He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Lara."
She blinked at him. "Sorry about what?"
So much. This time he did touch her, a breezing caress that wiped the moisture from her full check. At the touch, he felt her raw, misunderstood pain, seen in his mind as a red swirling mist of anguish and confusion and loss.
It shamed him to the core. What could he say? How could he atone for the pain he'd so blindly ignored, even fostered?
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There was nothing, no words.
"I'll be different," he said quietly.
She frowned. "Dr. Carrick?"
He knew she didn't understand, and it didn't matter. Selena was right; the past wasn't the important thing in life. The future was what counted, the choices that were made. He gave Lara a smile. "How about if we try to find a worm for that little guy? Maybe we could even make him a nest out of batting or something."
"Truly?"
"Truly." Smiling, he stood up. "Come on."
She grabbed her doll to her chest and got to her feet. She started to take a step toward the house, then stopped. Without looking up, she reached for his hand. He saw the contact coming, and for once in his life, accepted it, even welcomed it.
The vision, when it hit, was completely unexpected. The anguish, the pain, the confusion, were gone. Her mind was filled with childish excitement-I hope I find the first worm.. . . Hold on, birdie, I'll take care of you. . ..
He had done that, he realized suddenly. With nothing more than a fairy tale and a few moments of kindness, he had made this child smile, had given her a moment of hope.
He looked down at her small hand tucked into his larger one, and for a second his heart was achingly full.
Damned if he didn't feel like a father for the first time in his life.
Together, they went in search of worms.
Selena knocked on Maeve's door. Behind the barrier, she heard the rustling of feet, then a hurried "Come in."
She twisted the brass handle and pushed the door open, stepping into an unexpectedly sunny room. A huge tester bed dominated the chamber, its surface draped in yellow and white checked silk and piled with Battenberg lace pillows. Around it, the walls were a
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clean butter yellow, papered here and there with bright pink rosebuds. Painted wooden bookcases covered one whole wall, the shelves filled with books and knick-knacks and dead animals, stuffed and sewn to look real.
A yellow and orange sofa, overflowing with flowered pillows, sat huddled alongside the marble fireplace, warm and inviting. Above the fireplace hung a gilt-framed painting of a naked blond woman draped in the sheerest curtain of gold. The artist's name, Jonas, was a gigantic black scrawl along the lower edge of the painting.
Selena stared around her in awe. "Your bedroom is beautiful, Maeve," she said.
Maeve gave her a broad smile. "Thank you. And thank you for coming." She turned and rifled through her walnut armoire, finally pulling out a lovely aquamarine silk gown and a bunch of dried flowers. "Here," she said, smoothing the gown along the end of the bed. 'This was my wedding gown. I want you to wear it."
Selena moved slowly toward the gown. It was the most exquisitely beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She picked up the hem, fingering the silken softness of the fabric, the heavy ecru lace that lined the daring neckline and fell in soft folds across the shoulders, the billowy half sleeves that ended in layer upon layer of more exquisite lace. "Oh, Maeve ..."
"Try it on. The wedding is five days away. We may need to make alterations." Maeve hurried to the chiffonier, wrenching open one drawer after another, piling her arms with lacy undergarments.
Selena saw the torture device called a corset and winced. "I shall not wear that."
Maeve laughed. "Corsets and weddings go together. It's a rule."
"I do not follow rules. And I do not want to pass unconscious at the first curtsy."
"All women do. At my wedding, ladies dropped like flies on the dance floor."