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  Daddy made a sharp noise, leaning toward her, tugging on her hand until she looked into his eyes. Again, it took concentration for his shorted-out brain to form words that she could understand. “Fix. It.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. His motto as a general contractor had inspired hers.

  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it; if it is broke, fix it right the first time.

  “How? How do I fix five years? I ran, and then I married someone else. Conn has no idea.” She choked and closed her eyes. There were some things she just couldn’t bear to tell anyone. Things that he would want—demand—from her, and she’d give, helplessly. The memory of their last day together in his office stung and heated at the same time.

  “Make. Right.”

  Yeah, easier said than done. This was her chance to make it right with Conn after destroying everything five years ago. Nodding, she brushed her tears away. “You’re right, Daddy, as always.”

  She rocked in silence for awhile. Glancing over at him, she noticed he was drifting into sleep. Quietly, she stopped her chair and rose to gently set his hand on his stomach. He looked so small and frail. She didn’t need the doctors to tell her he was slowly slipping away. “I love you, Daddy.”

  He stirred, a soft smile on his face. One eye peeked open. “Love Conn?”

  Crafty as a fox, as usual. Despite her anxiety about dealing with Conn, she laughed shakily and nodded. “Too much, I think. Even now.”

  “Go.”

  Swallowing hard, Rae leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’m going. I’ll call Mom every day to see how you are.”

  “Fine.” Frustration flickered across his face. He wanted to tell her to live her life, leave him be. Once the strongest man she’d ever known, he hated to be so dependent on others.

  “I know, Daddy, I know. The Fix-It Lady is on the job now.”

  God help her.

  Packing took her back five years ago to when she’d stared at the piles on her bed and cried, trying to decide whether to return to Conn or not. Ultimately, she’d decided not to return to campus.

  Now, the piles of clothes were different. No flirty mini-skirts and low-cut, tight shirts, fashionable girly clothes. She’d outgrown such silly outfits a long time ago. Truth be told, she’d never cared much for them, but when one was at college, one dressed the part. Or so she’d thought.

  She had a tall stack of jeans and tee shirts, a few long-sleeved denim and flannel shirts, a pile of plain everyday underwear and socks, all sensible working clothes.

  Yet not suitable for a fix-it mission with the sexiest man she’d ever known.

  Her closet wasn’t much better, containing only several boring church dresses and a few blouses and skirts that looked like they belonged in her mother’s closet. She hated to shop, and it showed.

  Gritting her teeth, she selected a few of her nicest church dresses and tossed them on the bed. If the last five years had taught her anything at all, it was that she couldn’t pretend to be anything but herself and expect to pull it off for long. She might be able to fool herself a month or two, but the truth would shine through eventually.

  If the dresses were nice enough for church, they’d be nice enough for Miss Belle’s dinners. Even though her feminine side longed for some kind of slinky black evening dress to bring Conn panting to her side.

  In the far back of her closet, she found a section of clothing she’d forgotten. In the months after returning home from college when she’d still had Conn on her mind and Richard hadn’t stepped into the picture yet, she’d bought several outfits. One was a long burgundy velveteen skirt, loose, flowing, and stitched with ribbons like a crazy quilt in loops, daisies, and chains. Matched with a frilly, gauzy white blouse, she’d felt like a grown up lady and not an awkward college kid. Richard had hated the outfit, and so she’d stuck it in the back, never to see the light of day again.

  Rae tossed the velveteen skirt on her bed and stuffed the staid church dresses back in the closet. To find a pair of dress shoes, she had to get down on her hands and knees and crawl clear to the back of the closet where she found black patent leather flats. And then she dragged out something else.

  What a dark memory for such a small piece of clothing.

  The simple white cotton mini-skirt in her hand brought that last day of college roaring back. She’d worn it the very last time she’d gone to Dr. Connagher’s office. She’d known he hated the skirt and wore it anyway just to bait him. She might as well have grabbed a tiger by the tail. No wonder she’d tossed it on the floor in the utter depths of her closet.

  She sat on her bed, staring at the skirt in her hand and the useless clothes left in the closet, each a piece of her life, a testament to the storm of changes she’d endured the past five years. She could see the ravages of time and heartache and maturity in those clothes. Leaving the college girl behind; marrying the wrong man; changing herself to try and make him the right man.

  Aching for the first man she’d loved—and lost—so much that she wanted to die.

  Wiping her cheeks, she got up and packed her suitcase. Of course, she grabbed the poetry books she’d kept all these years from Conn’s class and her beat-up college laptop with the journal of letter after letter to him over the last five years that she’d never mailed.

  If only she could write the turmoil of hope and terror, dread and need, pain and desire out of her system. Then maybe she wouldn’t crumple into a needy mess as soon as he touched her. To remind herself of those days, she tossed the white mini-skirt in her suitcase. Then she hugged Daddy and Mom, climbed into her truck, and drove to Beulah Land.

  Wondering all the way what he’d taste like when he kissed her.

  5

  Dear Dr. Connagher:

  I’m getting married tomorrow. Everyone keeps asking me if I’m excited, and I try to be. I care for Richard. I do.

  But he’s not you. And I can’t have you, can I? I lost you a year ago. A year without any phone call or e-mail from you. I’m not that hard to find. But then again, neither are you, Professor. I saw on the Drury website that you’ve been tenured and were voted most popular teacher in the entire Arts Department. That doesn’t surprise me at all.

  Lord knows I loved you.

  So you might wonder why I told this man yes and not you. Quite honestly, he doesn’t scare me like you did. You looked at me without saying a word and I felt the weight of your will pressing on me. I felt a surge of desperate need to do exactly what you wanted, just to see you smile. Walk across broken glass? Sure. Give up everything I am? Okay. Just touch me, hold me, call me darlin’ in that smooth Texas drawl, and I’m yours, heart and soul.

  Richard doesn’t have that kind of will. He’s safe in a way you never would be.

  It’s hard to tell since Daddy doesn’t talk real well, but I get the impression that he’s not too thrilled about my choice. Odd, considering Richard’s been his assistant for years. I thought he’d approve, but he looks at me and I can hear him repeating his favorite sayings and shaking his head.

  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it; if it is broke, fix it right the first time.

  That first time would be you, Conn. The first time I loved somebody so much I wanted to die. How can I fix that? How can I make it right between us? I can’t. You crossed a line I didn’t even know existed, and I went, simply because you asked. There’s broke, and there’s broken.

  You and me, well, we ain’t so easy to fix, are we.

  But here’s a little secret just for you, Conn. I’m afraid maybe someday I’ll hate Richard because he’s not you. I think I’ll hate every man who’s not you.

  ~ Rae

  Smoothing her burgundy skirt one last time, Rae stepped into the formal dining room, and froze as Conn slowly rose from the table, his gaze locked on her.

  He was here.

  When she’d returned to Beulah Land, she’d been relieved that his car was gone. She’d hoped to have some time to stabilize herself before seeing him again. Now, all thos
e thoughts and preparations flew out of her head. Her tongue plastered to the roof of her mouth, her heart squeezing at the brilliance of his eyes, now sapphire thanks to the deep blue dress shirt.

  Dressed in a navy suit and tie, he came around the table. Shock punched her in the stomach like a fist. As his student five years ago, she’d never seen him dressed up. His professor garb had always been casual: jeans, long-sleeved shirts rolled up, no tie, boots.

  Oh my.

  If he’d come to class looking like this, she’d never have made it all the way to his final without antagonizing him out of his careful professor role. Every instinct urged flight—or full frontal attack—but she stood her ground. She’d given her word not to run again.

  His mouth quirked slightly, as though he knew the battle she fought not to turn around and leave as quickly as possible. Could he tell she was just as tempted to launch herself into his arms?

  Taking her clenched hand, he bent, holding her gaze, and brushed his mouth against her knuckles. “‘Ah! Mayst thou ever be what now thou art,/ Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring.’ Welcome to Beulah Land, Rae.”

  Every muscle in her body seized, locked down, shaking with need. Feeling his mouth on her skin, she suddenly remembered how close he’d come to kissing her earlier. Damn it, now she couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

  “Come sit down, dear,” Miss Belle said from the head of the table. “I’m so pleased to have you here.”

  Knees shaking, Rae let him lead her to her chair and sat down. Conn returned to his seat across from her with her hot, hungry gaze gobbling him up.

  Which was very embarrassing, especially when Rae caught the knowing look on the old lady’s face. She practically beamed. “Is your room satisfactory?”

  “The room is lovely, thank you. Dinner smells delicious. Did you cook it, Miss Belle?”

  Conn choked back laughter. “Whatever you do, Rae, never, under threat of death, should you taste Miss Belle’s cooking.”

  His grandmother snapped her napkin open with a huff and spread it on her lap. “I haven’t killed anybody yet.”

  “What about the time you mixed up the salt and sugar in the cookies?”

  “Balderdash,” she sniffed. “That’s a very common accident. You certainly didn’t die.”

  “Okay,” Conn drawled, winking at Rae. “How about when you scorched the corn meal mush and made me eat it anyway?”

  “You didn’t die then, either.”

  “But you certainly didn’t eat it once you took a bite, did you? Oh, and the best was when you gave our entire family food poisoning at Thanksgiving. Talk about a killer turkey.”

  Miss Belle humphed loudly. “Samantha, we’re ready for service!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” a woman called from the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.”

  The door swung open and a woman rushed over to set a tray of freshly baked bread and a pitcher of tea on the table beside Miss Belle. Studying the cook, Rae was surprised. She had a preconceived notion of an Aunt Bea bustling around the kitchen, not this warm, attractive woman just a few years older than her.

  “Samantha, this is my new property manager, Rae Lynn. She’ll be with us for every meal from now on.”

  A flush of pride blazed across Rae’s cheeks and she wanted to grin like an idiot. Property manager had a very nice ring to it. “Pleased to meet you, Samantha. Everything smells incredible.”

  Smiling, Samantha headed back for the kitchen. “Why, thank you, Rae Lynn. I hope you love good southern cooking. Tonight’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  Taking a drink of his tea, Conn sighed happily. “And lots of sweet tea.”

  Rae smiled at the bliss on his face. Catching her silent laughter, he arched a brow at her and shrugged good-naturedly.

  Miss Belle leaned over to loudly whisper, “Conn has the biggest sweet tooth this side of Texas.”

  Slowly raising his glass to his mouth, he gave Rae that smoldering sexy look that should be illegal. “The sweeter the better.”

  Yanking her gaze away, she stared at the stack of homemade bread and her mouth watered. Warm, yeasty wheat filled the air, making her stomach growl so loudly Rae blushed.

  “Conn, will you say grace, please?”

  Miss Belle took Rae’s left hand and his right. He slid his hand across the table toward her, palm up. Pulse slamming in her throat, she met him halfway. His fingers curled around hers, his palm big and strong, swallowing her hand. Exactly how she always felt with him. Swallowed. Overwhelmed.

  “Dear Lord, thank you for this food we are about to receive. Bless every single person in this house.” His fingers tightened on her hand. “Thank you for protecting Rae all these years and bringing her safely to us. Amen.”

  Her eyes burned. Had he been praying for her? Thinking of her? She met his solemn gaze, still holding his hand. Clenching her mouth shut, she fought not to blurt out everything that had happened, the apologies and excuses and entreaties jumping around in her mind. She longed to tell him every truth she’d learned about herself and the many mistakes she’d made. Or would that only drive him away?

  “Try this, Rae Lynn.” Miss Belle offered a slice of bread slathered with pale, creamy butter. “Samantha’s rustic country bread and fresh-churned butter from our local dairy.”

  Slipping her hand from his reluctantly, Rae took a bite and her eyes closed in bliss.

  Conn chuckled. “Wait until you taste Samantha’s hot-out-of-the-oven blueberry muffins for breakfast. Or her blackberry cobbler.”

  “Does she live here, too?”

  “Oh, no,” Miss Belle replied. “She has two children and a rather obnoxious husband. They live in town. Right now, she’s just working part time, trying out new recipes and such until we settle on the right menu. I’m afraid we might have issues with her husband the closer we get to the grand opening.” Leaning toward Rae and keeping a careful eye on the door, she whispered, “He’s a bit abusive, I think, but she never says anything. He’s also very controlling and doesn’t like letting her work out of the house.”

  A flash of rage made Rae tighten her fingers, crushing the soft dough. She knew that sort of man all too well. Deliberately, she concentrated on her slice of bread, refusing to meet Conn’s gaze. Would he be as big a jerk? Controlling every move? Demanding to know everywhere his little woman went?

  “I like control, Rae.”

  His words from five years ago mocked her. She was a fool to think she could ever adjust to his sort of demands.

  “Do you want me to speak to him?” Conn asked. Rae wanted to roll her eyes. Yeah, one control freak to another, he’d probably congratulate him. “Samantha deserves a chance to start her own career. I simply can’t believe her husband would knowingly force her to give up her dreams.”

  “Lots of husbands would disagree with you.” She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Flickering her gaze up, she winced at the intensity of his piercing eyes.

  “Do you speak from personal experience?”

  Perhaps it would be best to get his reaction to her marriage and subsequent divorce with witnesses where he wouldn’t be able to put his hands on her. “My very ex-husband was the same kind of jerk.”

  Conn’s eyes narrowed, grooves deepening between his eyes and around his mouth. “How long were you married?”

  “Nearly three years.” The incredible bread turned to sawdust in her mouth and she nearly choked. “He was the second biggest mistake I ever made.”

  His harsh bark of laughter made her flinch. “And I was your first, right?”

  “No,” she whispered, fighting not to cry. She stared down at the table, memorizing the swirls in the lacy cloth. “My worst mistake was leaving you.”

  Oh, God, she couldn’t believe she’d said it. Not so openly to him, in front of his grandmother. He’d always had that effect on her, though. She’d blurt out answers in class, too, any answer at all, because she couldn’t bear to let him down.

  The silenc
e was unbearable. She wanted to squirm. She wanted to jump up and flee the room. She didn’t dare look up at his or his grandmother’s reaction. Her heart thudded painfully, her stomach clenching uneasily on the bread. She reached out for her glass and her fingers trembled so badly she sloshed tea on the pristine tablecloth.

  She’d never seen him angry. Would he yell and rage, punch the wall, call her names, all things her ex-husband had done and worse? Or would Conn punish her with silence? She’d never had much of a will when it came to him.

  His chair scooted out from the table, the squeak of wood against wood loud in the silence. “Miss Belle, if you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Rae and I need to have a quick private discussion.”

  6

  Married.

  His Rae had married someone else. Another man had held her, touched her, made love to her for three fucking years and yeah, jealousy blinded him in a thick haze of red.

  But the fear shimmering in her eyes pissed him the hell off.

  What kind of man did she think he was? For five years, he’d been beating himself up for scaring her, afraid maybe he’d done serious damage to her psyche, and the whole time, she’d been with another man. He’d never once contemplated laying a hand on her in anger. Never. He’d sooner take down the claymore displayed on the wall above his sofa and gut himself before he’d ever abuse her.

  If she seriously thought he could ever hurt her like that, then he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of regaining her trust.

  Like a rabbit frozen by headlights, she watched him come around the table at her. He damned near ground his teeth to dust, but he moved slowly and didn’t say a word as he pulled her chair away from the table.

  He wanted to yank her into his arms and hold her to his heart and swear with his last dying breath that he’d never ever hurt her again. And then he’d kiss her until she knew it, until she believed it in her heart and could trust him without a single doubt.