Lori knew she just needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep on walking out of the barn and out of his life. But even as she tried to get away, he kept coming at her with more words aimed where they could do as much damage as possible.

"How would you like it if I turned my focus to fixing you, because it was easier than fixing myself?"

His accusation stopped her cold, even when she knew she should be running from him as fast as she could, before he could do deeper damage than he'd already done. He'd already hurt her with his complete dismissal of her feelings in the cottage during the storm. Badly. And he'd made her doubt her own feelings, made her ask herself if she was really nothing more than the self-absorbed person he'd made her out to be.

"Do you know what I saw that day when you drove into my fence and sent my chickens running down the road?" He didn't wait for her to answer, didn't stop to notice that she was crumbling apart one word at a time. Or if he did see it, he clearly didn't care just how badly he was hurting her. "I saw a scared little girl who's had everything she ever wanted, everything she's ever needed, handed to her on a platter. And then, when she hit one little b.u.mp in the road, she was so spoiled that the only option she saw was to give up." He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to face him. "If you're a dancer, then you should be dancing, d.a.m.n it."

She couldn't stop the tears from falling down her cheeks, and not just because he was gripping he shoulders nearly hard enough to leave bruises. "I'm not a dancer anymore."

He stared at her for a long moment, the sparks of heat and anger and a still undeniable connection going off between them, before he dropped his hands from her shoulders. "No, you obviously never were a real dancer if you're able to give up this easily."

She didn't have to stay here and listen to his insults. She could go work on someone else's farm. She could clean someone else's toilets until they sparkled and keep their chickens and pigs fed and weed their rows of vegetables. Not, of course, that she needed the money, considering she had plenty socked away from some of her higher-profile gigs. It was just that she couldn't imagine not having something to do, being left with her thoughts all day long. Even cleaning a stranger's bathrooms would be better than that.

Without saying another word, she made a beeline for the farmhouse, kicking her dirty shoes off on the porch before going inside. Just because she wouldn't be cleaning Grayson's house anymore didn't mean she needed to make it harder for the poor person he tricked into replacing her.

Only, just as she walked into her bedroom and yanked her suitcase out from under the bed, she heard a sound that had her chest clenching tight. She ran out to the living room, where Sweetpea was coughing and shivering on top of her blanket.

No, not now. She couldn't deal with this, too, not when her heart was already torn to pieces.

Lori scooped the cat up into her arms, pressing her lips to the soft, hairless spot between its ears. "Poor baby," she said as she rocked it in her arms. "Poor, poor baby. You feel rotten, don't you?" She kissed it again. "It's been that kind of day for me, too."

Grayson walked in, but she was so concerned about the cat who had been her one true friend for the past week, that his presence barely registered. While Grayson had been G.o.d-knew-where avoiding her the past few days, Lori had spent many hours with Sweetpea sleeping warm and purring on her lap, stroking the cat's bony back as she tried to get her to eat the food and drink the milk she brought her every few hours. She'd been about to leave to save what was left of her heart, but now she knew that, no matter how much it hurt to be near Grayson, she needed to stay for the one true friend she'd made on his farm.

"Don't worry, Sweetpea," she told her furry friend. "I'm not going to leave. Not as long as you need me."

When Grayson stepped into the house and saw Lori with his cat in her arms and heard her make the promise to stay no matter what, the relief that flooded him was so strong it nearly buckled his knees.

Before the storm, before they'd ended up in the cabin, he'd wanted her. But now that he'd touched her, tasted her, he realized that earlier wanting amounted to little more than the buzzing of a fly around his ears. He'd known that he'd pay for those moments of weakness in the cabin, and boy, was he. Because how could he possibly ever regret knowing how soft, how sweet Lori had felt in his arms, how shockingly sweet the sound of her moans, her gasps of pleasure, had been as she came?

And how could he ever forgive himself for the way he'd just lashed out at her, when he knew all she was trying to do was help him? Especially when she'd told him that she'd come to his farm to take a break not only from dancing, but also from men.

He knew he couldn't be what she needed, but he shouldn't have to hurt her to prove that.

"Lori," he said in a low voice as he approached her, "I promised I wouldn't do that to you again. I broke my promise." He felt like he was swallowing fire as he said, "I'm sorry."

G.o.d, he would have given up every one of his thousand acres just to see her smile up at him, just to hear her say, "You're forgiven," again like she had the day he'd lost it over the pigs and had offered to take her to buy cowboy boots.

Of course, he knew that wasn't going to happen, not when he'd crossed over the line-way the h.e.l.l over it-with her just now.

"We both know you meant every word you said to me," she replied in an even voice, though her eyes flashed with fire. "And I meant every word I said to you. But don't worry." She stroked a gentle hand over Mo's patchy fur and the cat gave a soft purr of joy at being showered with such pure, sweet love. "As soon as Sweetpea doesn't need me anymore, I'll be out of your hair." Lori sneezed before adding, "And until then, we can just stay out of each other's way as much as possible."

She turned her full attention back to the cat, then, and he knew he'd been dismissed. So completely that he might never have been there at all.

Leave. He should leave, go back to his room, take a shower, and hit the sack to make up for all the sleep he hadn't been able to get with Lori only a wall away at night-with visions of her naked and beautiful beneath her sheets running through his head on repeat until sunrise.

But he knew she had to be hungry after the long day she'd put in, so instead of leaving, he started to pull together dinner. Thirty minutes later, after having listened to Lori sneeze practically the entire time, he had two plates of spaghetti ready for both of them.

"Dinner's ready," he told her.

"I'm not hungry."

"I know how hard you've worked today," he said in a soft voice. "And I've seen you eat. You've got to be starved." He put the plate down on the coffee table in front of her. "Please eat dinner, Lori."

She looked from the plate to him, her brow furrowed with confusion. For another moment, he thought she'd refuse his peace offering, but then she said, "I really don't understand you, Grayson."

He wanted to tell her she understood him better than anyone else ever had, that everything she'd said to him had been right.

He wanted to tell her how wrong he'd been for lashing out at her when it wasn't her fault that his wife had died.

He wanted to confess that he didn't know how to get over his guilt for the way his marriage had crumbled and turned into tragedy.

He wanted to make up to her every harsh thing he'd said and done.

He wanted to hear the beautiful sound of her laughter and know that he'd pleased her, rather than constantly being the source of her tears.

But three years of near-constant silence made the words stutter to a halt inside his head long before they reached his lips. Grayson brought his plate over from the kitchen, sat down in the living room, and ate in silence with Lori and his cat.

Chapter Fourteen.

"Do you have anything nice to wear?"

Lori was in the barn the next day getting another bag of feed for the chickens when Grayson walked in and asked her the totally random question. She hadn't been able to forget the unexpectedly deep look of longing in his eyes as he'd come into the living room the previous evening to apologize. But neither could she forget the way they'd blown up at each other in the barn. So, instead of telling him that, yes, she had several really pretty dresses in her suitcase, she gestured at her mud-spattered jeans and T-shirt.

"What could possibly be nicer than this?"

That muscle in his jaw started moving. He needed to stop clenching it so hard or he was going to end up with terrible headaches. Not that she was going to make the mistake of telling him that. No, from here on out she'd keep her mouth shut and her opinions out of his life. That was what they both wanted, after all.

And yet, even though she knew she could have left his farm at any moment, somehow that hadn't been an option. Sweetpea still needed her, of course, but on top of that, Lori still didn't have anything to go back to...and she couldn't bear to face her family and friends like this.

They all thought she was invincible.

It was one thing for Grayson to be disappointed in her. It was another entirely for the people who loved her to feel that way.

Grayson swept his dark gaze over her again before saying, "If you show up with me at the barn dance looking like that, people are going to talk."

The word dance grabbed her gut and twisted it. Hard enough that she lost her breath and her balance for a minute, and had to reach out to grab a beam to steady herself.

"Why would you want me to go anywhere with you? I thought we agreed to keep to ourselves from here on out."

He shrugged. "I've been alone on this farm long enough that people are starting to think I'm fair game. If you're there, they'll stop thinking that."

"People? Fair game?" She finally realized what he was talking about. "You mean women?"

"Yes." He gritted out the word between teeth that were clenched even tighter than she'd previously thought.

"So if you go to this barn-" She didn't even want to say the word. "-thing without me, you'll be subjected to pretty little ladies throwing themselves at you left and right?"

"Be ready at six," he said without bothering to answer her snarky question.

He was already walking away when she said, "Why should I?"

She wasn't sure she liked the look in his eyes when he turned to face her. "I've let you hide out here on my farm all week, that's why."

She could no longer argue with him about the hiding out part, but she could take issue with the fact that he was acting like she'd been a freeloader. And she was sick to death of men who thought they could take her accomplishments down a peg. "I've been working hard, not just lying on the gra.s.s in a bikini asking you to crank up the blender for my next drink refill." She could only imagine the fit Grayson would have pitched if she'd done that. "I know I screwed up some things at first, but I've been doing a great job since then."

He moved closer, close enough that her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. "If you're that afraid to go to the dance, just tell me and I'll let you off the hook."

The challenge in his words reverberated through every last cell in her body despite how softly he'd uttered them. And this time she was the one gritting her teeth so hard she nearly cracked her molars.

"I'll see you at six."

Fury had Lori weeding like a fiend for the rest of the afternoon, but she didn't get any satisfaction out of the ground she covered. Not when she was too busy planning how to make Grayson regret he'd ever made that challenge to her.

Oh, she'd dance all right. With every man in town but him. And she'd make sure that he was the perfect target for every single woman within a hundred miles of Pescadero.

At five o'clock she locked herself in the bathroom with her war chest. For nearly her whole life, she'd depended on the contents of this bag-makeup, lotions, nail polish, blow dryer, curling iron-in the same way that she'd needed food and sleep. But for one whole week she hadn't so much as unzipped the bag. It was at once comforting and familiar...and strange. She loved the way she felt when she looked good, yet there had been surprising freedom in not caring one way or the other.

She took out everything and laid it along the small counter. She grinned at the way her girly things immediately took over every possible surface in his bathroom, and how irritated Grayson would be if she left it all for him after she was gone.

With that happily evil thought cheering her, she stripped off her grimy clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot spray felt great on her overworked muscles, the water turning from brown to clear as she soaped up and washed the dirt from her skin, from her hair, from beneath her fingernails. She took extra care to shave her legs from ankle to hip, slicking lotion over her entire body before she got out of the shower.

She had no intention of letting any man benefit from the softness of her skin tonight, but Grayson didn't need to know that.

It was as natural as breathing for her to do her hair and makeup and to paint her nails. Maybe, she found herself thinking, that was what she'd do now that her dancing career was over. She could open up a small salon somewhere far away from here and help other women feel better about themselves. It wasn't what she had dreamed of doing her whole life, but it would be better than nothing.

When she was finished primping, she wrapped herself in a towel and left the bathroom. Grayson wasn't even in the house, as far as she could tell. It figured that he wanted her to put all sorts of effort into looking good, but he'd probably just put on a new pair of jeans and clean pair of boots and be ready inside of thirty seconds.

She'd left her luggage open on her bed and now she pulled out a red dress made up entirely of satin and sequins. The straps were thin and it was almost completely backless, ending just above the curve of her hips. She'd danced in outfits with far less material than this dress, but she could easily guess that it would be the most inappropriate outfit ever for a barn dance.

Yes, she decided as she slipped it on, that was what made it so perfect. As were the four-inch spike heels she slipped on next. Where most women could barely have walked in them, Lori could dance all night without any problems at all.

And she would, d.a.m.n it, just to spite Grayson.

Grayson looked at his watch: 6:15 p.m. Lori was late, which came as no surprise given that she'd been locked in her bedroom for over an hour now.

Just the idea of the barn dance had him feeling out of sorts, but he knew he had to do it for her. Because he owed Lori something more than an apology for the way he'd behaved. For the things he'd said.

Only, when she finally stepped out of the bedroom, all thoughts of apologies scattered.

"What the h.e.l.l are you wearing?"

He hadn't seen a dress like that in years-blood-red satin and sequins that perfectly showcased the curves he hadn't been able to get out of his head. The skirt was higher in the front than it was in the back and swished around her ridiculously gorgeous legs as she moved toward him in heels so high she actually came up past his chin now.

Holy h.e.l.l, his heart was either going to explode from racing so fast, or just stop beating altogether, that was how badly he wanted to rip the dress from her, to drag her back into the bedroom and make love to her until both of them forgot that it was a mistake.

Acting as if he wasn't clearly about to burst a blood vessel just from being near her, she gave him a pretty little smile and twirled. "Just a little something I had in my bag." Her smile still glittered, even brighter than the sequins, despite never quite reaching her eyes. "I take it you don't like it."

f.u.c.k. Why did he keep hurting her? It wasn't Lori's fault that his wife had died.

And it wasn't Lori's fault that he couldn't stop wanting the beautiful, sa.s.sy farmhand he'd never meant to hire.

He knew he needed to apologize again and was just about to say the words, but as she went toward the front door and he finally saw the back of her dress-or, rather, the back of the dress that should have been there, instead of the most gorgeous, creamy skin he'd ever seen-he couldn't think straight, couldn't stop himself from grabbing her arm.

"You are not wearing that dress tonight."

Her eyes lit with fury as she whirled around to face him. "Watch me."

She tried to yank her arm from his grip, but being this close to her made his head spin too fast for him to let her go...or to stop himself from dragging her against him and taking her mouth with his.

Grayson had wanted to kiss her at least a thousand times since the afternoon in the log cabin, when she'd been pure heat and sensual woman in his arms. He hadn't been able to recover from that, not even by reminding himself of all the reasons he needed to stay away from her.

He needed this kiss so badly that he barely registered how stiff she was in his arms, until she wasn't anymore and the hands that had been pushing him away were trying to pull him in closer instead.

G.o.d, she was soft.

And so d.a.m.ned sweet he could barely believe it.

Soon he had her backed up against the door. In the log cabin, he'd been desperate to touch her, to find out if she felt as good against him as she looked. But now that he knew exactly what waited for him beneath the thin fabric of her dress-skin so warm and pretty that he'd be stunned every time his mouth or hands made contact with it-it only made him crazier for her. And then there were the little sounds she'd make as he rained kisses over her, little gasps, soft moans, that would take hold of his sanity and yank it completely away.

Only this time, instead of him being the one to put the brakes on when he was on the verge of heading for the point of no return, Lori was the one dragging her mouth from his.

"How can you kiss me like this," she asked him in a voice that shook slightly, "when you won't even talk to me about what happened to you?"

She didn't say "Stop." She didn't tell him, "We shouldn't do this." Just, "You won't even talk to me about what happened to you."

But it was enough. Because she was right-he had no business kissing her like that, or even thinking of going further, when he could still barely think about his past, let alone share the details of it with someone else. With her.

She was still trying to catch her breath, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising up in the slinky dress as she gasped for air. "I wasn't trying to make you hurt worse by asking you questions about your past, Grayson. That's the last thing I would ever want to do and I'm so sorry if anything I said in the stables hurt you. I swear I was only trying to help."

G.o.d, he'd nearly yanked her dress up to her waist and taken her against the front door, and she was the one apologizing.

"I know," he said. And he did. Because for all of Lori's faults-and he felt as if he'd gotten to discover each and every one of them over the past week-she was a good person. Maybe if they'd met in a different time, years ago, when he was still in the city...

No. He couldn't go there, couldn't wish that things had been different. Because if he were going to turn back time, wasn't there only one thing he would ever be allowed to wish for? His wife, alive and healthy. And if Leslie were still alive, then Lori Sullivan would have no part of his life at all.

His gut twisted twice as hard at that thought.

Grayson already knew that there was no way to win, that the grip his past had on him was too strong ever to get away from. Because while he simply couldn't imagine his world anymore without Lori in it, he also couldn't move beyond the loss he'd suffered before her.