“You’re Elizabeth Winchester’s granddaughter,” Rooke’s grandfather said.

“Yes.”

“You look a little bit like her.”

“Rooke looks quite a lot like you.”

He smiled and sipped his coffee. “Things okay at the house?”

“Rooke’s got them under control.” Adrian glanced at Rooke, who was dishing eggs and sausage onto plates, and smiled. “She’s very thorough.”

“She should be. That’s her job.”

Rooke set the food on the table, brought an extra chair from the dining room, and sat down. She gave Adrian a worried look. “Is the tea okay?”

“The tea is perfect. And breakfast looks great.” Adrian touched Rooke’s bare forearm. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

Rooke’s smile blazed at the same instant as light burst in Adrian’s vision, as if the sun had suddenly leaped above the horizon and turned night into day in a fraction of a second. Arms wrapped around her middle from behind and she leaned back against a strong chest, secure in the knowledge that she would not fall. Warm lips moved over the curve of her neck and she tilted her head back, content to let the pleasure enfold her.

“Good,” Rooke said.

Adrian blinked and felt her face go hot. She almost didn’t dare to look across the table at Rooke’s grandfather, but she forced herself to do it. He seemed engrossed in his breakfast. Thank goodness she hadn’t made a sound, because in her mind, she had moaned from absolute bliss.

“So I gather Rooke has told you about the damage to the house,”

Adrian said, searching for a safe topic of conversation. She edged her chair a little farther away from Rooke so their thighs wouldn’t touch, not wanting a repeat of her last little loss of control.

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“Yup. Rooke give you the estimate to discuss with your grandmother?”

“Not yet.”

Rooke pushed her plate aside and reached into her back pocket.

She handed Adrian a folded square of white paper. “I was going to give this to you later.”

“Thanks,” Adrian said.

“Well, I think I’ll have a look at the trees. Make sure we don’t have any branches down.” Rooke’s grandfather rose and donned a dark green canvas jacket and matching hat that he lifted from pegs on the far side of the door. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Oakes.”

“You too, Mr. Tyler,” Adrian said as he disappeared out the back door. She sighed inwardly with relief. That seemed to go all right. She glanced at Rooke, who was drinking her coffee and watching her. “He didn’t even seem surprised to find a stranger in his kitchen at a godawful early hour of the morning. Do you often bring home strays?”

“I’ve never brought anyone home before.”

“Oh, I just assumed you grew up here. I don’t know why.”

“I did. I just got the place out back five years ago.”

“Then how…” Adrian realized she was prying. But how could Rooke have never brought anyone home? She must’ve misunderstood.

Trying to cover her confusion, she unfolded the paper Rooke had given her and spread it out on the table between them. “So. Anything special here I need to know when I discuss this with my grandmother?”

Rooke pushed back in her chair as if Adrian had dropped a snake between them. “The total is $15,800.”

“I see that. I was just wondering…”

Adrian frowned when Rooke stood abruptly and walked into the other room. She waited a moment and, when Rooke didn’t return, followed her. Rooke stood with her back to her, bent over a large table in the middle of the room, her arms braced on it, her head lowered.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you? I’m not doubting your figures. I just wanted to be sure I understood everything. You don’t need to review it with me. I’m sorry…”

“Stop.” Rooke turned, the expression on her face one Adrian had never seen there before. She looked resigned, almost defeated. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all. It’s me, okay?”

“I don’t understand,” Adrian said quietly.

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“I can’t read it.”

Adrian looked down at the paper in her hands, then back at Rooke.

“What part can’t you read?”

“Any of it.” Rooke picked up their jackets and handed Adrian hers. “I can’t read anything at all. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Reflexively, Adrian reached for her jacket, a thousand jumbled thoughts careening through her mind. This wasn’t a third-world country. This wasn’t some isolated pocket of rural Appalachia. How was it possible that in a community like this a child did not learn to read? And why had Rooke, as an adult, not taken steps to change that?

She thought of her grandmother’s veiled comment about Rooke. She’s slow. But Adrian knew that wasn’t true. Rooke was far too perceptive, far too sensitive, too bright to be impaired in that way. But what then?

Why…

The back door slammed and Adrian was left alone with her questions.

• 115 •

• 116 •

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ChapTER ThiRTEEn

Adrian found Rooke leaning against the front of her truck, her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, her face turned away from the house. Away from Adrian. Although her pose looked relaxed from a distance, the set of her shoulders and the tight line of her jaw said otherwise.

“Hey,” Adrian said, coming up beside her.

Rooke finally looked at her, and her eyes were so bleak all Adrian wanted to do was put her arms around her and hold her. She wanted that so much her chest ached, but she was afraid Rooke might misinterpret her actions as pity and she was absolutely certain Rooke would not want that. She contented herself with running her fingers down the arm of Rooke’s jacket.

“Can we take a walk?” Adrian said.

“Where?”

Adrian smiled. “Show me Stillwater.”

Rooke hesitated and Adrian was afraid she was going to say no.

She didn’t know what she would do then, but she couldn’t bear to feel the barrier that had suddenly sprung up between them. Ordinarily, she welcomed barriers, and she was always the one erecting them. She decided how close she allowed anyone to come. More than one lover had complained that she wouldn’t let them in, wouldn’t share enough, and that was probably the main reason why she’d never had a serious long-term relationship. Most of her affairs were casual and mutually convenient and the few times they’d drifted toward something deeper, she’d pulled back. Breaking those connections, even with women

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she’d slept with, had never left her feeling as bereft as Rooke’s sudden withdrawal.

“I started research for a new article,” Adrian said casually, propping her hip against the truck next to Rooke as if they weren’t standing outside in fifteen-degree weather. As if Rooke hadn’t just told her something she still couldn’t quite take in. “I’m going to do a series on cemeteries.”

“Cemeteries.” Rooke shot a quick look at Adrian. “Why?”

“Not cemeteries per se, actually.” Adrian tried not to smile, but she loved that Rooke always wanted to know. She didn’t seem to take things for granted or make assumptions. Her uncluttered, grounded view of the world was terribly refreshing. “Grave markers. Their design, the symbols that have been used over the centuries to indicate all kinds of things. Family associations. Superstitions. Religion. Social and economic status. It’s like the gravestones are history books with their own language. If we know the language, we’ll know how to read them.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. God. Could she have picked a worse time to bring up this subject?

“I’m sorry,” Adrian said quickly.

“What for?” Rooke grimaced. “I’ve had a long time to get used to what I can’t do, and what people think of me.”

“I’m not people.” Adrian shivered, more from the coldness inside than the lancing wind that blew ice crystals from the surface of the snow into her face like tiny, invisible knives. “Damn it, I’m doing this really badly. Take me to the older part of the cemetery, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

“All right. But you’re going to get wet.”

Adrian laughed, relieved to see Rooke’s shoulders relax and hear the teasing in her voice. “You mean more than I am now?”

“The paths aren’t cleared. We could wait—”

“No.” Adrian grasped Rooke’s hand and tugged her away from the truck and toward the one road into the cemetery that had been plowed.

Her relief was short-lived. Something was wrong. Even though both their hands were bare, she couldn’t feel Rooke. She’d lost the sense of her, and the absence of that quiet strength made her ache. Adrian feared if Rooke took her home now, she would never have another chance to

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restore their lost connection. “My friends tell me that when I get started on a project, I’m like a dog with a bone. I can’t let up.”

“Okay, if you want to go exploring, we will.”

Rooke withdrew her hand from Adrian’s and the hollow place inside grew larger, and so did the pain of loss. Did Rooke really think she would find her lacking because of what she’d just confided? Of course she did, because very clearly others had. She doubted there was anything she could say to combat those old hurts. She would have to convince Rooke that what mattered to her was the woman she was, the whole person, not just one aspect of her. She’d need time to show her, and hoped they would have it.

“You’re elected tour guide,” Adrian said, trying for a casual note.

“You have to put your gloves on,” Rooke said, removing her own from the inside pocket of her jacket.

When Adrian pulled on her leather gloves, Rooke took her hand again. Adrian clutched Rooke’s arm against her side, happy for the slightest bit of contact. Before long she was holding on even tighter to keep her footing on the icy surface as Rooke led her off the semi-cleared road into a section of the cemetery where the stones were obviously very old. Most were marble, and on many, the engravings were so worn by the years that the names and dates were illegible.

“There—the matching crossed hands on those two stones,”

Adrian said, indicating two markers side by side jutting from the snow.

“According to what I’ve read, those symbolize—”

“Relatives,” Rooke said. “Sometimes marriage.”

“Yes,” Adrian said eagerly, pointing to another marble marker with a scrolled top and the image of a bird in flight carved above the names. She hadn’t come across that in her initial research. She looked at Rooke questioningly. “What about that one?”

“The soul—the birds are usually shown rising, because—well, you know. Heaven and all. The lamp is for innocence, the lily for purity, the anchor for hope.”

“You know all about this, don’t you? Of course you would.”

Adrian shook her head. “I could have saved myself a lot of time on the computer yesterday.”

Rooke shrugged. “There’s probably a lot more I don’t know. I’ve only seen this cemetery and some of the small family plots in other parts of the county. According to what you said, symbols might be

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different in other places, right? Depending on what the people were like who lived there.”

“Yes,” Adrian said softly. “Exactly.” She hesitated because she didn’t want to make Rooke self-conscious, but she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know that Rooke could not read. She could only imagine how hard it had been for Rooke to share something so personal, and she wouldn’t treat the subject as if it were something Rooke should be ashamed of. “How do you know all of this?”

“It’s the family business. I know it the same way I know how to do the carvings.”

“Does your father do this too?”

“No, my grandfather said he didn’t have it in his blood. He joined the army instead. My great uncle taught me. I started when I was eight.

Simple stuff.”

“So will you explain to me about the other symbols?”

“Yes, if you want me to. When the weather lets up, we’ll come back out and I’ll show you. Some of the earliest markers at Stillwater are right here,” Rooke said. “These are the founding families.” She pointed to a large obelisk-type monument with a simple cross at the top surrounded by many small rectangular markers. “The Brewsters.

Harold and Hannah were the first. Then, their children—Matthew, Thomas, Lydia, and James.”

Adrian followed Rooke’s hand as she pointed to each smaller stone in turn, reading off the faint names on the stones. She looked from the stones to Rooke. “I thought—”

“I’m not reading them,” Rooke said gruffly. “My grandfather told me who they are.”