eyes?”
“What lines?”
“When I’m stewing about something, these lines always appear. Right there.” He pointed to his own forehead. “Three of them. Seems to me you’re cursed with the same thing. Can’t fool a living soul, no matter how hard I try.” He smiled, encouraging her to talk.
Bethany resisted the urge to tell him she’d come by thoselines honestly. Inhaling a deep breath, she eyed him, wondering how much she dared confide in him about her feelings for Mitch. Darn little, she suspected. That she’d even wonder was a sign of how desperate she’d become. Still, maybe he could fill in a few details about Mitch’s background. With no other customers present, this was the optimum time to ask.
“What can you tell me about Mitch?” she began.
“Mitch? Mitch Harris?” All at once, Ben found it necessary to wipe down the counter. He ran a rag over the top of the already spotless surface. “Well, for one thing, he’s a damn good man. Decent, caring. Loves his daughter.”
“He’s lived in Hard Luck for how long?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted to ease Ben into the conversation.
“Must be around five years now.”
She nodded. “I heard he worked for the police department in Chicago before that.”
“That’s what I heard, too.”
“Do you know how his wife died?” Since Ben wasn’t inclined to share any real information, she’d have to pry it out of him.
“Can’t say I do.” His mouth twisted to one side, as if he was judging what he should and shouldn’t tell her. “I don’t think Mitch has ever talked about her to anyone. Hasn’t mentioned her to me.”
Bethany heard the door open behind her. Their conversation was over, not that she’d gleaned any new facts.
“If you’re curious about his wife,” Ben whispered, “I suggest you ask him yourself. He just walked in.”
For the briefest of seconds, she felt like a five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
To her surprise, Mitch sat on the stool next to hers. He studied her for what seemed like minutes. “Hello, Bethany,” he finally said in a low voice.
“Mitch.” She refused to meet his eyes.
“I’m glad I ran into you.”
Well, that was certainly a change.
Ben strolled over and Mitch asked for coffee.
“I’d like to talk to you, Bethany.” He gestured toward one of the booths, the steaming mug in his hand.
She followed him to the farthest booth, and they sat across from each other. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and when he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were bleak.
“Bethany, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve lain awake nights worrying what you must think of me.”
Confused and hurt, Bethany said nothing.
He gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry. What more can I say? Talk to me, would you? Say something. Anything.”
“What are you sorry for?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Kissing me?”
“Yes.”
Even now he didn’t seem to realize she’d been a willing participant. “You needed me. Was that why?”
“Yes,” he said, as if this was his greatest sin.
She hesitated, searching for the words. “Any other woman would have done just as well. Isn’t that what you’re really saying? It wasn’t me you were kissing. It wasn’t me you needed. I just happened to…be available.”
He didn’t disagree.
Chapter
6
November 1995
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Duke Porter asked John for the second time. An incredulous look contorted the pilot’s features. “You’re actually going to do it?”
“Yes,” John said, irritated. He jerked the grease rag from his back pocket and brusquely wiped his hands.
Duke followed him to the far end of the hangar while John put away the tools he’d used. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
John didn’t hesitate. “I’m absolutely, positively sure.”
“But you hardly know the woman.”
“I know everything I need to know,”
“What lines?”
“When I’m stewing about something, these lines always appear. Right there.” He pointed to his own forehead. “Three of them. Seems to me you’re cursed with the same thing. Can’t fool a living soul, no matter how hard I try.” He smiled, encouraging her to talk.
Bethany resisted the urge to tell him she’d come by thoselines honestly. Inhaling a deep breath, she eyed him, wondering how much she dared confide in him about her feelings for Mitch. Darn little, she suspected. That she’d even wonder was a sign of how desperate she’d become. Still, maybe he could fill in a few details about Mitch’s background. With no other customers present, this was the optimum time to ask.
“What can you tell me about Mitch?” she began.
“Mitch? Mitch Harris?” All at once, Ben found it necessary to wipe down the counter. He ran a rag over the top of the already spotless surface. “Well, for one thing, he’s a damn good man. Decent, caring. Loves his daughter.”
“He’s lived in Hard Luck for how long?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted to ease Ben into the conversation.
“Must be around five years now.”
She nodded. “I heard he worked for the police department in Chicago before that.”
“That’s what I heard, too.”
“Do you know how his wife died?” Since Ben wasn’t inclined to share any real information, she’d have to pry it out of him.
“Can’t say I do.” His mouth twisted to one side, as if he was judging what he should and shouldn’t tell her. “I don’t think Mitch has ever talked about her to anyone. Hasn’t mentioned her to me.”
Bethany heard the door open behind her. Their conversation was over, not that she’d gleaned any new facts.
“If you’re curious about his wife,” Ben whispered, “I suggest you ask him yourself. He just walked in.”
For the briefest of seconds, she felt like a five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
To her surprise, Mitch sat on the stool next to hers. He studied her for what seemed like minutes. “Hello, Bethany,” he finally said in a low voice.
“Mitch.” She refused to meet his eyes.
“I’m glad I ran into you.”
Well, that was certainly a change.
Ben strolled over and Mitch asked for coffee.
“I’d like to talk to you, Bethany.” He gestured toward one of the booths, the steaming mug in his hand.
She followed him to the farthest booth, and they sat across from each other. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and when he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were bleak.
“Bethany, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve lain awake nights worrying what you must think of me.”
Confused and hurt, Bethany said nothing.
He gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry. What more can I say? Talk to me, would you? Say something. Anything.”
“What are you sorry for?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Kissing me?”
“Yes.”
Even now he didn’t seem to realize she’d been a willing participant. “You needed me. Was that why?”
“Yes,” he said, as if this was his greatest sin.
She hesitated, searching for the words. “Any other woman would have done just as well. Isn’t that what you’re really saying? It wasn’t me you were kissing. It wasn’t me you needed. I just happened to…be available.”
He didn’t disagree.
Chapter
6
November 1995
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Duke Porter asked John for the second time. An incredulous look contorted the pilot’s features. “You’re actually going to do it?”
“Yes,” John said, irritated. He jerked the grease rag from his back pocket and brusquely wiped his hands.
Duke followed him to the far end of the hangar while John put away the tools he’d used. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
John didn’t hesitate. “I’m absolutely, positively sure.”
“But you hardly know the woman.”
“I know everything I need to know,”
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