“Colby, I did it because I wanted to, not because I felt like I had to.”
Then she lowered her glass and slipped out the back door. Moving to stand at the door, he watched as she jogged down the steps and drew a pair of gloves from her back pocket. Colby stared at the perfect, round curve under the faded denim and swore. Thunking his head against the glass door, he muttered under his breath, “You’re fucked up, Hutchins. Seriously.”
Colby…
Shit, she couldn’t believe he was here. That he was back. Her heart had yet to settle back to normal and it was a miracle she hadn’t stuttered every time she had tried to speak to him.
Even now, she couldn’t get herself under control.
Of course, it didn’t help that she knew he was watching her. She could feel it, feel his eyes on her as she worked in the flowerbeds, pulling up stubborn weeds, thinning out the day lilies that were already blooming in a riot of yellows and pinks. She’d thought maybe she was just imagining the weight of his stare but as she finished up in one flower bed and moved to another, she saw him standing at the window.
Staring.
It was a weird look, intense, probing, as though he was trying to see clear through to her soul, but at the same time, it was almost like he didn’t really see her. Bree started to wave to him but then he turned on his heel and moved away from the window.
Finally, she thought. Maybe now she could focus on the job at hand instead of thinking about him, worrying about him…dreaming about him. All of that could happen later, when she was home, safe and alone. Where she didn’t have to worry somebody might look at her and see all the secrets she tried to keep hidden.
Bit by bit, she relaxed, losing herself in the pleasure of the job. Hers wasn’t an easy job—it was hard, manual labor, very often of the back-breaking kind. But she loved it. Loved planting things and watching them grow.
Sweat trickled down her forehead as she finished the particular flowerbed she had been working on. Absently, she swiped the back of one gloved hand across her brow, inadvertently leaving a streak of dirt. She blew out a satisfied sigh and then looked back at the flower beds she had yet to do.
And found herself staring at Alyssa, or rather, through her.
After a year, she’d finally learned to stop jumping when she saw Alyssa’s ghost. But today wasn’t a normal day and she just barely muffled her yelp. “Damn it, Lys.”
Alyssa smiled. “Girl, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Bree, you really do need to lighten up. Live a little.” Her voice had a weird echo to it, rather like she was talking from the bottom of a well.
“So says the ghost,” Bree muttered, shaking her head. Grabbing her work tools, she headed to the next flowerbed. Sinking to her knees, she started weeding with a vengeance and hoping that if she ignored her, Alyssa might go away.
But it hadn’t ever worked before—wasn’t going to start working now. Alyssa plopped down right in front of Bree, so suddenly that Bree ended up sticking a hand right through her as she grabbed a pair of pruning shears from the bucket she kept her tools in.
Hissing, she jerked her hand back and glared. “Don’t you have some harp-song-on-a-cloud date to keep?”
Setting her jaw, she started pruning a Knock Out Rose bush. Alyssa snickered. “Harp song. How boring. You really think dying is about playing harps?”
“Oh, geez.” Since Alyssa didn’t seem interested in moving her transparent tail away from the rose bushes, Bree abandoned her pruning shears and moved on to thin out the pansies that were threatening to overtake one of the many small flowerbeds.
“He missed you.”
The sad honesty in Alyssa’s voice caused a knot to form in Bree’s throat.
“I know you missed him.”
“Him missing me doesn’t account for much.” Sighing, Bree tugged off her gloves and stared down at her hands. They weren’t a lady’s hands. Strong, capable, with palms calloused from her work and nails she kept cut brutally short. Her skin was a smooth shade of soft, mellow gold, a gift from the mother she’d lost back when she was a baby. Her gray eyes came from her father—though she didn’t know him either. He’d dumped her on his sister within a few months of having her dumped at his doorstep and he hadn’t ever looked back.
But it was his eyes she saw staring back at her from the mirror. Her aunt Cara had eyes the same shade of dark gray. Cara hadn’t been prepared to suddenly become mama to a two-year-old child but she’d done the best she could.
Bree didn’t suffer serious self-esteem issues. She knew what she looked like. She was attractive and when she put half a mind to it, she might even be beautiful. She preferred jeans over just about anything else and kept her hair cut short just so she didn’t have to spend as much time messing with it. Still, she was pretty.
But she wasn’t Alyssa.