out of your sight.”
Jack didn’t speak, but she could see the surprise in his eyes
through his narrowed lids.
“Okay,” she said. “Then we’re right back where we were. We’re
stuck in a standoff. Neither one of us trusts the other, with good reason.” She
added the last three words under her breath, but Jack heard them. She saw his
shoulders stiffen.
“I don’t think we have any choice but to trust each other on
this. Otherwise we’ll be fighting all alone.”
“All alone?”
“That’s right,” Jack said. “Look at us. We’ve been so close
these past two months. And as long as we’re searching for the truth, we’re going
to stay close—physically at least.”
“Close.” Cara Lynn laughed. “I disagree. I don’t think we’ve
been close at all. I think I’ve been deluding myself, ignoring the doubts I’ve
had ever since I first met you. And I think you’ve spent every second of these
two months deceiving me. Why would I even stay around you at all?”
He shrugged. “Because better the enemy you know than the one
you don’t know.”
Better the enemy you know. Did she
know him? Cara Lynn looked at the man she knew as Jack Bush. She barely knew him
at all, and yet she knew him better than she did anyone else in the world. She
knew every inch of that lean, hard body. She knew that his hair always smelled
like soap and oranges. She knew that his skin was warm and kind of smooth and
rough at the same time.
“Why would you say that?” she asked dully.
“Say what?”
“The enemy you know. I don’t know you.” She shrugged, throwing
a hand up in a helpless, hopeless gesture. “I didn’t even know your real
name.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He glanced down looking
inward, she thought. Then he met her gaze again, and if she were able to trust
her instincts, she’d think his eyes held sadness and regret.
“Oh, you know me,” he muttered.
From somewhere deep within her came an almost overwhelming urge
to smooth out the frown lines between his brows, but when she took a half step
forward, it seemed to spur him into action.
He stepped backward, cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay,
Cara, I’ll show you some of my grandfather’s letters from prison, starting with
one of the first ones. But when I give you that letter, you give me your letter
from your grandmother.”
She was startled. “You don’t know it’s from my grandmother,”
she said.
“Come on,” he sighed. “Who else would it be from? And you can
stop the defensive posturing. We both know we’re going to exchange letters. It’s
the only way we can be sure that we’re both working toward the same goal.”
He saw the resignation on her face that told him she’d
acquiesced.
Five minutes later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, trying
to decipher Lilibelle’s beautiful handwriting. He had a pad and pen and was
transcribing it as he read it.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Can you tell what this says?”
When she didn’t respond, he looked up to find her engrossed in
his grandfather’s letter. He’d chosen one that didn’t mention Paul Guillame.
From what he’d been able to gather, apparently no one knew that Paul had been at
the fishing camp that day. He wanted to see if Cara Lynn noticed and asked about
him.
He went back to her grandmother’s letter, doing his best to
make out the words, figuring he’d get her help with the indecipherable ones
after she finished reading.
Once he’d gone through the entire two pages, he sat back and
looked at what he had so far.
Dear Cara Lynn,
I am an old woman now. When I was your age, I
never thought I’d grow old. Many’s the ______ I wish I
didn’t. But I am here, veiny hands, __________ face. I _____ _____ choose someone to have my treasures. My sons
want them, as do ________________ . If Robert Jr. had ______ ______ , ____ ______ .
So having _______ two _______ gifts to give, I choose you, the youngest. I
shall _______ until you marry to
Jack didn’t speak, but she could see the surprise in his eyes
through his narrowed lids.
“Okay,” she said. “Then we’re right back where we were. We’re
stuck in a standoff. Neither one of us trusts the other, with good reason.” She
added the last three words under her breath, but Jack heard them. She saw his
shoulders stiffen.
“I don’t think we have any choice but to trust each other on
this. Otherwise we’ll be fighting all alone.”
“All alone?”
“That’s right,” Jack said. “Look at us. We’ve been so close
these past two months. And as long as we’re searching for the truth, we’re going
to stay close—physically at least.”
“Close.” Cara Lynn laughed. “I disagree. I don’t think we’ve
been close at all. I think I’ve been deluding myself, ignoring the doubts I’ve
had ever since I first met you. And I think you’ve spent every second of these
two months deceiving me. Why would I even stay around you at all?”
He shrugged. “Because better the enemy you know than the one
you don’t know.”
Better the enemy you know. Did she
know him? Cara Lynn looked at the man she knew as Jack Bush. She barely knew him
at all, and yet she knew him better than she did anyone else in the world. She
knew every inch of that lean, hard body. She knew that his hair always smelled
like soap and oranges. She knew that his skin was warm and kind of smooth and
rough at the same time.
“Why would you say that?” she asked dully.
“Say what?”
“The enemy you know. I don’t know you.” She shrugged, throwing
a hand up in a helpless, hopeless gesture. “I didn’t even know your real
name.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He glanced down looking
inward, she thought. Then he met her gaze again, and if she were able to trust
her instincts, she’d think his eyes held sadness and regret.
“Oh, you know me,” he muttered.
From somewhere deep within her came an almost overwhelming urge
to smooth out the frown lines between his brows, but when she took a half step
forward, it seemed to spur him into action.
He stepped backward, cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay,
Cara, I’ll show you some of my grandfather’s letters from prison, starting with
one of the first ones. But when I give you that letter, you give me your letter
from your grandmother.”
She was startled. “You don’t know it’s from my grandmother,”
she said.
“Come on,” he sighed. “Who else would it be from? And you can
stop the defensive posturing. We both know we’re going to exchange letters. It’s
the only way we can be sure that we’re both working toward the same goal.”
He saw the resignation on her face that told him she’d
acquiesced.
Five minutes later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, trying
to decipher Lilibelle’s beautiful handwriting. He had a pad and pen and was
transcribing it as he read it.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Can you tell what this says?”
When she didn’t respond, he looked up to find her engrossed in
his grandfather’s letter. He’d chosen one that didn’t mention Paul Guillame.
From what he’d been able to gather, apparently no one knew that Paul had been at
the fishing camp that day. He wanted to see if Cara Lynn noticed and asked about
him.
He went back to her grandmother’s letter, doing his best to
make out the words, figuring he’d get her help with the indecipherable ones
after she finished reading.
Once he’d gone through the entire two pages, he sat back and
looked at what he had so far.
Dear Cara Lynn,
I am an old woman now. When I was your age, I
never thought I’d grow old. Many’s the ______ I wish I
didn’t. But I am here, veiny hands, __________ face. I _____ _____ choose someone to have my treasures. My sons
want them, as do ________________ . If Robert Jr. had ______ ______ , ____ ______ .
So having _______ two _______ gifts to give, I choose you, the youngest. I
shall _______ until you marry to
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