“You’re not leaving already, are you?”
Abby came up behind him, holding her skirts in her hands as she quickened her step. A few strands of hair had come loose from her elaborate hairstyle, the effect softening her face and making her look slightly undone. Any man who figured a woman had to prance around in next to nothing to be sexy simply hadn’t seen Abby Foster buttoned up in her vintage clothes. All it did was make Tom want to reveal what was beneath—button by delicious button.
“Things are starting to wind down,” he observed.
“But…”
“But what, Abby?”
If she wanted him to stay, he wished she’d just say it. Ever since the day at the hospital she’d been toothachingly sweet, pleasant, and impersonal as hell. He’d had the thought once or twice that she’d simply got her shit together and that the sorry truth was she didn’t need him anymore. House fixed, family mystery solved, thanks for your help, bye.
“Will you stay?”
“Why?”
The question put her off balance, he could tell. A strange look passed over her face as she deliberated her answer. After several long seconds, he huffed out a sigh and turned on his heel.
“I know it was you who put a bid on the house,” she said.
He paused. “You weren’t supposed to know that yet.”
“Were you planning on telling me yourself sometime today? Or just keeping it a secret?”
He turned to face her, ignoring the curious stares of the makeshift house staff who were clearing away silver platters and dirty china cups. He kept his voice low but each word was perfectly clear. “What does it matter? You wanted to sell the house and I offered for it. A solution I suggested from the beginning, if you remember.”
“Is it really only about the house for you?”
Damn, what was she trying to get him to say? “Can we shelve this for another time? When it’s more private?”
“Everyone will be gone soon. No one’s coming for the tents until tomorrow. I can send them all home now if you like.”
“How very Lady of the Manor of you.” The FOR SALE sign at the end of the road was clear. Abby Foster wasn’t staying. Why would she want to settle in a little nowhere town like this with a simple contractor who preferred beer and boots over garden parties and champagne?
“And how snobbish of you to point that out.” She met his gaze evenly. “I’m not Erin, Tom. I don’t care about wealth and status.”
Her honest words struck him square in the chest. Not just because she was right but because she knew she was right and she’d used it against him.
“Ouch,” he said roughly, turning to go.
“Would you rather I not be honest with you, Tom? We could pretend it doesn’t matter but it does. We can pretend that Erin isn’t in the picture but it would be pointless because it does matter. And if you’re going to walk away from me, you can at least be man enough to tell me why.”
He turned back. She had her chin lifted and she stood defiantly in the corridor, but he saw the vulnerability, too. In the softness of her lips, the quick rise and fall of her chest.
He took a step forward. “Me? Walk away from you?” He pointed toward the door. “You’re the one with the FOR SALE sign in your front yard.”
“And you’re the one offering to buy it.”
“So?”
They were standing off against each other when one of the kitchen maids entered from the side door. “Excuse me, but we’re done in the kitchen, Abby. Do you want us to look after the linens and vases, too?”
Abby finally looked away from Tom and smiled. “No, I’ll do that later, thanks, Cindy. Tell everyone thank you for me, will you?”
Cindy looked from Abby to Tom, and back to Abby again. “We’ll just get out of your hair, then,” she said quietly. Tom watched her make a retreat with a soft swish of her black skirts. Voices quieted as the last of the ladies exited the house, leaving them alone.
Tom considered joining them. Getting in his truck and driving away. And yet he couldn’t make himself do it.
“Don’t leave,” Abby said quietly. “There are things I need to say. Please. Will you wait while I change out of these things?”