Keeping Caroline. Vickie Taylor
weeping willow tree behind him like a physical force. Giving in to the compulsion, he stepped into the magical circle of its fronds.
Would it still be there?
With fingers and eyes he skimmed the gnarled trunk until he found what he was looking for. An old carving:
M.B. Loves C.E.
Matt Burkett loves Caroline Everett. He remembered the night he carved that. Back then, he’d thought love lasted forever. Through any hardship.
How idealistic he’d been. How young.
And he wasn’t getting any younger. No sense putting off the inevitable any longer.
With a sigh, he hitched his duffel over his shoulder, called his K-9 partner, Alpha—Alf for short—from the bank of the pond, and set off up the hill toward the house.
Caroline’s house.
Minutes later, breathing a little harder, he stood at the top of the hill and stared up at the turn-of-the-century Victorian monstrosity. “This is it, Alf.”
The dog looked dubiously at the old house, then nudged his nose under Matt’s hand for reassurance. Matt obliged with a few easy strokes over the dog’s graying muzzle. “Let’s go see who’s home.”
In the front yard he studied the house up close. The last time he had seen the place, the facade had shone pearly white. Looking up from the bottom of the hill, it would have fit right in with the feathery summer clouds in the sky above it. Now, paint peeled from a weathered gray frame that reminded him more of thunderheads than summer cumulus.
Of all the places Caroline could have run to, he wondered why she’d come back to Sweet Gum. Happy memories? Simpler times?
Maybe she’d come home for the slower way life was lived here, where time was measured in seasons, crops planted and harvested, instead of seconds. Precious moments that never lasted.
Lost in his thoughts, Matt didn’t notice the small black boy barreling around the corner of the house until it was too late. The boy, five or six from the looks of him, ran into his knees, then bounced a step back and said, “Hey!” as if Matt had stood in his path on purpose.
Matt reached down to steady the boy, who then kicked him in the shin. “Ow!”
“Who’re you?”
He held the boy with one hand and rubbed his leg with the other. “Who are you?”
“I axed first.”
Matt forced himself to not recoil from the small body despite the pain slicing through him at the sight of twiggy arms and knobby knees. The kid was as rangy as Brad had been at that age. Only when he met the boy’s wide eyes and saw…nothing…did he realize the boy was blind. Stomach clenched against the unfairness of the child’s disability, he lowered himself to one knee, sliding his hand down the boy’s arm to shake his hand, and spoke less harshly. “Name’s Matt Burkett. You?”
The boy narrowed his unseeing eyes distrustfully a moment, then relented. “Jeb Justiss.”
Matt let go of the boy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jeb.”
Jeb’s nose wrinkled. He lifted his head, scenting, then the corners of his mouth curled up. His blank eyes shone with glee. “Dog!” he said exuberantly, his hands searching the empty air. “Can I pet him?”
Matt signaled Alf away and stood. “No.”
Jeb’s jubilant expression fell.
“He’s a police dog, not a pet,” Matt explained.
“You a cop?”
“Uh-huh. K-9 squad.” When he wasn’t negotiating with suicidal hostage takers whose lives reminded him too much of his own.
“What’re you doin’ here?”
“I’m looking for my wi— For Caroline.”
“Oh. She’s in back, pay’ in.”
Painting. Matt realized what Jeb had been saying when the boy led him to the backyard where Caroline, her back to him, stood atop a wobbly ladder propped against the house. Her brush swept back and forth over the buckled siding with the care of a master artist adding color to canvas.
He stopped, drinking in the sight of her.
She’d put on weight. Lush curves had replaced the willowy leanness he remembered so intimately. The flare to her hips was a little less subtle. Her cheeks—the ones in back—filled the seat of her ridiculously short cutoffs in two tempting teardrops. The bloom looked good on her. Lord knows she’d been too thin before.
Grief could do that to a person.
Though he’d meant to be silent, enjoying the view more than he had any right, he must have given himself away with some small noise. She turned. White paint dotted her cheeks—the ones in front—and slashed across her wrists and hands, a stark contrast to her bronzed complexion.
For a few seconds they simply stared at each other. Then in lieu of a greeting, she said simply, “You’re late.”
Not exactly the welcome he’d been expecting. But then, he wasn’t sure that he really was welcome here. “Huh?”
“One year, we said. It’s been thirteen months, eight days.”
“Two hours and—” He checked his watch, getting her meaning. “About six minutes.”
She climbed down the ladder. “You remember.”
Three rungs above the ground, she took the hand he offered to balance her. Her fingers were warm and dry and trembled slightly, but her grip was strong.
He turned her to face him and found her warm caramel gaze just as strong. Vibrant. Alive. More alive than he’d felt in months.
He turned loose her hand and took a step back. “A man doesn’t forget the moment his wife walks out on him.”
Caroline set a bowl of water on the floor next to Alf and scratched him under the chin. The dog lapped up a drink, then drooled half of it down her arm, just like old times.
Standing, she looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do with herself next. Matt sat at the table in the breakfast nook. Even in a chair, his long legs and burly body took up most of the room. And what space his oversize frame didn’t fill, his sea green eyes seemed to devour.
He’d aged since she’d seen him last. Hard wear lines creased his face, and the smile that had once perpetually captured his mouth—and her attention—was long gone. Still, with his broad shoulders and barely tamed cap of golden, wavy hair, he looked more suited to the bow of a Viking raider than her antiquated kitchen.
Deciding a strategic retreat was in order, she backed away to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“All the way from Port Kingston?”
The flicker of good humor in his eyes fled too fast. “From the bus stop in town.”
She arched one brow as she handed him a glass of iced tea. “Something wrong with your Blazer?”
He frowned slightly as he wiped the condensation off his glass. “I needed the downtime.”
“Leave the driving to us, huh?”
“I guess.”
There was more to that story, she was sure. It wasn’t like Matt to give up control, to be a passenger, but she didn’t press. His transportation woes weren’t her concern any longer.
She lowered herself into the cane seat of a chair by the window, where she could keep an eye on Jeb outside. “So,” she finally said just because she couldn’t bear another moment of silence. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”