And Hannah walked out of the house without a word or a backward glance, clearly sending hers.
Chapter 7
Hannah stabbed at the soiled hay and hefted another load of manure into the wheelbarrow. She didn’t mind the work, it was the memory of her weekend she was trying to scoop out. Frustrated, embarrassed, and the more she fought it, the louder the replay.
How happy she’d been with his family, how just looking at him gave her butterflies. How she’d started thinking about maybes and what-ifs.
Stephen’s words hadn’t been aimed at her on purpose, but thirty-six hours later she was still feeling the direct hit. A valuable lesson. There was more than one way a man could hurt you. And good that it happened now before she’d figured out exactly what those maybes and what-ifs might be.
With a sigh, she tossed fresh hay on the floor. The scent tickled her nose and tiny bits glittered through a stream of morning sunlight from the stall’s outside window. Had she actually thought a man like him would be interested in her?
She finished spreading and lifted the heavy wheelbarrow, pausing at the initial pain in her arms and hands. Just as she rounded the barn to dump its contents, the crunch of tires on gravel made her turn.
Luke.
Wearing jeans, his standard green T-shirt, and scuffed boots, her brother sauntered to the fence, propped his big foot against the lowest wooden rail, and waited.
Might as well get it over with. She left her chores and came to stand beside his tall, muscular frame. He remained silent and so did she.
Having begged off her brothers’ invitation last night, claiming exhaustion, she hadn’t seen or spoken to Luke since he’d dropped her off after the party. He’d given her a knowing look, but thankfully hadn’t pushed. She wasn’t about to discuss it with her brothers.
Not what had or hadn’t happened with Stephen. Or worse, what she’d wanted to happen. That she’d been naive enough to think one date meant something.
The open fields of Freedom Farm stretched in front of her, meeting the vibrant blue sky. Winnie swished her tail at a fly and tossed her glorious blond mane. Hannah took a deep breath, inhaling the clean scent of spring air. Just being here eased her. It’s where she’d healed. Where she was strongest.
Luke still hadn’t spoken and she took in his tightly fisted hands, hanging over the rail. He didn’t say much on his few visits home. Fierce and strong, quiet with a touch of sad. But his eyes had always said he loved her. “I’m surprised Nick hasn’t been all over me,” she said. “No doubt you shared.” She cringed just thinking about Nick’s reaction to her going to a strange man’s house.
“I don’t report to Nick. He asked. I answered.”
Great. But the tension when he said Nick’s name had her wanting to smooth what she could. “It’s okay, Luke. I’m not mad. I mean, I was a little, but—”
“Damn it, Hannah, you should be. You’re too damn soft.” He spoke with a bite of heat, then shook his head and sighed. “Sorry. I came out here to say I’m sorry. Not for going with you,” he added quickly, “or putting a kink in your party or date or whatever the hell it was. But…for insinuating that you’re not smart. I mean, hell, obviously you are.”
Yeah, she’d taken college classes at fourteen, but it hadn’t been the kind of smart a girl needed. And she knew what her brother meant. “Just not life smart.”
“Shit, Han. You’re smart all around, but…”
“But?”
“But you don’t even know that guy.”
“That was kind of the point. Partly the point,” she added at Luke’s glare, “because he didn’t know anything about me either. But don’t worry. It won’t be a problem. I’m not going to see him anymore.”
“Why?”
She looked at the ground. “Just didn’t work out.”
Luke made a rough sound under his breath. “Then he’s a jackass.”
Hannah smiled. Luke was sweet, in a broody sort of way, intense and handsome. He should have someone to love who loved him back. Sometimes she wondered if all her brothers avoided fatherhood after being so abruptly thrust into the role because of her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Wow,” she said, raising her eyebrows and smiling. “You really do feel bad, to apologize twice.”
“I’m not apologizing for that. I’m apologizing…for leaving and…for not being there all those years.”
She knew the years he meant that he didn’t want to say, the years nobody wanted to talk about. But also the years before. He’d left when she was three and she’d always wondered why. Because of their parents’ death? Because of her? The next time she’d seen him she’d been ten and barely recognized him from a picture on the mantel.