He’d been willing to do the carving himself less than twenty-four hours earlier, he reminded himself. But that had been before he’d had the chance to observe Rachel. That had been when his only knowledge of her had come from Addie’s cutting remarks and the obvious pain behind them. Now he had seen Rachel. He’d seen-and felt-the turbulent tangle of emotions she was struggling with. He’d watched her look for the slightest sign of forgiveness or approval from her mother, and he’d seen the hurt flash in her lavender eyes when her hopes had met with cold disappointment.
He had accepted his own decision to help Addie and Rachel as best he could. And with that acceptance had come a subtle shifting in his feelings toward Rachel. The beginnings of protectiveness were coming to life inside him. Every time Addie inflicted another small cut with the razor edge of her tongue, the faint urge to take Rachel in his arms washed through him. He ignored the feeling on a conscious level, on a level where he was still not ready to involve himself completely, but it was there just the same.
Finally, Jayne scraped her chair back from the table and gave everyone an apologetic look. “I hate to say it, but I’ve got an important meeting tonight. I really have to be running along. Thanks so much for inviting me, Addie.”
“You invited yourself,” Bryan said, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth as he rose from his chair.
Jayne made a face at him. “Don’t get snippy. I brought the biscuits, didn’t I?”
“So you did,” he conceded graciously. “And they were delicious.”
Jayne bent, kissed the parchmentlike skin of Addie’s pale cheek and bid all good night.
“Where’s that Australian?” Addie asked.
“He’s working,” Jayne replied patiently. She leaned down and impulsively gave Rachel a hug around her shoulders. “It’s been such fun, Rachel. You’ll have to come over to the farm one day soon for a visit.”
Rachel managed a genuine smile for her new friend. It was impossible not to like Jayne immediately. “I will. It was nice meeting you, Jayne.”
“Same here,” Jayne said sincerely. “By the way, what’s your sign?”
“Um… Aquarius, I think,” Rachel mumbled uncertainly, knocked off balance again by Jayne’s sudden change of subject.
Jayne’s dark eyes took on a considering gleam as she looked from Rachel to Bryan, a secretive smile on her lips. “Bryan, honey, walk me out, will you?”
Leaving the Lindquists in the dining room, Bryan took Jayne’s arm and strolled down the hall with her. Neither spoke until they were on the wide porch.
“She’s very pretty.”
Bryan put on his blank, amicable smile and stuck his hands into his trouser pockets. “Who?”
Jayne frowned prettily. “Don’t play that role with me, Bryan Hennessy. I know you too well to be fooled by it. Really,” she said in a huffy tone, toying with the dainty gold bracelet that circled her left wrist. “I ought to be offended.”
“But you’re too busy recapping the dinner conversation and condensing it for analysis to bother.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, pouting.
Bryan grinned openly at that. He reached up and tugged playfully at the end of her necktie. “Tell me, does this miraculous turn of events warrant a conference call or an all-hands-on-deck type meeting?”
Jayne’s eyes twinkled. “Faith has baked a cake for the occasion.”
“And what occasion is that?”
“Alaina thinks you’re falling in love.”
Bryan wouldn’t have been more stunned if she’d suddenly smacked him between the eyes with a hammer. He literally staggered back a step. “That’s absurd! I only just met her last night-”
“Ample time for you.”
“-and she’s done nothing but try to throw me out of the house ever since. That’s hardly romantic,” he argued, doing his best to tamp down the memory of holding her.
Jayne just shrugged. “Monica Tyler hit you in the face with a peace pie, and you fell in love with her.”
“You’re taking that pie thing completely out of context,” Bryan said, shaking a finger at her. “That was an entirely different situation. I’m not in love with Rachel. You may report that to the rest of the joint chiefs of staff. I’m not in love. I’m not going to fall in love.”
“Don’t say that, honey,” Jayne whispered, all teasing aside. She reached up a hand to touch his flushed cheek. “I know how it hurts to lose someone. I also know a very wise man once told me we can’t orchestrate our lives, that we have to take our happiness where we can get it.”
Bryan scowled as Jayne threw his own words up to him. “I’d forgotten how that photographic memory got you through art history.” He heaved a sigh and stared out at the unkempt lawn and the fog that draped it all in a dreary cloak of gray. “Yes, we have to enjoy our lives while we can. I want to help Rachel and Addie do that. But I’m not ready for anything more.” He gave a derisive half laugh. “Besides, I’m the last man Rachel wants to get involved with.”
Jayne watched him closely. “How do you know that?”
“Just a feeling,” he murmured absently, recalling very clearly the way he had heard Rachel’s own inner voice state that fact earlier that morning.
Jayne’s eyes widened slightly. She opened her mouth to comment, but thought better of it. Instead, she offered him a soft smile and rose up on her toes. “Kiss me good-bye.”
After Bryan had complied dutifully, Jayne adjusted the strap of her enormous canvas purse on her shoulder and trotted down the steps and across the yard to her little red antique MG, whistling softly to herself all the way. Her dear friend Bryan hadn’t had a “feeling” about anyone else since Serena had died… until now. Until Rachel Lindquist.
“In love,” Bryan muttered in disgust as he let himself back into the house. Of course he wasn’t in love. He was attracted to Rachel, yes. Any man with eyes in his head would be attracted to Rachel. He was sympathetic toward her, naturally. Any caring human being would have been. But in love with her? No. It would be a long time before he felt ready to make that kind of emotional commitment again.
He made for the dining room, intending to excuse himself for the rest of the evening. He had a lot of reading to do about the history of the area and about Drake House in particular. If Wimsey had lived here, the fact would likely be documented someplace. Wimsey was, after all, his main reason for being there-work, getting back his professional instincts, getting back on track. Falling in love was not on the agenda.
The dining room was deserted. He hadn’t been on the porch for more than ten minutes, yet the table had been cleared of china and linen. The room looked as undisturbed as if dinner had never been served. He was about to count himself lucky and escape to hit the books when a sound drew his attention toward the kitchen. It was soft, muffled, like a cough or a sniffle… or crying.
Quietly he stole across the room and cracked open the door to the kitchen. Rachel stood near the sink, which was full of suds and dirty dishes, her arms crossed in front of her and one fist pressed to her lips. Her bare shoulders lifted stiffly as she sucked in another shaky breath and valiantly fought the urge to cry.
Bryan’s heart dropped to his stomach. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep from rushing across the room and scooping her into his arms. Instead, he backed away from the door and began humming loudly. He gritted his teeth and forced his frown upward at the corners, then burst through the door into the kitchen.
“What ho! This looks like a job for the butler,” he said cheerfully.