Page 39 of Suzanna's Surrender
Restless, he rose to pace the length of the porch. A whippoorwill came to roost in the old wind-bent maple and lifted its voice in its three-note call. Roused, the insects began to whisper in the grass. The first firefly, a lone sentinel, flickered near the water that lapped the bank.
This, too, was something he wanted. The simple quiet of solitude. But as he stood, looking out into the night, he thought of Suzanna. Not just the way she had felt in his arms, the way she made his blood swim. But what it would be like to have her beside him now, waiting for moonrise.
He needed to get inside her head, to make her trust him enough to tell him what she felt, how she thought. If he could make the link with her, he would be one step closer to making it with Bianca.
But he was afraid he was already in too deep. His own thoughts and feelings were clouding his judgment. He wanted to be her lover more than he had ever wanted anything. To sink into her, to watch her eyes darken with passion until that sad, injured look was completely banished. To have her give herself to him the way she had never given herself to anyone—not even the man she had married.
Holt pressed his hands to the rail, leaned out into the growing dark. Alone, with night to cloak him, he admitted that he was following the same pattern as his grandfather.
He was falling in love with a Calhoun woman.
It was late before he went back inside. Later still before he slept.
Suzanna hadn’t slept at all. She had lain awake all night trying not to think about the two small suitcases she had packed. When she managed to get her mind off that, it had veered toward Holt. Thoughts of him only made her more restless.
She’d been up at dawn, rearranging the clothes she’d already packed, adding a few more things, checking yet again to be sure she had included a few of their favorite toys so that they wouldn’t feel homesick.
She’d been cheerful at breakfast, grateful that her family had been there to add support and encouragement. Both children had been whiny, but she’d nearly joked them out of it by noon.
By one, her nerves had been frayed and the children were cranky again. By two she was afraid Bax had forgotten the entire thing, then she was torn between fury and hope.
At three the car had come, a shiny black Lincoln. Fifteen horrible minutes later, her children were gone.
She couldn’t stay home. Coco had been so kind, so understanding, and Suzanna had been afraid they would both dissolve into puddles of tears. For her aunt’s sake as much as her own, she decided to go to work.
She would keep herself busy, Suzanna vowed. So busy that when the children got back, she hardly would have noticed they’d been gone.
She stopped by the shop, but Carolanne’s sympathy and curiosity nearly drove her over the edge.
“I don’t mean to badger you,” Carolanne apologized when Suzanna’s responses became clipped. “I’m just worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” Suzanna was selecting plants with almost obsessive care. “And I’m sorry for being short with you. I’m feeling a little rough today.”
“And I’m being too nosy.” Always good-natured, Carolanne shrugged. “I like the salmon-colored ones,” she said as Suzanna debated over the group of New Guinea impatiens. “Listen, if you want to blow off some steam, just call me. We can have a girls’ night out.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Anytime,” Carolanne insisted. “It’ll be fine. That’s a really nice grouping,” she added as Suzanna began to load her choices into the truck. “Are you putting in another bed?”
“Paying off a debt.” Suzanna climbed into the truck, gave a wave then drove off. On the way to Holt’s, she busied her mind by designing and redesigning the arrangement for the flower bed. She’d already scouted out the spot, bordering the front porch so he could enjoy it whenever he came or went from the cottage. Whether he wanted to or not.
The job would take her the rest of the day, then she would unwind by walking along the cliffs. Tomorrow she would put in a full day at the shop then spend the cool of the evening working the gardens at The Towers.
One by one, the days would pass.
She didn’t bother to announce herself after she’d parked the truck but set right to work staking out the bed. The result was not what she’d hoped for. As she dug and hoed and worked the soil, there was no soothing response. Her mind didn’t empty of worries and fill with the pleasure of planting. Instead a headache began to work nastily behind her eyes. Ignoring it, she wheeled over a load of planting medium and dumped it. She was raking it smooth when Holt stepped out.
He’d watched her from the window for nearly ten minutes, hating the fact that the strong shoulders were slumped and her eyes dull with sadness.
“I thought you were taking the day off.”
“I changed my mind.” Without glancing up, she rolled the wheelbarrow back to the truck and loaded it with flats of plants.
“What the hell are all of those?”
“Your paycheck.” She started with snapdragons, delphiniums and bright shasta daisies. “This was the deal.”
Frowning, he came down a couple of steps. “I said maybe you could put in a couple of bushes.”
