Shay took some more flour from a bowl, smoothing it over the huge lump before her. “My mom brought over a stool and had me help her. I don’t know, there’s just something life affirming about making it. We had so many wonderful times when she’d make us bread. She had such a great sense of humor and I can remember standing on that stool and she’d give me part of the dough, dip my hands in flour, and then show me how to knead it. Said that it really was the staff of life.”
Reese could feel the tension in Shay, although it wasn’t transferring to the dough she kneaded with her slender hands. She wasn’t pounding the hell out of the dough; she was kneading it with great gentleness, almost as if the bread was sacred. “You miss her a lot.” He saw her hands freeze for a split second and then she continued to fold the bread.
“Anyone who loves you,” she choked out, “you miss . . .”
His heart twinged as he saw the silvery path of a tear streaking down her cheek. Ah hell, he was such a goner when it came to Shay. He pushed off the counter, unlocking his arms, walking up to her. “It sounds like you could use someone to listen.” He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Instantly, he saw Shay’s mouth tuck, as if to stop from crying out. The tension in her shoulders was real beneath his fingertips. She stopped kneading, her hands stilling over the dough.
“Let me get this done?”
Lifting his hand, he said, “Sure.” Shay felt brittle, as if she were going to snap. Amazed that his old intuition was back and working once more, the cortisol hormone no longer running his life and desensitizing him to others, he stepped away. “Coffee’s almost done,” he managed, trying to keep his voice light. Reese was smart enough not to push it with Shay. He was going to give her an opportunity to tell him what was bothering her if she wanted.
“I-I’ll take a cup. Please?”
“Sure,” he rumbled, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet. Reese watched as she pulled out six aluminum loaf pans, greased them and then divided the dough into them. When she was done, she placed a small terry cloth towel over each one to allow them to rise. He went over to the table, set the mugs of coffee down, and pulled out her chair for her. She wouldn’t look at him after she washed her hands in the sink, wiping them off on her apron as she came over to the table.
“Thanks,” she whispered, sliding her hands around the white mug.
Reese settled into a chair, worried that Shay was going to explode. Lips tight, she stared down at the coffee between her hands. The tendrils of hair were soft around her pale face and he stopped the urge to reach out and touch them. God knew, he wanted to. But he didn’t trust himself with her any longer, the drive to touch her . . . kiss her . . . was powerful.
“What inspired you to make bread?” he asked, giving her an amused look. “Our talk about not having your kitchen because Garret took it over?” He saw her lift her chin, her blue eyes marred with darkness. Now, he could see how much she’d been crying. His heart lurched. Reese put a clamp on his anger toward Ray Crawford. Only he could do this much damage. Reese’s fingers itched to touch Shay, comfort her, hold her. What would she do if he tried to embrace her? Was Noah right? God, he was so screwed up inside, unable to honestly figure out how she felt toward him.
“I needed to do something I loved doing. Bread always makes me focus on the good things in my life.” She took a sip of coffee, unable to look at him.
“It’s nice to see you back in your kitchen.” Shay reminded him of all the good things a marriage brought to a man. He wasn’t a slouch in the kitchen either, but there was just something heartwarming about her making bread in her kitchen. Reese couldn’t explain it, only feel it. “After the arena-raising, you’ll be that much closer to reclaiming your house from all of us,” he teased. He saw Shay give him a sad look, her fingers moving restlessly around the cup she clung to.
“In one way, yes, but I will miss us being a family, eating together at night . . . the conversations, the laughter and fun we’ve all shared at this table.”
“It does get rank every once in a while, though,” he agreed with a slight smile. Her eyes were downcast on the cup again and he saw her lower lip tremble. It broke Reese that Shay was trying so damned hard to not talk about what was bothering her.
He tried to steel himself when he asked gently, “You saw your father this morning?” Instantly, he saw Shay stiffen, her mouth compress. Worse, the pain in her eyes tore at him. He had to bring it up. Reese knew what it was like to hold an emotional bomb within and not release it. The damage it did was untold and it was as good as receiving a physical wound. He braced himself for what was to come because it was clear Shay wasn’t going to be able to control the hurt in her expression, in her eyes.
Chapter Eleven
Shay abruptly stood, releasing the cup and nearly knocking over the chair as she pushed it back. Walking to the sink, she gripped the counter, head down, shoulders hunched.