Free House On Windridge by Tracie Peterson Page B

“Apologize?”
    Jessica nodded. “That’s right. My behavior toward you has been uncalled for. I’ve known it all along, but I’m hoping you will give me a chance to explain.”
    Devon’s expression softened. “Why don’t you come in and tell me all about it.”
    Jessica nodded. “All right.”
    She entered the cottage for the first time, amazed at the hominess of the front room. A native stone fireplace took up most of one wall, while a big picture window that looked out onto a small porch graced yet another. A narrow pine staircase took up the south side, while an open archway made up most of the remaining west wall. A large rag rug, no doubt put together by Kate, lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, and a couch, upholstered in a sort of brown tweed, stood awaiting them behind this.
    â€œMight as well sit over here,” Devon said, leading the way to the couch. “It’s really the only warm spot in the house. Buck and I are trying to find materials to make repairs, but it’s rather slow going.”
    â€œIf there’s anything I can do to help. . . ,” Jessica offered, letting her voice trail off.
    â€œThat’s all right. I think Buck and I can handle it,” Devon countered. “So you were going to do some explaining.”
    Jessica nodded. She gazed into Devon’s dark eyes and felt a wave of alarm wash over her. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea, after all. She looked away and clasped her fingers tightly together. “I know I’ve treated you rather harshly.”
    â€œRather harshly?” he questioned.
    Jessica took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. I’ve treated you badly, and I’m sorry. There’s a great deal in my life that makes it hard for me to trust people. Especially strangers. From the minute I stepped foot on Windridge, you seemed to be everywhere, and frankly, it made me uncomfortable.”
    â€œI can certainly understand,” Devon replied. “That’s kind of why I’ve been trying to keep my distance.”
    â€œThen there’s Ryan,” she continued uneasily. Devon was a man. What would he understand of her motherly insecurities? She looked up and found his expression fixed with a compassionate stare. Maybe he would understand. “Do you know my story, Mr. Carter? How I came to live back East rather than on Windridge?” He nodded. “Well, it’s left me with a very real void in my life. I never knew my parents—never saw my father until I was twelve. Even when I came here to spend a few weeks that summer, I still didn’t see him much. He probably felt as uncomfortable as I did. Neither one of us knew what to do with the other one.”
    She paused as if trying to sort out her words. She wanted Devon to understand why she resented his interference with Ryan, but it seemed important to set up the conflicts from her early days in order to make her present days more clear.
    â€œI never felt love for my father,” she admitted. “I think I was afraid to love him. I certainly didn’t want to give him another chance to send me away or to reject that love. My aunt Harriet encouraged neither shows of emotion nor words of endearment, and so I never felt loved in her home. I’ve been taught most of my life to bury my emotions, or at best, to shut them off. I tell you this because I would like for you to understand my difficulty in being open with my feelings.”
    Devon chuckled. “I thought you made your feelings quite apparent. You don’t like me or my interfering with Ryan.”
    â€œNo, that’s not it,” Jessica replied, looking at the dying embers in the fireplace. “I love Windridge. It’s the only thing that couldn’t reject my love.” Her voice trembled slightly under the emotion of the moment. “I don’t want my pride to keep this ranch from becoming a success once again.