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  John shook his head at his own rationalization. The bold truth was he couldn’t wait to see Lydia again. Like a kid, he’d felt both thrilled and nervous for weeks since learning she planned to come home. He’d dreamed of this for all the years she’d been gone, hadn’t he? Hoped it would happen somehow, even with all he’d failed to do to keep her here before.

  When he heard her car pull up at last, he headed toward the door, not wanting to startle her by being inside when she let herself in.

  She’d just leaned over to find the spare key under the old fern, when he opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise as she stood up, dark hazel-green eyes rising to meet his—beautiful, expressive eyes he’d dreamed of in the night hours time and time again when he couldn’t sleep.

  John’s gaze slid over her, seeing her form still tall and firm, if fuller in a few spots. Her hair, the same thick, rich auburn, shimmered with red glints in the afternoon sun. She wore neat brown slacks and a loose, delicately embroidered vest slipped over a flirty white shirt with small tucks across the front. A smile touched John’s lips as he saw the strappy embroidered shoes on her feet, sparkling with decorative rhinestones. Lydia had always dressed with a distinctive flair and, even when dressed casually, found a way to look feminine in a way few other women did.

  She spoke at last, stammering—obviously rattled to see him. After a moment, she glanced toward the sign over the porch railing, asking him about it.

  He told her how the boys had made it, and then an awkward silence fell as they each wondered what to say after all this time. What should I say? John thought.

  Finally, he saw her frown, annoyed, and then she snapped out some words telling him she didn’t need his help, even asking if he’d changed his mind about her leasing the place. Her words pricked at him. Did she really think he’d tell his own wife she couldn’t rent their house? Or go back on his word? It hurt to think she thought so little of him.

  John bit down his anger and told her about the cat. He went in the house to bring out the kitten, meowing piteously and clawing at his shirtfront. John watched Lydia’s face soften as she walked up the porch steps and pulled the kitten from his shirt to cuddle it in her arms.

  The cat, and the story about it, eased the strain between them until the tension turned in a new direction. A sensual one. He knew Lydia sensed it, too, and he watched her fidget and grow nervous, wetting her lips like she’d always done when she grew aware of him in a physical way. His ego soared to know he still affected her. He’d wondered if he would after all this time.

  They reminisced then, John savoring the sound of her voice and watching her stroke the little cat on her lap until it relaxed and fell asleep. He walked over to take the kitten from her to put it in the house. Leaning over her, he caught that familiar, heady gardenia scent of hers, making him catch his breath in memory. Lord, he loved her still and had missed her so.

  John smiled to himself an hour or so later as he walked down the driveway from Hill House. He hadn’t expected his first meeting with Lydia, after all this time, to turn out like it did. He never envisioned touching or kissing her. He’d thought it enough to see her here again, but brushing against her while he helped her unload the car and catching the floral scent of her kicked up that old awareness between them, addling his senses. As he glanced back at the bend in the road now, she still stood there by the porch, a hand to her heart, struggling with her unexpected emotions—a picture he’d hold in his memory for a long time.

  As he walked on down the road, John ran into Sam Sheppard, the Cunningham Farm manager and his friend since boyhood.

  “Did Lydia get in all right?” Sam asked. “Doris sent me over to check and see if she needed anything.”

  “She’s fine, settling in. I helped her unpack. There’s no need for you to go up to the house now unless you want to. She mentioned she’d probably make the rounds to see everyone tomorrow.”

  “Good. Then I’ll head on back home,” he replied. “Doris and Mama were working on dinner when I left, and Clyde was helping Papa out in the barn, trying to repair one of the farm tractors. They could probably use a hand.” Sam fell into step with John as they started back down the road again.

  As they ambled along, John’s thoughts wandered back to his time with Lydia and he found himself smiling once more.

  “Seems like you’re in a real good mood,” Sam said, slowing to let his eyes move to a couple of squirrels scampering up a tree by the road.

  “Yep.”

  “Things must have gone well with Lydia.”

  “Better than I expected after ten years,” John admitted.

  Sam waited, walking on beside him, not probing, but John knew he had questions in his mind. Sam had watched him and Lydia court, stood up at their wedding, paced the hospital with him before J. T.’s, the twins’, and Mary Beth’s births. He’d known the kindness and wisdom of John’s father, the trials they’d all endured with his mother, the problems with her after his father’s death. He’d sat with John on an old bench in the orchard after Lydia walked out, knowing he needed a friend. John knew, too, that Sam was aware of how much he’d missed Lydia all these years, even though they’d never discussed it.

  “She’s still beautiful,” he told Sam.

  “I couldn’t imagine her being anything else.” Sam sent him a crooked grin.

  “I didn’t know how it would be after so long, how it would feel.” He kicked at a rock on the side of the two-lane road. “But it was good. Maybe because we were at Hill House, where we first lived. We fell right back into talking after a few awkward moments, sort of like things had always been.”

  “It’s like that with old friends, even when they haven’t seen each other in years. They fall right back in step,” Sam put in.

  “Yeah, I saw that.” John slowed as they came out of the wooded area of the road, stopping to look across the Side Orchards and the farm below.

  Sam paused with him, pushing back the battered John Deere cap he always wore.

  “More happened,” John confessed then. “Those old feelings kicked up, and I acted on them without thinking.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows with undisguised interest.

  “No, not that.” John chuckled. “But enough to show me I have a chance with her. She still has feelings for me.”

  “She didn’t scratch your eyes out or slap your face?” Sam winked at him.

  “No, and considering all that’s happened, that’s a good sign, I’d say.”

  “Sounds promising,” Sam agreed.

  They walked on, turning left to follow the old Cross Road toward their homes. Sam veered off the road at one point to look at one of the trees in the Side Orchards, examining the early apples forming.

  His eyes moved to John’s as he walked back to the road where John waited. “She did come back, John,” he said. “To me, that says something.”

  “There were other reasons why she came back,” John answered. “But the fact that she did gives me hope.”

  “Well, good luck with it.” Sam let the discussion go then as they followed the road past the barns and gardens behind Main House. With a few words of good-bye, Sam walked on, heading toward his own place, while John lingered, leaning on a fence rail of the garden to think.

  It had been a long time since he’d felt a rush of emotions like today. As he told Sam, Lydia hadn’t been immune to them, either. He’d watched her grow gradually more nervous as he helped her unpack and settle in. It reminded him fondly of their early courting days and the careful dance around their building emotions they’d played then.

  Caught off guard, Lydia had tried to keep busy and push her feelings away. John remembered that about her. She never seemed comfortable to simply linger in the moment when heavy emotions flared up or to savor them bit by bit as they evolved. But once words moved out of the way, Lydia hadn’t fought him. That had always been the way between them. Words and communication sometimes proved awkward, but intimacy was always sweet.

  He
smiled again at the memory, wondering what she might be thinking now as she unpacked and settled in. Was she thinking of him as he was of her? The way ahead might not be easy, but John knew now he might hold a chance to win her back. Maybe. With Lydia nothing was ever simple or straightforward.

  CHAPTER 3

  After John walked out of sight, Lydia turned to walk back into the house and realized her knees felt shaky and weak. She sat down in a wicker chair on the porch, fanning herself with her hand.

  “Good heavens. What just happened here?” she asked, trying to settle her emotions and collect her thoughts.

  Over the last years, she’d imagined many scenarios of meeting John again, even of being alone with him. She’d often planned out what she might say to him, how she might act. She’d envisioned how she would handle the arguments that would be inevitable between them.

  In all her imaginings, it never dawned on her that passion would flare again between the two of them or that he would kiss her at their first meeting—and not simply a chaste kiss of fondness, either. He’d taken her breath away, left her speechless. How had that happened? When he’d held her close against him, there’d been no doubt he desired her. Not that anything was wrong with that, or sinful, with them still legally married. It was just so unexpected.

  Lydia heaved a huge sigh. When she and John parted ten years ago, that aspect of their relationship hadn’t been in very good shape. They’d been almost celibate for years, their daily relationship more one of fond friendship. She couldn’t recall the last time John looked at her as he did today, called her beautiful, or made her feel desirable as a woman.

  She fanned herself again. In honesty, she couldn’t recall since she was a young woman feeling so overwhelmed with emotions or feelings as intense as these. And the last time she’d felt like this was with John when they were both in college, so young and so much in love.

  She twisted her hands, trying to make sense of it all. I don’t understand this. I really don’t. I feel so unprepared—

  The mewing of the kitten in the house interrupted her thoughts. “Poor little thing.” Lydia jumped up at the sound. “I forgot all about you.”

  She let herself in the screen door of the house, found the frightened kitten, and took it into the kitchen to find food for it. A knock sounded at the door after she had fed, cuddled, and settled the little cat into a blanket in the box in the kitchen.

  “Hey! It’s Rebecca. Can I just let myself in?”

  Lydia rounded the corner of the kitchen as her best friend since college days, Rebecca Albright, came into the house.

  Lydia crossed the room to give Rebecca a warm hug.

  “When did you get here?” Rebecca asked.

  Lydia checked her watch. “About an hour and a half ago.”

  “Sorry I didn’t get here earlier to help you unload.” She dropped her purse on the couch. “Is there anything left to get from the car?”

  “No. John stopped by to help me.”

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “How did that go? Did you quarrel?”

  “No.” Lydia felt herself blush.

  “What’s that blush?” Rebecca pulled her down to sit on the sofa with her. “What happened? Are you upset? I don’t want you running off on me back to Atlanta before you’re even settled in.”

  Lydia wrinkled her nose, not wanting to talk about her encounter with John—even with Rebecca. “A little chemistry flashed around in the air, that’s all. I don’t know quite what to think of it yet.”

  Rebecca leaned back against the couch and crossed her arms. “You’ve never gotten over John Parker Cunningham, that’s what it is. Nor he over you. I’ve been telling you that for years. He’s never dated anyone or even showed an interest in another woman since you left.”

  Lydia frowned. “Well, he certainly didn’t demonstrate any blatant interest in me before I went to Atlanta, so this all came as a surprise.”

  “It’s a new day.” Rebecca grinned and spread her arms across the sofa back. “I’m just glad to hear you’re not quarreling.”

  Lydia glanced around. “Perhaps it’s this place. John and I lived here when we first married and stayed here with our children until Grandpa Will died.”

  “I remember. If you, John, and the children could have stayed here instead of moving in with Estelle, all your problems might not have happened.”

  “No, the problems were already going on.” Lydia shook her head. “They simply got worse when we moved to Main House and rented out this property for income.”

  “You started working then, too, right?”

  “Yes, I went to work full-time in the career center at Western, thanks to Aunt Martha paving the way. John had also taken an extra part-time job on the side to help.” She sighed. “But our move to Main House still proved necessary. So many hospital bills had piled up when Grandpa Will had his heart attack, those two surgeries, and then died. Then a bad freeze that spring practically blitzed the apple crop.”

  Rebecca put a hand over Lydia’s. “That was such a difficult time for all of you.”

  “Yes. Especially for the boys, just starting their teen years. They had to work so hard on the farm, enjoyed so few pleasures.”

  Rebecca frowned. “And Estelle gave them the devil and the dickens practically every day.”

  Lydia closed her eyes. “She was unhappy after Will died, and she didn’t really like sharing the house with us, despite how much room it had. She also didn’t like the spartan economies we had to practice, disliked the strain it put on all of us.”

  Rebecca gave a disgusted snort. “She disliked not being the queen bee in the community like she’d always been, the big benefactress in every charitable effort. She missed hosting all her groups at the house without having children underfoot.”

  “That’s true, I suppose,” Lydia admitted.

  “The truth is, Will Cunningham spoiled Estelle and catered to her and everyone knew it. He let himself run into heavy debt, trying to keep her happy, and then everything came due when he died.”

  A familiar wash of negative memories rolled over Lydia, making her feel heavy and leaden.

  Rebecca got up to walk around the living room. “The house here still looks great, doesn’t it?” she asked, shifting the subject. “I remember all the fun we had decorating our first homes together when we both got married. You had such a creative flair. I always envied that.”

  Lydia looked around. “It’s surprised me to see how little the house has changed after being a rental for so long.”

  “It was built well and it has good bones.” Rebecca walked over to look out the window. “John picked his renters carefully, too.”

  Lydia smiled. “You helped with that, Rebecca, handling it through your and Tolley’s realty agency.” She paused. “How is Tolley?”

  “Good, and our kids, Rachel and Mark, and their spouses are great, too—as are our grandbabies.” Her wide smile deepened, making her dimples flash in her full cheeks. She brushed her short blond bangs back from her forehead. “I wish they all lived closer, but Charlotte and Columbia aren’t too far to go for a visit.”

  “All four of those grandbabies are as cute as pie.”

  Rebecca glanced at her watch then. “What can I help you do before I leave?”

  “Not a thing.” Lydia got up to see her out. “I won’t start at Western until the end of summer when fall term begins. It’s a huge vacation block for me, and the first I’ve had in years. I’ll enjoy lots of time piddling around the house, working in the garden, and playing with my grandsons.”

  “Well, you deserve some happy times.” Rebecca gave her another hug. “And I’m looking forward to some girl times when we can work it in.”

  “Me too.” Lydia walked out on the porch to see her off. “You give Tolley a hug for me and tell him I’ll see him soon.”

  Letting herself back in the house, Lydia walked through the downstairs rooms with pleasure, remembering the familiar layout of the old country house—living room on the
right front, main bedroom and bath on the left, sunny kitchen and dining room in back. The laundry and pantry lay just off the kitchen, and a big, screened porch stretched the full width of the back of the house. Upstairs three small bedrooms and a second bath squatted under the eaves. She hugged herself recalling the good times she and John had shared here in their early married years.

  The small house perched in an idyllic setting on the knoll of its green hill. Creamy white in color with long windows framed in black shutters, it had two gables on the upper story and a large, inviting front porch welcoming visitors as they walked up the curved flagstone walk. While Main House, the grand, brick historic Cunningham family home, stood imposing and impressive on a high dramatic hill overlooking the lower farm, Hill House sat cozy and charming, snuggled in its green woodland above the creek on the Upper Farm. Lydia loved Hill House—always had—and she’d agreed to rent it because of its attraction and appeal, as well as to help the family retain the property.

  As she explored, Lydia found most of the original furniture and décor still in place. Here and there she discovered new furnishings and accessories, or worn pieces reupholstered, but she knew she could put her personal stamp back on the house easily with what was here. She’d brought no furniture from Atlanta, leaving it all with Parker.

  She unpacked after her house tour, putting her clothes away in drawers or closets, arranging her personal things where she could enjoy them. She heated some of Ela’s casserole and Doris’s green beans for dinner, called the boys to let them know she’d arrived safely, played with the kitten she’d christened Trudi, and then at seven, took a hot bath and curled up on the sofa in a soft linen nightdress to read a book.

  A knock at the door came as darkness fell. It startled her, and she got up quietly to pad over to the window to look out on the porch. It was John.

  She opened the door. “John, whatever are you doing here so late? You scared me knocking on the door after dark.”

  He held out the covered basket she hadn’t noticed in his hand before. “It’s another cat.”