It shouldn’t make a difference, damn it, but the fact that it did indicated that she’d foolishly allowed herself to become emotionally involved. Which, if it were with anyone other than Brett, wouldn’t be a problem. But with Brett-a man she’d lied to since the moment she’d met him? Big problem.

Kneeling in front of her tent, she glanced around, noting that everyone was settling in for the night. Her gaze settled on Ashley, who was squeezing her sleeping bag into Shawn’s small tent. She looked up, saw Kayla and waved goodnight. Kayla returned the gesture, then turned toward Brett’s tent. The flaps were closed. Probably he’d already turned in.

Was he upset with her? Most likely, and she didn’t blame him. She glanced around and barely made out Ana in the shadows of the kitchen tent. After putting away her toiletries, she unrolled her sleeping bag, but the thought of lying down didn’t appeal at all. She glanced over her shoulder at the still-crackling fire and rose to her feet.

Stepping over the log that served as a bench, she sank to the ground and rested her back against the thick, rounded wood. She drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared into the dancing flames, trying to empty her mind, but failing completely.

Several minutes passed, the murmurs of voices quieting down until the only sound that remained was that of the fire. Warmth from the flames eased over her body, but did nothing to warm the sad, lonely chill in her heart.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned and stilled at the sight of Brett, holding a plastic mug from which a tempting curl of steam rose. He stared down at her for several seconds, then moved forward, stepping over the log to stand in front of her. Hunkering down on his haunches, he extended the cup.

“It’s tea,” he said, his voice filled with quiet concern that matched the look in his eyes. “I thought maybe you’d like something hot and soothing to drink.”

“Thank you.” She barely managed to push the words past the lump that lodged in her throat at the kind gesture. Wrapping her cold hands around the warm mug, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Brett, I’m sorry-”

He touched his fingers to her lips, stopping her words. “Please don’t apologize. There’s no need. I’m the one who’s sorry. For not knowing what to say or do to comfort you.” His fingers slid away and he regarded her through very serious eyes. “If you’d like some company, someone to talk to, or even just to sit silently with you so you’re not out here alone, I’d be happy to join you. But if you want to be alone, I understand.”

To her mortification, hot tears welled in her eyes. She looked away, but he’d clearly seen the sheen because he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a hanky.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the folded white square.

As she had no tissues, Kayla set down her mug, accepted the offering and wiped her face. “I didn’t know men still carried hankies.”

“Habit I picked up from my grandfather. Came in handy while growing up because I always seemed to have a head cold.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “You can imagine what a babe magnet I was.”

A huff of unexpected laughter escaped her. “You clearly improved with age.”

“Thanks. But believe me, I had nowhere to go but up.”

She made another swipe under her eyes which, much to her embarrassment, continued to leak silent tears. “You know, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I’m not a weepy female.”

“I believe you.”

Based on the sincerity in his gaze, he did. Which only made her feel worse because while her “I’m not a weepy female” statement was true-usually-she’d deceived him from the moment they’d met. She certainly didn’t deserve to have him believe her. This brought on a fresh onslaught of tears. Damn it, she hoped she’d run out soon.

He reached out and took the hanky from her less-than-steady fingers, then gently dabbed at her eyes. “Jesus, Kayla, you’re breaking my heart. Tell me what I can do to help. To make you feel better. I don’t want to leave you like this. Can I sit with you?”

“Don’t most men normally run away from crying women?”

“I guess I’m not most men.”

No, it appeared he wasn’t, which should have thrilled her, but only served to heap another layer of guilt on her already mile-high stack.

She should have told him to go to bed. Released him from any misguided sentiments of chivalry he harbored about leaving her alone. But the thought of being alone with her thoughts filled her with a crushing ache that made it feel as if a mountain sat on her chest.

“I wouldn’t mind the company,” she said, “but I know you must be tired, so if you’d rather go to sleep…”

Her words petered off when, without any hesitation, he moved next to her, propping his back against the log. He stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles, and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. She realized that the fact he’d been so careful not to brush against her, to touch her in any manner, was his silent way of letting her know he wasn’t looking for sex. She quickly picked up the mug of tea to hide more tears at his thoughtfulness.

They sat together, the quiet broken only by the fire’s lively snaps and the rustling of leaves in the cool wind. It was a companionable silence, one that comforted her rather than making her feel as if she had to say something, anything, to fill an awkward lull in the conversation. A silence that allowed her to regain control of her emotions and put to rest the profound sense of sadness that had swamped her.

She knew from the grief counseling she’d sought after her father’s death that the best way for her to grieve was not to try and stop the emotions, but to allow them to wash over her, then let them go. Then she could carefully pack them away again.

She tilted her head back, stared at the glittering stars, and sipped her tea. By the time the mug was empty, Kayla felt fully composed, and after drawing a deep breath, said softly, “When I was a kid, we’d have a cookout every Sunday during the summer. It was always an event. The neighbors who lived on either side of us came every week, the dads carting over beer and burgers, the moms bringing huge bowls of homemade potato and macaroni salads. We always had it at our house because we had an above-ground pool. While all the kids splashed around, the moms chatted over chips and dip, while the dads hovered around the grill, with my dad as the head chef. He knew how to grill a mean burger.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “After dinner-which always tasted better after a few hours in the pool-the dads would jump in the water with us and make waves. The bigger the better.

“Then, when dusk settled, we’d catch fireflies. Dessert was marshmallows roasted over the charcoal grill. After stuffing ourselves with gooey sweetness, we’d sit on the lawn and look up at the stars, picking out the constellations. I remember when I was about five asking my dad what stars were. He told me they were tiny magical lights that lit the night sky, that everyone could see, no matter where in the world they were. So that even if we weren’t in the same place, like when he had to travel on business, I could look up and see the same stars he was looking at. And that way we’d always be together.”

She stared at twinkling diamond-like lights. “I wonder if he’s looking at the stars now.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d said those last words out loud until Brett said, softly, “I bet he is. And knows that you are, too.”

Her heart swelled at his comment. “Did you look at the stars when you were a kid?”

“Oh, yeah. Still do. Of course, when I was five and asked my dad what stars are, he said, ‘They’re self-gravitating massive spheres of plasma in hydrostatic equilibrium which generate their own energy through the process of nuclear fusion.’”

For the first time since he’d sat next to her, she turned to stare at him and saw he was gazing up at the night sky. “You’re kidding.”

He looked her way, and his mouth slanted upward in that dimple-producing lopsided grin. “I’m not. But considering that he’s an astrophysicist, his answer wasn’t surprising. Now if I’d asked my mother, who’s an artist, I’m sure I would have gotten a more whimsical answer.”

“An astrophysicist and an artist. That’s quite an interesting combination.”

“They’re quite an interesting couple. They met at college when my dad, who tends to forget where he’s going when he’s mulling over a scientific problem, wandered into the wrong classroom. Instead of organic chemistry, he found himself in Nude Painting 101.”

A giggle tickled her throat. “That must make for an interesting how-I-met-your-mother story.”

“Sure does.” He grinned. “Especially since Mom was the model.”

Kayla felt her eyes widen, then she laughed. “Clearly she made quite a first impression.”

“Yup. She was the proverbial starving artist and used to model for the class to pay her tuition. Dad says he took one look at her and it was if an explosion of supernova proportions occurred. Which is saying a lot since a stellar explosion is estimated to release an equivalent energy of up to one million trillion trillion megatons of TNT.”

“Wow. That’s some big kaboom.”

“That’s what Dad said-once he remembered how to speak English.”

“Sounds like you have a nice relationship with your folks.”

“I do. They’re good people.”

Pulling her gaze from his, she once again stared into the fire. “I miss my dad every day,” she said softly, an image of her dad’s smiling face flashing through her mind, “but I’ve learned to live with the loss, with the way he died. I rarely let it get the better of me anymore like I did tonight. But sometimes it hits me. Blindsides me. Like when Dan mentioned his wife. I didn’t expect it and it all came roaring back. The mind-numbing grief. The senselessness of it all. The fury at the person who took my dad away. And the aftermath…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to stop the flow of words, but now that the floodgates were open, she couldn’t. “The trial…it was a nightmare. The kid who killed him was only eighteen. He’s twenty-three now and was released from jail more than two years ago. My dad died three days after his fiftieth birthday. We’d thrown a big party for him. I’d give anything if we could have thrown another one for him this year, for his fifty-fifth.”

Her voice faded and once again silence engulfed them. Tightening her grip around her legs, she stared into the fire.

“I know it’s totally inadequate,” Brett said softly, “but I’m real sorry about your dad.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He stared straight ahead, his profile cast in flickering shadows from the fire. “Thank you. I appreciate not only the words, but how kind you’ve been tonight.”

He turned to look at her, and when their eyes met, warmth flared through her as if he’d tossed a few more logs on the fire. “You know, I’ve never lost anyone I’ve loved.”

“You’re very fortunate.”

“I can’t pretend to understand how terrible it is in reality, but based on how the mere thought of losing one of my parents in such an awful way makes me feel…” He shook his head. “I can only say again that I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was bad for all of us, but hardest on my mom. She and Dad met in a public-speaking class their last semester of college. They fell in love like that-” she snapped her fingers “-and married a month after graduation. They were always holding hands and laughing together, and still very much in love. My sisters and I lost our dad, but she lost her best friend, her soul mate and the man she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with. It’s taken her a long time to start living again.”

A half smile tugged up one corner of her mouth. “Which is why I try not to complain about her matchmaking-fixing me up on dates is sort of like her hobby, but really, I wish she’d try something else. Like stamp-collecting. She’s just bad at matchmaking. You wouldn’t believe some of the men she’s introduced me to. It’s like a hall of fame for Men No Sane Woman Would Want to Date.”

“Does she date?”

“She’s just starting to dip her toe back in the social pool, which is nice to see. I’m hoping that she’ll turn all her matchmaking attention toward finding dating prospects for herself. She’s sort of freaked right now about being a grandmother, but a huge part of that is because my dad’s not here to be a grandparent with her. I know she’s going to take one look at the baby and be a total goner.”

“You mentioned you were looking forward to being an aunt.”

“Oh, yeah. I was almost ten when my sister Cindy was born. I remember the first time I saw her. Me and Meg and our dad stood at the window at the hospital nursery and Dad pointed Cindy out. It took me exactly half a second to fall in love.”