Free Beside a Dreamswept Sea by Vicki Hinze Page B

since then too that she avoided all reflective surfaces: at the pond, fishing; on the boat ride, whale-watching; in the kitchen’s toaster . . .
    Maybe one day, Bryce would have the courage, or the right, to ask her. But not today. Today, she didn’t know he’d represented her sorry husband in divorcing her.
    And, God forgive him, Bryce didn’t want to tell her.
    They’d spent a lot of time together on Miss Hattie-arranged outings with the kids. A trip to the Blue Moon Cafe for ice cream. To the beach to build castles in the sand. Walking through the woods. Miss Hattie was matchmaking, no doubt about it, but he didn’t mind. He liked Cally’s company, appreciated her warm sense of humor, admired how calm she was with the kids—like when Jeremy had found that beehive. The woman should have been a mother. She was a nurturer down to her toenails—naturally. God, how he envied her that. Very caring, too. She listened to each of the kids’ little worries with her full attention, offered sensible advice, then showered them with tender touches that honesty forced him to admit he envied, too—and felt like a heel and a jerk for envying. She should have had a dozen kids.
    So why hadn’t she had any? Maybe she liked kids in small doses, but lacked interest in a steady diet of them. Or maybe she couldn’t have any. One day, maybe Bryce would have the right to ask her about that, too.
    Cally stepped back out into the hallway, then gasped. “Bryce? Is that you?”
    “Shh, the kids are sleeping.” He whispered loudly enough for her to hear, but hopefully not so loudly that he awakened the kids. His knee still ached like the devil, and he just didn’t know if he could go another round of chasing them before resting it.
    “Sorry.” Cally walked toward him, then stopped near where his cane leaned against the wall. “What are you doing out here?”
    “Hmm.” He looked up at her. “Well, I could say I just enjoy sitting on hardwood floors in the middle of the night, but I somehow doubt you’d believe that.”
    “Would you?”
    “No.”
    She propped a shoulder against the wall, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”
    “I’m listening for Suzie.”
    Cally’s hair swung forward. She pushed it back from her cheek and a wrinkle creased the skin between her brows. Clearly worried. “Is she sick?”
    “No.” In a sense she was sick, but not in the way Cally meant, and he couldn’t let her worry without some explanation. Bryce tilted his head until the shadow falling across his jaw shielded his eyes. “She has bad dreams, Cally.”
    His tone begged for company; he knew it and still couldn’t stop himself from revealing it to her. It wasn’t pity he wanted, but company and compassion. Someone to share his troubles with, someone to just . . . listen.
    John Mystic had been right. Bryce inwardly sighed. He needed a wife.
    A pang of guilt shot through his chest. Disloyalty to Meriam. For the children, he told himself. Meriam was gone and she wasn’t coming back. He needed a wife to help him with the children.
    Cally grunted. “I have bad dreams, too, but these days mine happen when I’m awake.”
    Should he ask her to share her troubles with him? Probably not. They were nearly strangers. Well, he knew more about her than she did about him, and he had kissed her. Though he still had no idea why he’d done that. It’d just seemed right. At least, it had at the time. He’d have to tell her he was Gregory’s attorney soon. Not telling her reeked of being dishonest and, in her marriage to Gregory Tate, God knew the woman had had a bellyful of lies. She deserved better. More. But Bryce really did need to talk, and she might not find that need at all appealing once he told her about Gregory. Would waiting a little longer do any more damage? What could talking hurt? They’d just be two adults commiserating over their troubles. And, after a comment like her last one, it appeared she needed someone to talk with,