Part 6 (1/2)

lemonade. She watched him take it carefully in his hands, taste a tiny sip

and lower the gla.s.s to his lap.

”My guess, Mr. Sutton, is that your sense of direction has always been good,”

Cynthie said.

Winn decided there were times when he liked this woman's voice.

”Maybe,”

he said. Maybe the compa.s.s in his head had a needle that pointed straight to

Virginia. It was funny how suddenly, after three years, he was homesick.Maybe it was the lemonade. He took another sip; it tasted right, but therewas no mistaking this porch in Kansas for his veranda at home.

That was a curious thought. Why was it different? Why couldn't he imagine whatever he wanted around him?

The prairie smells were different from the flower

scents of home. The air felt different, warm but not as soft. And there were none of the sounds of home.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts. It wasn't good to dwell on memories.”What's the rattle I hear?” He pointed in the direction of the sound.”Mama's wind chimes,” Greg said. Winn heard bare feet slap the porch floor.”You want a cookie? They make the lemonade taste sour.”Cynthie laughed.”He's not trying to talk you out of your dessert. He likes it that way.””You may have my cookie, Greg, but you'll have to do me a favor in return.Tell me about the wind chimes. I've never heard any that sound like these. ””It's made of sh.e.l.ls,” Greg said, biting into a cookie.”Mama tied them to a ring with fis.h.i.+n' line. Couldn't we go fis.h.i.+n' in a hurry. Mama?” Greg persisted.

”I'm afraid not, baby,” Cynthie answered.

”My family made a trip to the beach once when I was a child,” she said to

Winn.

He smiled. Everyone out here brought memories of distant places. It madehim feel less alone.”Somebody's comin',” announced Greg.Winn strained to hear some sound in the distance. Maybe Mrs. Franklin had been wrong about his friends; maybe it was Mike and Slim come to get him.

”Can you tell who it is?” he asked.

”I think it's Kyle,” said Cynthie.

Greg handed his empty gla.s.s to his mother.

”I'm gonna see Sorry,” he said.

” Sorry's a stray dog Peter found,” Cynthie explained.

”He calls her that because she's such a sorry- loo king thing.”

”Wanna come?” Greg put his hand on Winn's knee. Winn shook his head. ”Maybe another time.” Cynthie watched her child run toward the barn and wished Greg liked Kyle better.The rider was still a long way off. Winn seemed almost as distant.”Can I get you anything else, Mr. Sutton?” she asked.”No, thank you, ma'am. If you could help me back to your father's room, I believe I'd like to lie down again. I'm afraid I give out pretty fast.”

”That's to be expected,” she said, taking the gla.s.s from his hand and settingit on the tray. She took his arm and directed him to the door.' ”You should count the steps from one place to another. You can get around without a guide that way.”

”I think t can stand being led around for a few days, ma'am. Besides, howoften does a cowboy like me get to have a young lady on his arm?”They had reached the door to her father's room. She guided his hand to the k.n.o.b and stepped away. ”As easily as you can turn on the charm, Mr. Sutton,I'd guess about as often as you like.”The dimples under his beard deepened.”Sorry, ma'am. I do appreciate the advice, but I'm not going to need it.”

”I hope not, Mr. Sutton.”She watched him disappear behind the door and, with a sigh, walked to theporch. She gathered up the remains of the picnic and set the tray and basketinside the house while she waited for Kyle. She wasn't sure why, but shesuddenly felt disappointed.

Cynthie lay awake listening to the approaching storm. The house was warm and she had left the windows open, hoping for a breeze before the rain.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and an irregular pulse of lightning playedoutside her window. She told herself she was staying awake to close thewindows at the last possible moment, but she knew she wouldn't have been ableto sleep anyway.

Somehow Kyle's visit had upset her. He had come primarily to find out if shehad taken in the stranger. Surely, he had only her best interests in mind.Yet she hated to have him checking up on her or questioning her decisions.She hadn't invited him in-or offered him the last of the lemonade. They hadtalked briefly on the porch, and she had all but sent him away.

She tossed away the sheet that covered her and scooted over, trying to find acooler place in the warm bed. She knew what she was feeling--guilt, and itwas becoming familiar. Recently, after Kyle's visits, she was left feelingvaguely guilty, as if she had not been fair to him.

Today had been the worst. She had treated him as if he was the outsider.

He had broken up Greg's picnic, driven the boy to the barn and Winn to his room. He had put an end to a very pleasant lunch. Even as she thought it,she knew she was being unfair.

Why were there times when she did not want to see Kyle Dempsey? He had asked her to consider marrying him. G.o.d knew he was better than the other men who had asked, some of them before the dirt had settled on Victor's grave.Something made her cringe at the thought of marrying Kyle. He was too much like Victor.

A sudden clamp of thunder made Cynthie jump. It was as if G.o.d took exceptionto her thoughts. She had loved Victor. She should be happy to many someonelike him. if was a dishonor to Victor's memory to think of herself as betteroff without him.

But she couldn't help the way she felt. She had been so young when she hadmarried Victor that until his death, she hadn't known what it was like to gothrough an entire day without being told either what to do or What she haddone wrong. He hadn't been mean to her, exactly. He had been like most husbands, she supposed. If her mother were alive she would probably tell hershe was getting too independent, a terrible sin in that woman's book.

She he^rd the patter of the first few drops of rain and got up to close thewindows, grateful for the activity. Maybe then she would be tired enough tosleep and the strange thoughts that were playing in her head would stoptroubling her.

In Greg's room, she closed the window and kissed his cheek as he lay sleepingpeacefully.

She systematically closed the other windows until she came to the room whereWinn Sutton slept. She had put that window off until last, feelinguncomfortable about entering his room. She turned the k.n.o.b as gently aspossible and left the door open as she crept to the window.

It creaked in protest as she lowered it, in spite of her efforts.

She turned toward the bed to see if she had disturbed the man sleeping there.She could discern no movement, but it was too dark to see.

She stepped closer to the bed as a lightning flash lit the room.

Winn slept sprawled across the bed, the covers thrown off much as her own hadbeen. He was bare- chested, his s.h.i.+rt lying in a tangle with the sheets onthe floor. The light lasted only a moment and left Cynthie with an image ofa broad chest and a bearded face as pale as the bandage above it.

His was not a peaceful sleep.

Not two seconds after the flash came the thunder, an explosive sound thatshook the house. Cynthie jumped and gasped, putting her fingers to hermouth. The cry she had heard had not been her own.

”Mr. Sutton? Are you all right?” Without thin king she stepped next to thebed. He was mumbling something in his sleep.