Montana Sky

got feelings too.”
    That was unexpected—and something worth considering. So he considered it, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Do you?”
    “Maybe. I don’t want to punch you every time I see you these days, so maybe I do.”
    His mouth curved up. “Willa, you do have a way of flushing a man’s ego and then shooting it down. Let’s take it forward a step.” He came toward her, tilted her face up with his finger under her chin, and brushed his lips against hers. “You matter to me. Some.”
    “You matter to me too. Some.”
    She was softening. He knew she wasn’t aware of it, but he was. Under different circumstances it would have been time to make gentle love to her, perhaps say more. Perhaps say nothing. Because he knew that was just what she’d expect, he kissed her again, let it deepen, let himself sink into her, into that sensation of intimate isolation.
    Her arms came up, circled his neck. Her body went pliant as he gathered her closer. The muscles he stroked, kneaded, began to relax under his hands. This time, when he lifted her onto the bed, she sighed.
    “You’d better lock that door,” she murmured. “We could have the cops in here. Get ourselves arrested.”
    He kissed her eyes closed as he unfastened her jeans. He kissed her curved lips as he drew the jeans down her legs. Then he threw a blanket over her, got up, and lowered the shades. Her eyes were heavy, smiling lazily as she watched him move back to her, bend down, touch that warm mouth to hers again.
    “Get some sleep,” he ordered, then straightened and strode to the door.
    She popped up like a string. “You son of a bitch.”
    “I love it when you call me that.” With a chuckle, he closed the door.
    Steaming, she plopped back on the pillows. How was it he always seemed to outmaneuver her? He’d wanted her flat on her back in bed, and by God, that’s just where she was. It was mortifying.
    Not that she was staying. In just a minute she would get up, take a bracing shower. Then she’d get back to work.
    In just a minute.
    She wasn’t closing her eyes, wasn’t going to sleep. If she did, she was certain she’d be back in that cave, back in the horror. But that wasn’t the reason, she assured herself as shestruggled to force her eyelids open again. It wasn’t fear that was pushing her along. It was duty. And as soon as she got her second wind, she was getting up to fulfill that duty.
    She wasn’t going to sleep just because Ben McKinnon told her to. Especially since he’d told her to.
    She fell like a rock and slept like a stone.

PART FOUR
    SUMMER
    Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
    — Shakespeare

TWENTY-FIVE
    T HERE WASN ’ T A DISH IN THE SINK , NOT A CRUMB ON THE counter or a scuff mark on the floor. Lily stared at the spotless kitchen. Adam had beaten her to it. Again. She stepped to the back door, through it. The gardens she’d planned were tilled, with the hardier vegetables and flowers already planted.
    Adam and Tess. Lily hadn’t even gotten soil on her garden gloves. And oh, how she’d wanted to.
    She struggled not to resent it, to remember that they were thinking of her. She’d been ill for two weeks, and for another, too weak to handle her regular chores without periodic rests. But she was recovered now, fully, and growing weary of being worried over and pampered.
    She knew the freezer was stuffed to overflowing with dishes that Bess or Nell had prepared. Lily hadn’t cooked a meal since the night Jesse had come through the door where she now stood looking out at the tender green buds on the trees, feeling the gentle warmth of the May air on her face.
    It seemed like years since that cold and bitter night. And there were blank spots still, areas of gray she didn’t care to explore. But she was to be married in three short weeks, and her life was more out of her control than it had ever been before.
    She hadn’t even been permitted to address her own wedding invitations. It had been discovered, to everyone’s surprise, that Willa possessed the neatest handwriting among them. So Tess had assigned the job to Willa, with Lily playing only a minor role.
    They’d let her lick the stamps.
    The flowers were ordered, the photographer and music settled on. And she’d let them, all of them, lovingly step over and around her to handle the details.
    It had to stop. It was going to stop. Closing the door firmly at