Free Temptation by Nora Roberts Page A

ripe, too real for dreams. The moment had happened, and all the feelings and sensations that had grown from it. Deliberately she turned her gaze to a riot of patternless stars.
    It didn’t change what she remembered, or what she still felt. The moment had happened, she thought again, and it had passed. Yet, somehow, she wasn’t certain it was over.
    â€œWhy does everything seem different here, Candy?”
    â€œEverything is different here.” Candy took a deep breath, drawing in the scents of smoke, drying grass and roasting meat. “Isn’t it marvelous? No stuffy parlors, no boring dinner parties, no endless piano recitals. Want a hot dog?”
    Because her mouth was watering, Eden accepted the partially blackened wiener. “You simplify things, Candy.” Eden ran a thin line of ketchup along the meat and stuck it in a bun. “I wish I could.”
    â€œYou will once you stop thinking you’re letting down the Carlbough name by enjoying a hot dog by a bonfire.” When Eden’s mouth dropped open, Candy gave her a friendly pat. “You ought to try the marshmallows,” she advised before she wandered off to find another stick.
    Is that what she was doing? Eden wondered, chewing automatically. Maybe, in a way that wasn’t quite as basic as Candy had said, it was. After all, she had been the one who had sold the house that had been in the family for four generations. In the end, it had been she who had inventoried the silver and china, the paintings and the jewelry for auction. So, in the end, it had been she who had liquidated the Carlbough tradition to pay off debts and to start a new life.
    Necessary. No matter how the practical Eden accepted the necessity, the grieving Eden still felt the loss, and the guilt.
    With a sigh, Eden stepped back. The scene that played out in front of her was like a memory from her own childhood. She could see the column of gray smoke rising toward the sky, twirling and curling. At the core of the tower of wood, the fire was fiercely gold and greedy. The smell of outdoor cooking was strong and summery, as it had been during her own weeks at Camp Forden for Girls. For a moment, there was regret that she couldn’t step back into those memories of a time when life was simple and problems were things for parents to fix.
    â€œMiss Carlbough.”
    Brought out of a half-formed dream, Eden glanced down at Roberta. “Hello, Roberta. Are you having fun?”
    â€œIt’s super!” Roberta’s enthusiasm was evident from the smear of ketchup on her chin. “Don’t you like bonfires?”
    â€œYes, I do.” Smiling, she looked back at the crackling wood, one hand dropping automatically to Roberta’s shoulder. “I like them a lot.”
    â€œI thought you looked sort of sad, so I made you a marshmallow.”
    The offering dripped, black and shriveled, from the end of a stick. Eden felt her throat close up the same way it had when another girl had offered her a clutch of wildflowers. “Thanks, Roberta. I wasn’t sad really, I was just remembering.” Gingerly, Eden pulled the melted, mangled marshmallow from the stick. Half of it plopped to the ground on the way to her mouth.
    â€œThey’re tricky,” Roberta observed. “I’ll make you another one.”
    Left with the charred outer hull, Eden swallowed valiantly. “You don’t have to bother, Roberta.”
    â€œOh, I don’t mind.” She looked up at Eden with a glowing, generous grin. Somehow, all her past crimes didn’t seem so important. “I like to do it. I thought camp was going to be boring, but it’s not. Especially the horses. Miss Carlbough . . .” Roberta looked down at the ground and seemed to draw her courage out of her toes. “I guess I’m not as good as Linda with the horses, but I wondered if maybe you could—well, if I could spend some more time at the