“Clark loves you,” he replied unexpectedly. “Like a sister,” he added almost at once. “He never touches you. He doesn’t light up when you walk into a room. His hands don’t shake when you’re close to him. That doesn’t add up to a romance.”
What he was describing was exactly what happened with Keely when she saw Boone. She didn’t dare admit it, of course. What had he been saying about Clark?
“When he brought the waitress home with him,” he continued, “he spilled coffee all over the linen tablecloth trying to pour her a second cup. He actually fell out of his chair when he touched her hands as she passed him the salad bowl.”
She grimaced.
“And I don’t need a declaration to tell me who got that diamond necklace. It sure as hell wasn’t you.”
“You won’t tell him?” she asked worriedly. “He’s my friend, he and Winnie. I don’t have many. I gave my word…”
His eyes glittered. “It bothers me that you didn’t mind helping him get around me.”
Her eyes were apologetic. “He said she was the most important thing in the world to him and that he’d die if he had to give her up. He thought it would make you so angry, seeing me with him, that you wouldn’t think about Nellie.”
He looked down at her hand. He caressed the back of it absently with his fingers. He didn’t want to admit how angry it had made him. Uncharacteristically angry. Keely was a child. He couldn’t afford to become involved with her. Just the same, he didn’t want Clark taking advantage of her. Odd, how relieved he felt that she wasn’t sleeping with Bentley Rydel. Her mother had been lying to him, trying to hurt him because he rejected her.
“Your mother is a piece of work,” he muttered angrily.
She was puzzled, not having been privy to his complicated thoughts. “Why do you say that?”
He looked up. “What do you think of Nellie?” he asked, changing the subject.
She hesitated.
“Tell me,” he prodded.
She sighed and met his eyes. “I think she’s the worst sort of opportunist,” she confessed. “She adds up presents and gives sex in return. Clark thinks that’s love,” she added cynically.
“You don’t.”
Her eyes were old. “Living with my father taught me some things. He was almost broke when he lost the game park because this woman played up to him and pretended to be awed at the way he handled the animals. She stroked his vanity and he bought her expensive things. Then there was a lawsuit, and we had absolutely nothing. Meanwhile,” she added, “there was this sweet woman who kept the books for us, who took me to church and dated my father. She was shy and not beautiful, but he dropped her as soon as the other woman came along.”
“What happened?”
“When he went bankrupt, his flashy girlfriend was suddenly interested in a local Realtor who’d just inherited a lot of property from his late father.”
“I see.”
“Clark is a sweet man,” she said quietly. “He deserves better.”
He leaned back, finally letting go of her hand. His eyes narrowed on her face. “She works for a living. So do you. I expected you to take her side.”
“She’s a snake,” she returned. “And she doesn’t exactly work that hard for a normal living. Her coworkers say she plays up to her male customers to get big tips. Clark told me. He thinks they’re jealous because she’s pretty.”
He had a faraway look. “Beauty is subjective,” he said oddly. “It isn’t always manifested in surface details.”
She smiled. Then she laughed. “Maybe I’m subjectively beautiful and nobody noticed,” she said.
He realized, belatedly, that she’d made a joke. He laughed softly.
She looked around. The librarian was starting to close doors and turn out lights. She bit her lip. Clark was nowhere in sight.
“I don’t think they’ll let you stay the night,” he pointed out.
She got up, grimacing. She picked up her coat and her purse. “At least there’s a bench out front. I told Clark they closed at nine.”
He got up, too, towering over her. “You haven’t learned yet that intimacy makes people lose track of time.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. He sounded very worldly. She put her purse down and gingerly eased her left arm into the coat. He was behind her at once, easing the rest of the garment over her other arm and onto her shoulder.
“What happened to your arm?” he asked.
She felt his warm hands on her shoulders, the warm strength of his body behind her. She wanted to lean back and have him hold her. Insane thoughts.
“An accident,” she said after a minute. “Nothing terrible,” she lied. “But it left a weakness in that arm. I can’t lift much.”
There was a pause. His usually impassive face had a ragged look. “I have a similar problem with one of my legs,” he said hesitantly. “If I overdo, I limp.”
She turned and looked up at him. She’d noticed that. She’d never expected him to admit it to his enemy. “You were hurt overseas worse than you told Winnie and Clark,” she said with keen insight. “Worse than you’ve told anyone. Except maybe Sheriff Carson.”
His jaw firmed. “You see too much.”
“In my own way, I’ve been through the wars, too,” she replied quietly. “Scars don’t go away, even if wounds heal. And they destroy people.”
She wasn’t looking at him as she said it. Her eyes had the same expression as his did. It was a moment of shared tragedy, shared pain. He moved a step closer to her. She looked up at him expectantly. It was as if the wall between them had lowered just a little, letting in new light. But even as he started to speak, a car drove up outside.
Boone tugged Keely back into the shadows of a row of books. Outside the tinted glass windows, they saw Clark glance furtively at Boone’s big Jaguar sitting next to Nellie’s SUV. He
