Page 17 of Concerto of Crows and Cowards

“I know that. I wasn’t thinking about him. Not really.” She licked her lips in hesitation. “It’s just—I feel like I’ve broken away from that part of my life. Almost as if it never happened.”

“Oh baby,” he said, touching the side of her face. “Of course it happened. And no one, least of all me, would ever want you to forget what you had with Donovan. But you need to know that I think he’d be proud of the woman you are now. The strength you’ve shown over the last couple of years. And I think he’d give his blessing that you chose me.”

The tears she’d been fighting fell down her cheeks, and he kissed each one away. “And I think if he were talking to me, he’d slap me on the back—God, he had giant hands, didn’t he?” he said, making her smile. “Then he’d warn me that I’d better love you the way you deserved or he’d make me sorry.”

Her smile froze and panic shone in her eyes, but he put his finger over her lips when she opened her mouth to speak, halting the denial he knew would come out of them.

“And I’d tell him he didn’t need to worry. Because I’ve always loved you the way you deserved. Even when you belonged to someone else.”

Her breath hitched on a sob and she rolled out of his arms until she lay flat on her back. Something felt like it was ripping inside of him. It was obvious she wasn’t comfortable with his confession, and he tried to tell himself it was okay. That she probably just needed time. But part of him wondered if she had no deep feelings for him—wondered if he was just someone she felt comfortable with to help her move on to the next stage in her life.

She scrubbed her hands over her face and then sat up on the side of the bed, so her back was to him. “You think maybe we could grab something to eat?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

He stayed silent for only a second, reminding himself to be patient. “Sure. I called the housekeeper before we left Dallas and she should have stocked the kitchen. If you can find something to throw together I’m going to grab a shower.” He needed some time to think and lick his wounds.

“What if I can’t cook?” she asked, a smile tugging at her mouth.

“I figure if you can calculate the wind and distance when you’re firing that rifle of yours, then you can probably follow a simple recipe.”

Her laugh was low and husky as she pushed off the bed and grabbed his robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

“You’re taking a hell of a chance,” she said as she left him for the kitchen. “I hope you like burnt toast.”

He was pretty sure she was kidding.

Jade escaped to the kitchen, pretending she hadn’t seen the hurt on Max’s face. Her chest was tight and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

What had she been thinking? She wasn’t the kind of person who could enter into a relationship and pretend sex didn’t mean anything. All she’d done was complicate things.

She paced around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and the pantry, noticing the kitchen had been well stocked with all the necessities. She dropped her head against the pantry door and listened intently as the water turned on from the shower.

“Get a grip,” she told herself. “You’re an adult woman. You’ve been in life-or-death situations. This is not one of those moments.”

She shook her head and decided food could wait. It was time to get solid footing back under her, so she found the guest bathroom and decided to take a shower herself. Maybe it would be easier to face him again if she wasn’t breathing in his scent.

When she came back in the kitchen twenty minutes later, still dressed in Max’s robe, he was standing in the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweats. His hair was damp and droplets of water beaded on the back of his neck. His back was to her as he stared into the fridge, but he sensed her presence.

“My kitchen skills are limited,” he said. “But we’ve got lots of fresh eggs and I saw oatmeal in the pantry. I could probably figure out how to put something edible together.”

“I’ll make omelets,” she said. “You couldn’t pay me any amount of money to eat oatmeal.” At his confused look she explained. “It’s the breakfast staple of orphanages everywhere. Seven days a week, summer, winter, or fall, there’d be a bowl of oatmeal sitting on the table.”

“Omelets it is,” he agreed.

They worked in companionable silence. She gave him mushrooms and green peppers to chop, while she whisked the eggs. Before long the smell of melted butter and sautéed vegetables filled the air.

“That looks like a little more than a hot tub,” she said, looking out the wide kitchen window into the backyard. A large pergola shaded the porch and framed a large rectangular pool with sparkling blue water. A waterfall trickled over the stone that led to a sunken hot tub, and she could see it was the perfect place to sit to watch the sun go down.

“I didn’t get around to giving you the full tour. I guess I was in a hurry.”

She laughed softly. “Well, your bedroom is very nice. And I love the kitchen.”

“It’s a big house,” he said. “More than I need. At least for now. I had it renovated when I moved in. It’s got three bedrooms, two baths, a game room and a living room. Once you’ve been fed I’ll let you pick what room we make love in next.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt to get things back on steady ground. They’d been friends first. It was important to remember that.

There was a tablet on the kitchen counter, and Max clicked a few buttons and music played low out of the speakers hidden in the ceiling. Then he set the island with plates while she finished cooking.

“Was it all bad?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

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