The house had gone quiet. Charlie hadn’t moved, but Richard could tell he was itching to speak. He turned his attention to the old farmer.
“Leave.”
Richard smiled kindly. “I was hoping I might take you up on that offer of a hot meal. It would give us a chance to talk in private.”
Charlie laughed again, and though the laugh was laced with bitterness, something about the sound reminded Richard of Amanda. There was once a time when he’d felt a sense of accomplishment every time he made the pretty, smart, and dangerously young Amanda McGuinness laugh.
“You know, Charlie, this heart attack and surgery thing has really made me take a hard look at my life, and I’ve got to say, I wish things had been different with Amanda. I wish she’d told me she was pregnant.”
The old guy got up, the kitchen chair scraping across the wood floor. He began tidying up at the sink, his back to Richard.
“You see, I now understand that I’ve wanted a child all my adult life. I want to leave a flesh-and-blood legacy on this earth. But I willingly gave up the dream for public service.”
Well, okay—that was stretching it. Richard had knowingly traded the idea of fatherhood for money. It wasn’t his wife’s fault. Tamara had made it clear from the beginning that she was unable to have children and had no interest in them. So when he married her, he released the idea of children and embraced the wealth and influence of his wife’s family.
Richard cleared his throat. “I do think that perhaps everything would be different today if I had known about Christina from the start. Maybe I would have been with my daughter every day. Maybe Amanda and I would be in a relationship. Maybe she wouldn’t have been in the path of that drunk driver.”
Charlie spun around. He spoke slowly and distinctly. “You are a lying, crooked, heartless bastard. You threatened my precious Amanda, and for that I will never forgive you. I don’t care who you are—you will never be welcome here.”
“Mr. McGuinness—”
“My idealistic daughter was in love with you, and you threw her away like a piece of garbage. You didn’t want Christina back then, but now that you’ve had health problems you suddenly decide to come steal her from us?” Charlie raised his right arm and pointed to the door, his hand shaking. “Let yourself out, Congressman.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie. Why can’t we—?”
“Don’t make me get my Winchester.”
* * *
“Have we met before?”
Evelyn swallowed hard at Clancy Flynn’s question, but managed to answer. “I don’t think so.” She forced herself to sound as cheerful as possible, all the while thinking don’t figure it out, please don’t figure it out. . . . “I’m Cricket Dickinson, and this very tired little man needs a nap. This is our first festival.”
He nodded calmly, but didn’t look particularly convinced.
“I want ice cream!” Christina began to struggle in Evelyn’s grasp.
“You know, we should probably get going. Someone is a little cranky after our trip. We’ve come a long way. We live in Indiana.”
“Sure. Of course. Enjoy your stay.”
That’s when Christina suddenly decided her curiosity about the police officer outweighed her meltdown plans. She swung her head around, frowned at him, and pointed. “Who you?”
Clancy laughed, and the warm sound sent Evelyn back in time. She was hit with the remembered smell of salt water and sunscreen, the hot sun on her skin, and the taste of Clancy’s lips on hers. She remembered that astonishing rush of her first love, how being with him had made her feel fully alive, tethered tight to life while soaring above it.