Page 6 of Unforgiven

Gritting his teeth, Seth called himself ten kinds a fool. Of course she was rattled. The woman barely walked out her door when someone else was on her property. He knew better than to approach so quietly—or to call out nonsense in the hopes of catching a smile. She was not going to be smiling with him anytime soon.

Part of him wanted to turn right back around and not grace her land for another twenty-eight days. But that wasn’t possible. Not when she’d stepped outside to speak to him and had been so kind as to give him that basket of bread and jam. He was no psychologist, but Seth was pretty sure that if he retreated now, it might take him another year to get her to trust him again.

He didn’t want to wait that long. Not ever again.

That meant there was only one choice, and that was to be up-front and honest. If she didn’t want him to come around again, he wanted to hear her say the words. Plus, he had a notion that a frank conversation would be real good for both of them. She would feel like she had a choice about who was on her property, and he’d know if she didn’t want him around. If she told him to his face to keep away, he would. He had no doubt about that.

“I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by here so soon,” he said when he was about three feet from the porch. “But if you do, tell me now and I’ll leave.”

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

“I mean it. I won’t get mad. Not at all.”

She remained silent.

Okay, then. It looked like he would be able to stay for a spell. Hoping to put her mind at ease, he kept talking. “Listen, I could make up a story about how I just happened to be around, so I thought I’d stop by, but we’d both know that was a lie. The truth is that I wanted to see you again.”

Unable to force her to meet his gaze any longer, he turned his head away. Looked out at the yellow-brown overgrown grass in the field just beyond her. “Now, don’t get too worried about that, though. I like looking out for people and checking on folks who I think might need a hand.”

“Like me.”

She’d spoken. Relief poured through him, though he tried to look oblivious to that fact as he gazed up at her. “Jah.”

Her throat worked. Even from his distance, he could see that she was mentally coaxing herself to get up the nerve to talk to him. As painful as it was to watch, he didn’t dare push her along. Instead, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. If she was willing to speak to him, he was willing to listen.

“Why?” Her voice sounded husky, almost rough.

It would be so easy to say something meaningless, but he wouldn’t feel good about that. “Because there’s something about you that appeals to me.”

“How so?” She loosened the grip she had on the railing.

“Well, beyond the fact that you’re the reason I know how to calculate percentages, I figure you and me are a lot alike.”

“You honestly see some similarities?”

They were both outcasts. That was obvious. But how did one tell someone that? Staring at the dormant grass again, Seth nodded his head toward the distance. “I guess you and me are a lot like that field over there. Right now, it looks like that old pasture might need a helping hand. The overgrown grass needs to be cut, and underneath, the soil needs to be worked. But, by chance, if someone takes a closer look at it, they’re going to see something else.”

“What’s that?”

He turned back to her. “Promise.”

She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not following you.”

He pointed. “That grass out there, come April or May, is going to be just fine. It’ll be green and healthy and thick. If a city guy drove by and took the time to notice it, he might even say it looks real pretty.”

“So you’re saying that the two of us are just in a bit of a depression.”

He laughed. “I reckon so.”

“Hmm.” She looked a little offended.

He held up his hands. “Come now. Don’t get all riled up about being compared to dead grass.”

“I am not riled, Seth Zimmerman.”

Ah. There it was. Tabitha almost sounded like the schoolteacher he used to know. The seventeen-year-old beauty he’d had a crush on. The girl who’d been so fond of light blue dresses and rarely wore black stockings. The young woman he’d been tongue-tied around because he was fourteen and she only saw him as a child who didn’t study enough or spell all that well.

“If you need a better reason for me being drawn to you, it’s because you’re quiet.”

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