He’d turned cold and harsh, uncaring. He’d made it clear a Donovan could never marry a Connolly. He needed to choose a woman of a certain caliber, and she simply didn’t measure up.
The hurtful letdown had lacerated her heart, buried itself in her soul. Where was that man now?
This man—kind, warm, supportive—this was the man she had fallen in love with. Seeing him resurrected made resisting him that much harder.
Hunter finished tying the reins and glanced up. She didn’t bother to look away.
He leaned against the side of the wagon and tilted his head to one side. “You’re staring,” he said, repeating her words of earlier.
“I’m trying to figure out who you really are.”
He hesitated. “I’m the same man I’ve always been.”
But who was that? The man who placed flowers on her mother’s grave, visited her father in prison and ensured he had a proper burial next to his wife—that was the Hunter she had known, the man she’d fallen in love with. Or the man who had broken her heart, who had been a stranger to her? That man had yet to resurface since her return, but she waited and looked for signs, afraid to let her guard down.
“Maybe I just don’t know who that is.”
He bowed his head and pulled on his gloves, avoiding her gaze. “I guess that’s fair.” It was the only answer he gave her and it left her unsatisfied.
“Why don’t you tell me then?”
He walked up the length of the wagon and climbed into the seat next to her, taking the reins. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “If I told you I regretted like hell the hurt I’ve caused you, would you believe me?”
She paused, giving it some thought. Her heart wanted to open up, but the bad memories barred the doors that kept it locked up safe. “I want to, but—”
“But any trust you had in me is gone.” He looked at her then, his mouth tight. Pain kindled in his eyes. Her heart lurched and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out something stupid like she forgave him, or what he had done was water under the bridge. It would be a lie, and they both knew it. He nodded, as if reading her thoughts. “Maybe, in time, I can change that. You think that’s possible?”
She longed to trust him now, while hating herself for the weakness. “I don’t know.”
He nodded. “All right then.” He let the reins fall on the back of the horse. “Git up!”
The wagon jerked as it pulled away, leaving the tender moment they’d shared in her home behind with all the other memories. That part of her life was over.
There was no going back. Was there?
Meredith regretted accepting an invitation to join the Bancrofts for lunch. The family dynamic was a mishmash of awkwardness that left the food unsettled in her belly. Mr. Bancroft’s large presence overpowered the others, though he said little. Mrs. Bancroft, in stark contrast, was filled with nervous energy, her insistent chatter running in all directions. Charlotte took after her father, it seemed, and had barely said a word or looked in Meredith’s direction since she’d sat down.
“How long do you intend to stay in Salvation Falls?” Meredith asked, slipping a few words in while Mrs. Bancroft stopped briefly to take a bite of the apple pie she’d ordered for dessert. She had ordered one for Charlotte as well, though her daughter had only picked at the crust, leaving it crumbled on her plate.
“Oh, well, you never know. Mr. Bancroft has his sights set on a piece of property, but there’s just no telling. I don’t try to understand the business of men, oh no, dear me. Too taxing on my poor mind.”
Meredith turned her attention to Mr. Bancroft, hoping to steer the conversation away from the silly topics his wife continued to fill the air with. Did anyone really care about the array of spices carried in the mercantile? If they were planning on living in Salvation Falls, perhaps she could gain the Bancrofts’ friendship, their allegiance aiding her in her efforts to start over. “What is your business in, Mr. Bancroft? Where is it you traveled from to come here?” They had been less than forthcoming about themselves, preferring to ask her about herself.
“San Francisco,” Charlotte answered, at the same time her mother blurted out, “Colorado.”
“Oh...” Meredith glanced from one to the other but Mrs. Bancroft was busy burrowing into her pie, and Charlotte was busy glaring at her mother. After a moment of silence, Mrs. Bancroft’s chatter began again, though it sounded more nervous than ever, the words coming in rapid fire.
“And what of you, dearie, are you settling here for good or just passing through? Such a pretty little town, but I’m so used to a bit more of a metropolitan area. Was it Boston you came from? I’ve never been that far east. Is it nice?”