Free The Fire of Home (A Powell Springs Novel) by Alexis Harrington Page B

sandwiches from the pork chops sh e’d cooked. He was working late at the mill. With Tom gone and Deirdre sick, that meant—
    Bax came home, and she heard him on the enclosed back porch, following his usual routine of washing at the sink. She took dinner out of the warmer and put it on a platter. He walked in and nodded at her but wouldn’t look at her. He seemed even angrier than he had been when h e’d snapped at her yesterday.
    She refused to acknowledge his rudeness and directed him to a seat at the table. “Tom is working tonight and Deirdre is still sick with her cold, so we’ll be eating in the kitchen,” she announced.
    He sat down and pushed his food around on the plate but didn’t eat much. If he was silly enough to carry a grudge, she wouldn’t indulge him. But the silence stretched out until it was awkward, and she found herself poking at her own food. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of what to say, and he didn’t seem like a man who bothered with small talk. She supposed she owed him an apology, but it came hard to her. It shouldn’t—sh e’d spent the past four years apologizing every single day for something. It had become an automatic response to apologize to Adam since he found fault with her for the most minor things. Now, though, it wasn’t as easy.
    When Bax wasn’t looking, she studied his profile—his lean jawline, the merest cleft in his chin, the strong brow. He was a very nice-looking man, but with many secrets, she suspected. Maybe even more than she had.
    “Mr. Duncan—Bax—” she stumbled.
    He looked at her.
    “I-I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to blurt out—well, you were right. It was none of my business. I was just surprised to—”
    “Never mind, Amy,” he muttered, cutting her off. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to be nosy.”
    How could someone sound polite and uncivil at the same time? she wondered, feeling stupid and no better for her effort.
    He put his fork down on the plate with a clatter. “I’m not very hungry tonight. Maybe you can give this to Tom when he gets home.”
    He pushed away from the table and got his jacket where it hung on a coat rack by the back door. “I’ll be back later.”
    Amy watched him go, and found herself sitting at a table with a pile of food and no one to eat it.

    What a shitty, shitty couple of days it had been. Bax walked to Tilly’s under a clear, star-flung sky, alert as a guard dog for any shadow or other hint of a person lurking around. A few people were on the street, but most were at home, eating dinner. Certainly h e’d known worse times, but yesterday Amy had seen his back, and today that encounter with Milo Breninger had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.
    After the last few lousy years, he believed h e’d finally found a place among the people in Powell Springs. He worked at a respectable job, no one knew about his past, and h e’d even allowed himself to begin thinking about the future. Maybe a wife, kids, a place of his own.
    H e’d imagined that once with Polly, had it all planned, until everything had gone to hell. Sometimes h e’d regretted not marrying her before he left for the war, as sh e’d wanted. She wouldn’t have been able to shed herself of him so easily if he had. Then h e’d think, what would he have been left with—an angry woman who despised him? Or maybe she would have divorced him before he got back and married Jack Bradshaw anyway.
    So he abandoned that dream, along with a lot of the others h e’d once had.
    But now, when he pictured it, the image of that wife had begun to wear Amy’s face. Amy, a married woman. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the combination of vulnerability and iron-willed strength that he detected in her. Or the sense that she could fill the emptiness in him that h e’d known for so long. But at least h e’d had a flicker of hope. Now that tiny spark might be doused by a man who had dodged the law by enlisting in