Firefly Hollow (12 page)

“Mr. Campbell-,”

“Owen.”

Sarah counted to ten, then to ten again. “
Mr. Campbell,
I was the one in the wrong that day. I was trespassing. You had every right to throw me off your land.”

He scowled. “I didn’t throw you off my land.”

“Not literally, but you most definitely did figuratively. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been there. I won’t be there again. End of discussion.”

Sarah could tell her response didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t move when she rolled the cart back to the elevator and returned to the desk.

After a minute, he pushed away from the wall and came to stand beside her. “As long as you don’t bring anyone else with you, I don’t have any objection to you coming to the pool from time to time. Just… just be careful if you do decide to come back, okay? And don’t go swimming by yourself. It isn’t safe.” With that, he headed into the genealogy room.

Stunned, Sarah stared after him. She had to make a concerted effort to pick her jaw up from where it had fallen on the floor. When Nellie returned from lunch five minutes later, Sarah was still trying to figure out if she’d imagined the exchange or if it had really happened.

In the genealogy room, Owen mentally cursed himself for being ten kinds of fool. Though she had hid it well, there was still a lingering hurt from that early encounter. From everything he’d seen of Sarah, she didn’t seem to be the type of person to hold a grudge for long. Therefore, the only logical reason for her to still be harboring hurt feelings about being forbidden from using Owen’s land was that she had a deep, emotional attachment to the pool. That train of thought almost didn’t bear following. Because if that was the case, if she truly was connected to the land emotionally, it was entirely plausible that she was the sort of woman Owen had dreamed of finding his entire life, but never dared believe existed. A woman who might possibly be able to accept him for who he was, all of him. A woman who, if she felt that deeply about something, wouldn’t easily forgive the person who came between her and what she loved.

And he’d been the one to hurt her.

Chapter Seventeen

W
HEN SARAH CAME DOWN FOR breakfast Saturday morning, she found her mother sitting at the table, staring into space.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Everything’s fine. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Sarah told her with a smile. She pulled together a bowl of oatmeal and some leftover canned peaches they’d had with supper the night before and poured a large cup of coffee. Sitting down across from her mother, she ate quietly for a few minutes. When Eliza resumed staring out the open kitchen door, Sarah felt a frisson of concern dance up her spine.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked again.

Eliza blew out a slow breath. “I have a lot on my mind, sweetie. Have you heard anything else from Owen?”

“No. He hasn’t been back in since that day I dropped the books on Tony.”

Her mother propped her chin on her hand. “Well, hopefully he’ll make his mind up one way or the other, whether he’s going to be a nice man or an ogre. Personally, I’m hoping for the nice guy. You could do much worse.”

“Mama!” Sarah laughed, a little embarrassed, especially since she’d been thinking that very thing.

“It’s true. And I’d like to see you married and settled, Sarah. You deserve to be happy.”

Sarah frowned. “You make it sound like you’re not planning on being around much longer. What’s going on, Mama?”

Eliza ran her finger across a groove Jack had cut in the table when he was ten. “I got a letter from Nancy yesterday. She wants me to come to Georgia for a while to stay with them.”

Carefully, Sarah laid her spoon down and sat back. “Okay. For how long?”

“I don’t know. Until thinking of your father doesn’t make it hurt to breathe anymore, I guess.”

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room was loud. Outside, Sarah could hear birds chirping, dogs barking, children yelling, but inside, it was as though a blanket of silence had fallen over the kitchen.

“How soon would you be going?” Sarah finally asked.

Eliza stood and went to the sink, dumping her coffee down the drain. “I’ll wait until after the baby was born, and Kathy’s all right from that. Do you think you’d be comfortable living here by yourself?”

It dawned on her then that Eliza’s mind was made up, and that if she hadn’t had a new grandchild to greet any day or Sarah living at home still, she would already be packing.

She didn’t want to lie to her mother, but her instincts were screaming that how she answered the question was monumentally important. “I think I’d be okay. It would be lonely, but maybe Gilly could stay with me some of the time.”

“And you wouldn’t resent me for leaving?”

“Oh, Mama, no!” Sarah went to her mother and embraced her. “I don’t want you to go, but if you need to, then you should. Don’t let me be the reason you don’t go. I’ll be fine.”

She felt some of the tension leave Eliza’s body. Her mother’s hands came up to squeeze Sarah’s arms.

“I can’t stand being here without him, Sarah Jane.” Eliza’s voice was choked with tears. “I don’t know what else to do.”

For several minutes, Sarah held her mother while Eliza cried.

After a while, Eliza released a shuddering breath. “I was so worried to tell you. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand and would feel like I was leaving you. You could always go with me. Nancy said they’d love to have you, too.” She pulled away to reach for a tissue.

Sarah crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “No. I don’t think I’d like that. I’m starting to build something here; I feel it. A life, a career. And I’m not talking about Owen Campbell,” she interjected before her mother could say it. “So as much as I’ll miss you, I think I’d rather stay here. Will you write?”

“Of course!” Eliza walked over with a clean tissue and wiped Sarah’s wet cheeks. “And I expect you to write me back.”

Sarah nodded, not looking at her mother. The tears were still too close to the surface. When the phone rang, she was relieved.

Eliza hurried to answer it, her face breaking into a smile as she listened to the caller. “But she’s doing okay? Good. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Is Moira with your mother? Okay. Yes, I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up, and Sarah knew without asking. “Kathy’s having the baby.”

“Yes. I need to get dressed and go to the hospital. You know how Randall is.”

Sarah snorted, then smiled. “I know. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here. I’d rather not have to sit through things with him in the waiting room. I’ll see Kathy and the baby tomorrow.”

Eliza gave her a sharp look, but didn’t protest. Sarah knew her mother understood that she needed some time to take in what they had discussed.

“Then I’d better get around. I’m glad she’s at the hospital and not having the baby at home. You girls definitely have the advantage over us old ladies there.”

“Mama, you’re not old,” Sarah chided. She agreed with Eliza’s assessment, though. While a lot of women still relied on midwives to deliver their babies, she was glad the hospital was nearby. New and modern, it provided a much safer alternative than her mother had had available when she was pregnant.

Ten minutes later, Eliza was ready to go. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“Okay. I may go for a walk. If you call and I don’t answer, that’s where I’ll be.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital with me?”

Sarah nodded. “I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

Her mother got in the car and waved as she backed out of the driveway.

As Sarah watched her drive down the road, she whispered, “I’ll be fine. The sooner I start getting used to being alone, the better off I’ll be.”

Chapter Eighteen

O
WEN DIDN’T GET OUT OF bed until after noon on Saturday. He’d been up until nearly four o’clock the night before, working on a story idea that had come to him Friday morning. By the time he stumbled to his bed, he’d been exhausted. As a consequence of sleeping so late, his head was pounding from hunger.

He pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans and a white T-shirt and headed downstairs to raid the refrigerator. Electricity was another luxury he’d had installed when he built the house, one he couldn’t imagine going back to living without.

His hunger satisfied, he walked to the front door and stared out across the kitchen garden at his parents’ house. He was going to have to get the tiller out soon, but after writing into the wee hours, the last thing he wanted to do was work more. Thoughts turning to the swimming hole, he wondered if Sarah would take him up on his offer and venture back over the property line.

“No, she’s too upset,” he told himself. “It’s way too soon to expect her to be there.”

He packed a bag with some fresh fruit and a couple of books and started down the mountain. Since he didn’t expect to see another human, he didn’t bother showering or shaving. He felt decidedly scruffy with a full day’s growth of beard shadowing his jaw, and as he scratched his chin, he thought he might try growing out the beard.

When he reached the pool, he almost lost his footing when he spotted Sarah sitting on the rock. Clad in shorts and a shirt with its tails tied underneath her breasts, she presented a stunning picture. Owen wanted to howl then and there. She didn’t act as if she knew he was there, so he took an extra minute to gather his composure. He made sure to make noise when he started walking again.

Sarah turned her head, a look of alarm and dismay crossing her face. She started to stand.

“No, no. You’re fine. I’m not going to yell or bite your head off,” he said as he reached the large, flat boulder. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Wary, Sarah shook her head. “It’s your land. You can do whatever you want.”

Owen set down the bag he was carrying, then sat on the lip of rock she was resting her back against. He struggled to find something to say, but he was at a complete loss. A few strands of her hair danced across her cheeks, teased by the breeze. Surreptitiously, Owen inhaled, taking in the smell of her perfume, shampoo, and the faint, healthy odor of sweat. She turned to study him, and he saw that she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’d better go, let you have your privacy.” Once again, she started to stand.

Reaching out a hand, Owen stopped her. They both stared at where his hand rested on hers, and he slowly pulled back, making the move a caress. He did his best to ignore the awareness the move had caused. “You aren’t bothering me. Please, stay.”

Sarah didn’t look at him, but after a minute, she eased back down onto the blanket. “Okay.”

When he was sure she was going to stay, Owen pulled out his own blanket, along with his fruit and books. He held an apple and orange out to Sarah, but she declined. Placing the fruit on the empty bag, he kicked off his boots and stretched out his legs. He picked a book and began reading, or tried to.

A good twenty minutes later, Sarah said, “It helps if you turn the pages. Makes the story much more interesting.”

Owen’s face heated, and he gave a rueful shake of his head. “I’ve heard that.”

Sarah gave a quick laugh, and Owen felt like he’d won a prize. She drew her legs up to sit cross-legged and pulled a book out of her bag. He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw that it was one of his, not the one he’d recommended, either.

“You like that author, then?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Very much. Thanks for the recommendation. I’ve now read almost everything he’s published and am firmly among the man’s devoted fan club.”

“He has a fan club?” That was news to Owen, and he frowned.

Sarah chuckled. “Oh, perhaps not formally. But several of my fellow students at Berea were half in love with him. I can see why, now. He has a way of writing that pulls you in, makes you almost believe you’re there.” She closed the book, marking the page with her finger, and leaned toward Owen conspiratorially. “They had all kinds of romantic theories about him. I swear they were convinced he was some fantastical hero who was locked away from the world, writing to quell his misery after losing the love of his life.”

Owen was flustered, and it was all he could do to speak normally. “Is that what you think?”

She wrinkled her nose, staring at the trees across the clearing. “I don’t know. I think he’s probably a woman, writing as a man so she gets paid better. I’m not sure a man could carry off the romanticism in these stories.”

“You don’t… but what about male poets? John Donne, Robert Frost, Keats, Byron? They were all romantic,” Owen sputtered.

“True, but look at the lives they led. With very few exceptions, some of the most romantic writers we know led lives full of dissipation, debauchery, and vices. None of them hid who they were, either. That’s another reason I think this H.O. McLemore is a woman. A man couldn’t keep quiet if he was as successful as she is.”

Owen didn’t know what to say. Without revealing to Sarah that he was, in fact, H.O. McLemore, there wasn’t much of a defense he could lodge. Still, he felt he had to try. “William Shakespeare.” Laughter bubbled out of her, and Owen felt his smile widen into a grin. “You’re laughing at the Bard. I’m crushed.” He grabbed at his chest.

“No,” she said between chuckles. “I’m laughing at you; I adore the Bard. You know, you aren’t someone I’d pictured as being a romantic.” Sarah swiped at her cheeks. They were wet again, but with tears of happiness.

“What if I told you that I know H.O. McLemore personally, and I can assure you with one-hundred-percent certainty that he is, in fact, a man?” Owen stretched his arm out along the rock, his hand not quite touching her shoulder.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “That’s awfully convenient for your argument. And unless I miss my guess, next to impossible to prove.”

She had him there. He considered offering her a signed illustration, but she’d seen his handwriting. Until and unless he knew her better, he couldn’t take the chance that she might recognize it. He could ask his publisher to write her a letter verifying that he was a man, but Owen figured that would be a waste of time, as she wouldn’t believe it was real.

“I guess you’ll have to trust me on this,” he finally said.

“Uh huh. Sure I will.” She glanced at the sky, then at her watch. “I really do have to go. I’ve been here two hours already.”

Owen stood when she did, watching as she folded her blanket she’d been sitting on. “I meant what I said. I don’t mind you coming here.”

Sarah hugged the blanket to her chest and shuffled her feet, her gaze on the pool. “I appreciate that. I really needed to come here today. Thank you.”

“You don’t owe me any thanks, Sarah.” He held open her bag, and she put the blanket inside it.

She met his gaze as she took the bag from him. “Yes, I do. I’ll see you at the library?”

He swallowed. “Sure. Are you okay to walk home by yourself?”

Her smile was sad. “I’m used to it. I’ll be fine. Bye for now.”

He watched her go, his curiosity running wild. Something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t press her into telling him what. With a frustrated sigh, he turned back to the book he had no interest in reading. A shadow passed over the ground, and Owen looked up to see that a cloud had moved to cover the sun. He gave up on his plans for relaxing next to the pond and started packing his belongings. With Sarah gone, he felt a little lost. He figured he might as well be lost at home.