Page 30 of Unforgiven

“Seventeen-year-old girl? You’re acting like that’s a thing.”

“Since I was once one, I’d say it is. You see, they like their privacy. Melonie might not be leaving you in the dark because of your past, Seth. It might just have to do with the fact that you’re older and her brother.”

He looked thoughtful. “That makes sense.”

“I hope so. If that’s the case, it should ease your mind. It’s not personal.”

“What should I do, then?”

“Listen. Continue to ask questions but maybe not get so upset when she doesn’t give you answers right away.”

He sighed. “And that, Tab, is why I really should learn to keep my mouth shut around you. You’re full of practical advice.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“How about if I offer you some?”

Uneasiness filled her. “About?”

“About the way you still haven’t ventured out much past the farm. Remember how we’ve talked about you being around people more often?”

She remembered, but even the idea scared her. “You know I can’t. Most people don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Your circumstances aren’t like mine. I might not have been shunned, but I did some things that many find unforgivable.”

“I did too.”

“A lot of people don’t blame you for divorcing Leon.” He tempered his voice. “I think they’d help you if you’d let them. I know some of the people who were once your friends would want to be again. That would be a good thing.”

Here was her chance. She could either half-heartedly promise to think about his words like she usually did or she could be more honest. “I’m still afraid.”

“Of what?”

A new barrage of hurt feelings slammed into her heart. “You know.” She could barely even say those two words.

Seth shook his head slowly. “Sorry, I don’t. I don’t know what happened to you. I mean, I know that husband of yours hurt you.”

She flinched. She didn’t want to wear her hurts on her sleeve, but he had to realize that saying Leon hurt her was like saying Seth had been in jail for a while. Both might be true, but neither descriptor did the actuality justice.

“Why are you acting like I said something wrong?”

“You didn’t.”

“Can’t you be honest with me? You know I’m not going to judge you.” Obviously frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair again. He’d taken off his coat and was wearing only a thick flannel shirt over a white undershirt. When he moved his arm, his flannel sleeve rode up, exposing part of his wrist. His left wrist, which—along with the rest of his arm—was covered in colorful tattoos.

She stared at the bright ink.

His lips pursed. “Do they bother you?”

“The tattoos? No. I was staring at them because they’re so colorful.”

Looking down at his arm, he said, “I reckon they are. The ones I got in prison were black. When I got out and decided to add more, I chose to add color. It’s, uh, a good reminder of the fact that I’m free to do what I want now.”

Free to do what I want. Wouldn’t that be something?

“I wish I was brave enough to get a tattoo too.”

He smirked. “Are you joking with me, Tab?”

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