”
His casual assumption that they’d deal with this together shouldn’t have annoyed her the way it did. Yet here she was, annoyed by it. “We?” She arched a brow. “Why should that have anything to do with you?”
Something shifted in his gaze. “Let’s discuss this in your office.”
But Hope was in no mood to discuss anything. “Yeah, let’s not. I have work to do, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He didn’t reply for a second, his gaze moving over her in a way that made her feel restless and vulnerable, as if he could see right down to the roots of her and knew exactly why she was mad. “Let me help while I can,” he said at last, quietly. “You don’t have to do all of this by yourself.”
There was an ache somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, longing curling through her. It was familiar, that longing. She’d felt it often after he and Cal had left, leaving her alone to deal with the Moose and her mother. As if some vital piece of her was missing, making everything that much more difficult. She’d been off balance, listing like a building with crumbling foundations, her only option being to shore herself up, because there was no one to do it for her, not anymore. It had been a hard lesson in self-sufficiency, and she didn’t want to go back to depending on anyone else for support. Didn’t want to have to relearn that lesson either. But the soft note of understanding in Silas’s voice made her realize that even though she might have arranged her life so she was her own support, that didn’t mean the longing for someone else to lean on had gone away.
Silas and Caleb had once been the most important people in her life. And now that Cal was gone, there was only Silas left.
And he’s still important to you, no matter what you tell yourself.
“Fine,” she heard herself say with very bad grace. “But I can’t be away from the bar for too long.”
She led the way into the back office, hearing the firm click of the door as Silas shut it behind him.
Not bothering to sit, she turned and met his gaze head-on. “Okay, so what’s your plan?”
But Silas ignored that, his gaze far too sharp for her liking. “What are you mad about, Hope?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Bullshit. You’re pissed about something. Is it taking over ownership of the town? Or the whole situation itself?” He paused, studying her in a way that made her uncomfortable. “Or is it me?”
Of course it was him. Him and the way he’d come in here, dropping bombshell after bombshell, then expecting her to pick up the pieces. At the same time as he offered a helping hand. A helping hand that a part of her desperately wanted to take. But she couldn’t let herself. Him and Cal leaving had hurt, and no matter how many times she told herself that she was over it, that it had happened years ago and it didn’t hurt anymore, she still carried the scars. And the wound still ached. It hadn’t healed as much as she’d thought it had.
No point in pretending otherwise, is there? He’s not stupid.
Yeah, more’s the pity.
“What do you think?” She didn’t bother to hide the anger in her voice. “You waltz in after thirteen years of silence, bringing with you all kinds of trouble, and then you dump it straight in my lap. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a little mad. After all, this is the second time you’ve done this.”
A muscle flicked in his hard jaw, but he didn’t look away. “I offered to stay. You refused.”
Aw, crap. She hadn’t meant to open up this particular can of worms. But the fact that he instantly knew what she was talking about was indication enough that it had been preying on his mind too, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
It didn’t help that he was right. He had offered to stay. And she’d refused him because it hadn’t been him that she’d wanted. Or at least, she’d thought it hadn’t been him.
Maybe it was him, but he was always too dangerous for you. Caleb was safe because he never wanted you the way you wanted him.
A hot feeling crept through her, making her skin feel sensitized and her breath catch. Because if Cal had felt safe because she’d known he wasn’t into her, then there was a reason she’d instinctively shied away from Silas. A reason he’d always felt dangerous, making her antsy and uncomfortable. And perhaps that reason was something she’d known on a very basic level but had never wanted to examine or think about too closely, since it would mean things she wasn’t ready to face.
That he’d wanted her.
“You didn’t want to stay,” she said, even though she knew she should change the subject, that talking about this might open a Pandora’s box full of implications she wasn’t ready for even now. “You only said it because Caleb didn’t offer.”
The silence in the office was full of something sharp and electric, something that whispered across her skin like a fine current, making all the hairs on her arms stand up on end.
Gold glittered from beneath Silas’s thick, black lashes, his gaze holding hers, making it impossible for her to look away. “I would have stayed,” he said, his voice deep and dark in the silence. “I would have stayed for you.”
A wave of heat arrowed through her, the electricity in the room crackling, sparks falling all over her skin in bright, hot points. She could see the truth in his eyes all of a sudden, the truth that perhaps had always been there and she’d never seen it because she’d never looked. Because she’d never wanted to look.
She’d been too young, too afraid of the intensity of her emotions. On some level aware that if she allowed herself to become more than friends with Silas, she might fall and fall hard—and never ever stop falling.
Hope wrenched her gaze away, acutely conscious of the distance separating them. Of how close he was. A very physical awareness that had her mouth going dry.
She’d never been so conscious of a man before, of his height and strength, the width of his shoulders and the hard muscle of his chest. His arms were folded, and she wanted to study the way the cotton of his T-shirt pulled tight around his biceps, wanted to touch that chest to see if it was as firm as it looked.
Hell, what was wrong with her? She wasn’t a virgin, for God’s sake; she knew what sex was all about. It was only that she’d decided it was more trouble than it was worth, and she’d been completely fine with that decision. She hadn’t missed it. So why did she feel this way now? Was it him? Was it the past catching up with her? Was it because he was familiar? What?
Does it matter what it is? You’re not going there with him.
No, she wasn’t.
“Well, great to know,” she said inanely, her voice sounding tinny in the small confines of the room. “I’ll be sure to remember that. But right now, I have to get back to the bar.” She took a step forward, hoping the towering wall of male muscle in front of her would move.
But he didn’t. He simply stayed where he was, as unmovable as the mountains surrounding her home and just as hard.
“No,” Silas said.
* * *
Hope, who was clearly expecting him to move, came up short, her dark eyes widening. “What do you mean, no?” she demanded.
“I mean no you can’t go back out to the bar. It’ll take care of itself for five minutes.”
“Silas—”
“We haven’t finished our conversation.”
He was being a dick and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. There had been something in Hope’s eyes that had caught him like a blow to the chest, something electric in the air around them that hadn’t been there before.
An electricity he recognized and thought would never happen—not with her. But it was there now: sexual tension. He could feel it vibrating in the space between them and even though he knew he should let it go, he couldn’t.
Once or twice, back when they’d been teenagers, he’d thought he’d caught a glimpse in her eyes of a response to him. But he’d never been sure and it had only ever been a glimpse, definitely not enough for certainty. So he’d let it go, told himself he’d been seeing things because that was easier than pinning his hopes on something that wasn’t real.
Except the tension in the air now was definitely real and so was the glow in her dark eyes.
Telling her he would have stayed for her was probably a stupid thing to do, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. If he wanted the truth from her, he’d have to give her some of his own.
Hope’s gaze flickered over him, full of hot little sparks. “You might not have finished, but I have.”
“Have you? You still look mad to me.”
“I’m not—”
“Did you want me to stay, Hope?” Suddenly nothing was more important than the answer to that question. “Is that why you’re angry with me? Why you were so angry with me yesterday when I first arrived?”
“Why do you want to know?” she snapped. “What does it matter? Haven’t we got other more important things to discuss?”
He heard it then, underneath the anger—a sharp note of pain. And before he could stop himself, he’d raised his hand and cupped her cheek, an instinct bone-deep and years old gripping him.
As soon as his fingers touched her skin, she went utterly still, and it felt like the entire universe had gone still along with her, as if all of creation had taken a sharp breath and was holding it.
There was silence around them, even the sounds of the bar outside the door disappearing. Her fine-grained skin was warm beneath his fingers and as soft as he’d always imagined, and he knew he shouldn’t be touching her and yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
“I want to know because you’re my friend.” He let his thumb brush slowly over her cheekbone, relishing the satiny warmth of her. “And it matters because I hurt you.”
She said nothing, standing unmoving, staring at him like he was a stranger. There were currents in her dark eyes, deep and powerful as those in the river that ran through the town, but unlike those, Hope’s ran hot rather than icy cold. “It was years ago,” she said, her voice a little husky. “And I’m over it. Are we done now?”
But she wasn’t over it, not when that note of pain was still there, edged and jagged as a shard of broken glass embedded in a thick, soft rug.
He spread his fingers out on her cheek, continuing to brush his thumb back and forth, wanting to soothe her, ease that pain somehow. Except he couldn’t, not if she wouldn’t acknowledge it.
You really want to push this? Why? What difference will it make?
Perhaps no difference. She was right; it had happened years ago, and maybe he was being a bastard bringing all of this up again. But…he couldn’t let it go. He just couldn’t. She was mad and she was hurt, and that meant something. And maybe he was reading things into it that weren’t there, but it had to be about more than just friendship. Certainly the sudden sexual tension between them hadn’t come from nowhere.
God, how many years had he wanted her? Too many. And he’d never done a thing about it, never crossed that line. He wasn’t going to now, either, not given the situation with the town and the uncertainty around it. Yet even though it might be selfish of him, he wanted to know once and for all if she felt even a glimmer of what he felt for her.
“No,” he said. “We’re not done.”
“What do you want from me?” She didn’t pull away from his hand, but she didn’t lean into it either, and he could see the tension vibrating through her, as if she was holding herself back from doing one thing or the other.
Either way, it meant his touch affected her.
Heat spread through him, quickening his heartbeat, all the blood flooding down to a certain part of his anatomy. Which very definitely shouldn’t be happening, but he didn’t drop his hand or step away.
“What do I want?” he asked instead. “I want the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
“The truth about why you’re really so angry with me.” He studied her face, watching the ebb and flow of emotions in her eyes. “Because I get the feeling that it wasn’t Cal that you really wanted.”
“You have no idea what I really wanted.” The hot glow in her eyes burned brighter. “And why the hell would I tell you anyway? What makes you think you deserve it?”
“Oh, I don’t deserve it.” He brushed his thumb back over her cheek, the feel of her skin a glory he hadn’t imagined. “But I’m asking for it anyway.”
Her pupils had dilated, her eyes even blacker than they were already and full of an expression he didn’t understand. There were too many things in them—pain and anger knotted with other emotions too complicated to name. “You left me,” she said suddenly, her voice thick. “Both of you left me. Grandad had died, and I had Mom to look after, and I was afraid. And I needed both of you. But you’d both gone. And then you stayed away, Si. For thirteen goddamn years.”
His chest tightened painfully. After he and Cal had left Deep River, he’d told himself a lot of lies to make leaving Hope okay. But that’s all they were. Lies. There had been nothing okay about leaving Hope, and he’d always known, deep down, that they’d both hurt her. Caleb had at least gone back, yet he hadn’t.
Because you’re a coward.
Yeah, maybe he was. But the night he and Cal had told her they were going, all he’d felt was pain. Her grandfather had gone into the water to save his father; his father was the reason the both of them were dead, and he hadn’t been able to handle his own guilt about that, let alone handle her grief too.
And he hadn’t gone back because he’d told himself she was better off without him. That she’d forgotten him. That Cal had visited and Cal was who she really wanted after all.
More lies—certainly judging from the hurt in her eyes now.
“I had to go,” he said. “Dad was the reason Bill died. And I couldn’t…” He stopped, trying to find the right words. “I felt guilty.” You are guilty. “And I didn’t want to stay and deal with the fallout,” he went on quickly, drowning out that particular thought. “I’d been dealing with the fallout from Dad’s drinking for years already, and him and Bill… It was too much.”
“I get that.” Pain glittered in Hope’s eyes. “But would it have killed you to come back at least once to say hi? You didn’t have to leave me with no word for so long, Si.”
The ache in his chest deepened, widened. “I didn’t think it would matter to you that much. It was always Cal you wanted.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, her dark gaze on his unwavering. “How could you think it wouldn’t matter? You were my best friend.”
Yeah, and some best friend he turned out to be.
You never wanted to be her friend anyway.
And that was the problem. He didn’t. He’d always wanted to be so much more than that.
Let her go. You’re not going to follow through on this so what’s the point insisting?
But he couldn’t bring himself to step away. That tension in the air was still there, electric, and she wasn’t pulling away from him. She was standing very still and letting him touch her.
So he stepped closer, cradling her cheek in his palm, staring down into her dark eyes. “There was a reason I stayed away.”
“Don’t,” she began as if she knew already what he was going to say.
And maybe he should have stopped. But it was too late now. If it wasn’t going to matter anyway, then why not say it? Why not tell her?
He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone again, conscious of the fact that he was standing very close to her and that she smelled sweet, like a field of wildflowers, along with a delicate musky fragrance that made everything male in him sit up and take notice. “That reason was you,” he went on. “And it didn’t have anything to do with being your friend.”
Red stained the clear olive skin of her cheeks, yet again, she didn’t pull away. She only stared up at him, the pulse at the base of her throat fast and hard. “What do you mean?”
“Do I really need to explain?” He pressed his fingertips lightly against her cheek. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
The blush in her cheeks deepened, the hot glow in her eyes glittering. “You know, I think you’re going to have to spell it out for me. Just so we’re clear.”
Fine, he would. Because now they’d headed down this path, there was no reason not to keep going. “I want you, Hope,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you. Is that clear enough?”
Shock flared in her gaze, unmistakable and bright, and her mouth opened, then shut. She shook her head. “No. No, you can’t have.”
“I did. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” She’d never let on that she had, but some part of him had wondered if she’d somehow picked up on his feelings for her. Because as teenagers, he’d often gotten the impression that she was uncomfortable around him. He hadn’t made any move toward her, had tried to make sure that his true feelings for her stayed locked away so she saw nothing but friendship. But maybe he hadn’t hidden them as well as he’d thought.
Something shifted in her eyes. “You never said anything.”
“Are you surprised? After you told me all about your crush on Cal?”
Her expression was unreadable. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Si.”
He pressed his thumb against her cheekbone, watching the shifting emotional currents in her eyes, seeing the gleam of heat in the depths of her gaze, glowing like banked embers. “Wouldn’t it?”
He shouldn’t push. He should let this go, let her go. Yet he wasn’t going to. He wanted the truth, wanted to know once and for all if she felt anything at all for him. No, he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it anyway.
And surely she did. Because if she truly felt nothing but friendship for him, she wouldn’t be standing so close to him. She wouldn’t have let him touch her, let him stroke her cheek. She wouldn’t be blushing. And those hot embers in the depths of her eyes certainly wouldn’t be glowing the way they were now.
She stared back at him, unwavering. “No. It wouldn’t.”
“Really? You didn’t want me to stay instead of Cal?”
“And why would I have wanted you to stay instead of Cal?” Her voice was husky, the look in her eyes challenging almost.
“Because you wanted me, Hope.” He moved his thumb down in an arc, over her cheek, brushing the corner of her lovely mouth. “You wanted me the way I wanted you.”
Her lashes fell, veiling her gaze. And there was a very long silence. “Whether I did or I didn’t won’t change anything,” she said at last. “We can’t go back to what we had before.”
“I know that. And I’m not expecting anything from you. I just…want to know.”
Slowly, her lashes lifted again, her eyes as dark as the river at night and just as deep. “I really did think it was Cal I wanted. And I really did want him to stay. I was disappointed when he didn’t and angry that you were the one who offered instead.” She paused. “But…maybe I was wrong.”
It wasn’t a shock. It felt like he’d always known on some level that she wasn’t entirely immune to him the way he’d always thought.
Satisfaction stretched out inside him, a hungry, possessive kind of feeling following along in its wake, and if he’d been back in Juneau and she’d been a woman he’d met in a bar, he might have pulled her to him and kissed her.
But he wasn’t in Juneau and she was Hope, his best friend, and there was too much history behind them and too many different futures in front of them.
Knowing didn’t change a thing.
He allowed himself one last stroke of her cheek with his thumb before he dropped his hand.
Then he turned and walked out of the office without another word.