Secret Garden. Cathryn Parry
reached for her hand, but she shrank back. He wore a gray sweatshirt—her kidnappers had worn hoodie sweatshirts—and his eyes were a pale gray blue beneath his navy blue golf cap. He also wore cargo pants and trainers. She had the impression of confident masculinity.
He pushed back the cap back from his face. Wavy, light brown hair with blond streaks. The scruffy beginnings of a beard. He gave her a boyishly charming, lopsided smile. “I’m really sorry about this.”
He held out a hand to her, but she, embarrassingly, scurried backward like a crab.
“I’m a professional golfer,” he said. “My name’s Colin Walker.”
Colin Walker! She almost laughed hysterically. The boy—now a man—she’d named her cat after, all those years ago.
Of course it would be Colin Walker she’d bumped into. Now, when she looked her worst—wet, muddy and bedraggled. She must have summoned him, she thought—maybe she’d conjured him up. All these thoughts about weddings and wishes for what could never be.
And he was so good-looking it was criminal. Of course she’d watched Colin on the telly; they all had. He’d strolled along the fairways as if he owned them, while his grandmother Jessie sat beside her on the couch in front of the big screen in the castle, near to bursting her buttons with pride.
Shaking, Rhiannon wiped her muddy hands on her trousers. Her right palm had nicked a sharp stone when she fell, and it stung. It was her dominant hand, and now painting might be difficult for a few days.
“At least let me take you into the house and get you a bandage for that cut.” Colin reached for her other hand, but she jerked away. People knew better than to touch her. It made her panic, and she couldn’t let that happen.
“No. Please. I’m fine.” She stood on her own. Likely, the only reason she hadn’t gone into a full-blown panic attack was that she knew who he was. Her heart was pounding with the knowledge.
His head tilted. He noticed her broken camera and picked it up from the ground. “I want to replace this for you.” He tucked it into his pocket. “Do you live around here? I’m only here for a few days, but I’ll order one for you and have it delivered.”
She hugged herself and stepped back. “No, I’d rather you didn’t do that.”
“I need to. I want to, I mean...” His gaze went up and down the length of her. She looked a fright! Her worst clothes, her scraggly, rain-wet hair, muddy boots...
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Jamie would tell him even if she didn’t. She had no choice. “I’m Rhiannon,” she said softly. “You know me.”
“Rhiannon!” Again, those charming, handsome gray-blue eyes went up and down her body. Scrutinized her face. Lingered on her eyes.
She felt herself flushing.
Did he remember her as fondly as she remembered him?
Obviously not, because he threw back his head and laughed at her. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but this hadn’t been it. Pity, perhaps. Quiet respect. Silence.
But never ridicule.
“I can’t believe this!” he said, still laughing at her.
What, that she was a recluse by choice? That the best way to manage her agoraphobia was to cut herself off from the rest of the world?
She’d never wanted him to see her like this. She’d thought that of all people, he would understand.
She’d been wrong.
“What did you expect of me?” she asked quietly.
“Sorry. It’s a long story.” Shaking his head, he leaned toward her...touching her, and she jumped backward as if scalded.
What was he doing? No one touched her. She controlled her space.
“I have to go,” she said.
He caught hold her arm. “Hey, Rhiannon, wait...”
“Stop,” she whispered, staring at his hand on her sleeve. She could feel her heart drumming, feel the panic returning. People didn’t treat her this way. They were respectful of her dignity.
Colin looked at her quizzically, and she drew herself up, groping for her inner peace. Control was the most important thing. “Please.”
He let go of her. “Oh, Rhi, I’m sorry. You’re married, huh? I didn’t mean anything by it. Touching you, I mean.”
Married? What a cruel joke.
“How are your kids?” he asked, drawling at her like a true Texan. “You have a bunch of ’em. Right?”
Something stung at her eyes. Something fierce and unexpected.
How could an agoraphobic ever bring up a child?
A strangled noise came from her throat. A harsh, suppressed sob.
“Rhi?”
Horrified, she shook her head.
Normally, she would be calm about it. Philosophical and gentle and accepting, but today...after her cousin’s wedding news...she was on edge.
“No kids? Figures he lied to me,” he muttered. “Well, me, neither.” Colin talked blithely along as if he hadn’t noticed her discomfort. “No kids. No wife. Just the traveling life.” He glanced down at her. His eyes were so blue. “How about you? Do you travel?”
Colin had no idea. None. It was as if she was seeing her life the way it might have been. The way it could never be.
“Rhi?”
“I’m fine!” she shouted harshly.
His face fell. Utterly fell.
She slapped her hand over her mouth. She turned and fled back to the castle before she did anything worse.
SMOOTH MOVE, WALKER, Colin thought as he watched Rhiannon run away. Obviously, she’d been appalled by him. How dumb had he been, hitting golf balls into the woods? He was a trained professional and he should have known better. That was what driving ranges were for.
Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt. Still, the broken camera in his hand rattled—he needed to replace it for her. Maybe his grandmother would be awake now and could help him make arrangements for that.
Blowing out his breath, Colin headed back to the cottage. The rain had stopped, but there was still no hint of sun, just gray, overcast skies. This place was about as different from Central Texas as he could imagine.
Under the overhang to the porch, he tossed his club and glove into the golf bag.
“Colin?”
Colin froze. He’d know that voice anywhere—Nana. Instinctively, a lump rose in his throat, and he turned to see her.
“Oh, Colin.” Tears glistened in his grandmother’s eyes. She was thinner and sadder looking than he remembered. He’d come to Scotland still harboring anger, but somehow, seeing her in person, that seemed to disappear.
Jessie’s arms shook as she reached for him. He pulled her close and gave her a hug. She wore an apron that smelled like black pudding. He hadn’t eaten black pudding—the Scots name for blood sausage—in ages; it had always been a favorite of his when he’d visited in the summers, because the boy in him had loved that it was made with real blood.
She stood back and held him at arms’ length. “I’m so proud of you.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I watch you on the telly. But you look bigger and taller in person. So handsome.”
Colin