grimaced when she remembered how she’d dressed for gardening this morning. She wore an ancient pair of jean cutoff shorts, black Rolling Stones T-shirt and her hair hung haphazardly under the wide brimmed straw hat. She wished the ground would open up and she could disappear.
Besides, she couldn’t go on a picnic with him. It was too—intimate.
Tom’s eyes narrowed curiously. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”
“I-I,” she stuttered, looking for an answer. “I look like a scarecrow.”
“A scarecrow, huh? Well you sure are the prettiest scarecrow around these parts.”
Pretty? He thought she was pretty? Excitement coursed through her veins at his comment.
He pried the shovel from her suddenly nervous fingers, stuck the blade deep into the earth and slid his warm hand into hers.
Oh, dear.
Holding hands. Way too intimate.
Her flush got worse. Yet she didn’t dare let go. It felt so good to be held. To feel a man’s fingers twining with hers once again.
“C’mon, let’s go. How about over there?” He pointed to the edge of the meadow where the dark shade of the black forest beckoned a cool invitation.
“Sure.”
He led her out of the garden and through the gate, where he swooped over, grabbed the basket and the homemade family quilt she’d been unable to finish.
She bit her lower lip when she recognized the giant white lacy patch staring straight up at her. It was a piece of material from her wedding gown.
Doubt crept inside her head. How could she go on a picnic with a total stranger? Act as if nothing tragic had happened in her past. Yet that’s exactly what she was doing.
They tramped through the tall meadow grass in silence, Sara’s eyes never leaving the quilt. She’d hidden it in the pantry with the basket, after…well, after her world had fallen apart.
She recognized the patch of navy blue material from Jack’s police uniform. Remembered the day he’d told her he’d quit the force. God, she’d been so happy.
She’d never liked him being a cop. Getting shot at. Never knowing if the next phone call would be the one telling her he was dead, gunned down by some crazed lunatic. But it had happened anyway, hadn’t it?
Right out here in the middle of nowhere. A place they’d thought was safe. A place to raise their children. She angrily brushed away the stray tear dribbling down her cheek. Thankfully, Tom didn’t notice.
Sara didn’t realize they’d reached the edge of the meadow until the shade, cool and delicious, trailed over her heated body. The strong scent of baking pine needles and the wind flickering restfully through the sighing branches above them began calming her rattled nerves.
Tom threw her a concerned look. “You okay?”
Sara found herself grinning. “Just tired.”
“You need food,” he chuckled as he reluctantly let go of her hand.
Spreading the homemade quilt over the grass, he plopped the basket into the middle, slipped off his shoes and sat down cross-legged.
He smiled up at her, patted the ground beside him.
“C’mon, I won’t bite.”
Sara stood at the edge of the quilt, looking down at it, suddenly unwilling to step onto her past. She noticed the blue and white dotted gingham patch of her kitchen curtains from their first apartment in New York. She recognized the ragged patch from an old pair of Jack’s trousers, the same one’s he’d worn to the doctor’s office on the day they’d been told the chances were slim she would ever get pregnant.
Life goes on. She told herself sternly. It has to.
Sara wiggled out of her shoes and stepped onto the quilt and onto her past.
She watched Tom as he gingerly removed the items from the basket. His grin was so innocent and intense. The last thing she wanted was to burst his bubble simply because she couldn’t come to grips with her past.
Sara sat down trying to avoid looking at the patchwork coverlet.
“I hope you like this stuff. I prepared a feast fit for a king, queen and their
Besides, she couldn’t go on a picnic with him. It was too—intimate.
Tom’s eyes narrowed curiously. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”
“I-I,” she stuttered, looking for an answer. “I look like a scarecrow.”
“A scarecrow, huh? Well you sure are the prettiest scarecrow around these parts.”
Pretty? He thought she was pretty? Excitement coursed through her veins at his comment.
He pried the shovel from her suddenly nervous fingers, stuck the blade deep into the earth and slid his warm hand into hers.
Oh, dear.
Holding hands. Way too intimate.
Her flush got worse. Yet she didn’t dare let go. It felt so good to be held. To feel a man’s fingers twining with hers once again.
“C’mon, let’s go. How about over there?” He pointed to the edge of the meadow where the dark shade of the black forest beckoned a cool invitation.
“Sure.”
He led her out of the garden and through the gate, where he swooped over, grabbed the basket and the homemade family quilt she’d been unable to finish.
She bit her lower lip when she recognized the giant white lacy patch staring straight up at her. It was a piece of material from her wedding gown.
Doubt crept inside her head. How could she go on a picnic with a total stranger? Act as if nothing tragic had happened in her past. Yet that’s exactly what she was doing.
They tramped through the tall meadow grass in silence, Sara’s eyes never leaving the quilt. She’d hidden it in the pantry with the basket, after…well, after her world had fallen apart.
She recognized the patch of navy blue material from Jack’s police uniform. Remembered the day he’d told her he’d quit the force. God, she’d been so happy.
She’d never liked him being a cop. Getting shot at. Never knowing if the next phone call would be the one telling her he was dead, gunned down by some crazed lunatic. But it had happened anyway, hadn’t it?
Right out here in the middle of nowhere. A place they’d thought was safe. A place to raise their children. She angrily brushed away the stray tear dribbling down her cheek. Thankfully, Tom didn’t notice.
Sara didn’t realize they’d reached the edge of the meadow until the shade, cool and delicious, trailed over her heated body. The strong scent of baking pine needles and the wind flickering restfully through the sighing branches above them began calming her rattled nerves.
Tom threw her a concerned look. “You okay?”
Sara found herself grinning. “Just tired.”
“You need food,” he chuckled as he reluctantly let go of her hand.
Spreading the homemade quilt over the grass, he plopped the basket into the middle, slipped off his shoes and sat down cross-legged.
He smiled up at her, patted the ground beside him.
“C’mon, I won’t bite.”
Sara stood at the edge of the quilt, looking down at it, suddenly unwilling to step onto her past. She noticed the blue and white dotted gingham patch of her kitchen curtains from their first apartment in New York. She recognized the ragged patch from an old pair of Jack’s trousers, the same one’s he’d worn to the doctor’s office on the day they’d been told the chances were slim she would ever get pregnant.
Life goes on. She told herself sternly. It has to.
Sara wiggled out of her shoes and stepped onto the quilt and onto her past.
She watched Tom as he gingerly removed the items from the basket. His grin was so innocent and intense. The last thing she wanted was to burst his bubble simply because she couldn’t come to grips with her past.
Sara sat down trying to avoid looking at the patchwork coverlet.
“I hope you like this stuff. I prepared a feast fit for a king, queen and their
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