Free Sound of Secrets by Darlene Gardner Page B

man he'd become.
    With a fierceness that startled her, she wanted him to confide in her the memories that were buried deep within his heart. She wanted him to confirm her suspicion that the intensely protective way he treated his father was because, for so long, it had been the two of them against the world.
    Mostly, she wanted him to trust her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    “Then you won’t ask my father any more questions about that little Rhett boy."
    The harsh statement seemed to spew forth from the blackest part of the night, popping Cara's silly longing for his trust as effectively as a child burst a bubble. She made her voice deliberately light."Why's that?"
    "You saw him tonight. You shouldn't have to ask."
    "If you're talking about your mother, one doesn't have anything to do with the other."
    "That's where you're wrong. My father's never gotten over her death. I don't think he ever will. Talk of Skippy Rhett brings back that time for him. It's a time I don't want him to relive any more than he already does every day of his life."
    Cara stared at Gray while a suspicion formed. She had witnessed the change in Bergie when he'd spoken of his lost love, but she had thought the son, and not the father, was the more reluctant to speak of Skippy Rhett. Now, as then, she couldn't figure out why.
    She took a deep breath, determined not to let him intimidate her, even though her dinner churned in her stomach. Be brave, Cara, she told herself, and almost laughed aloud. Aside from the episode with Sam Peckenbush’s dog, which was surely an aberration, she’d never been brave in her life.
    "I suppose I don't need your father to tell me about Skippy," she said deliberately, and again the name felt oddly familiar on her lips. "I'm sure I can find plenty of other people to talk to about him."
    "Why don’t you drop the subject,” he said harshly, making her flinch. It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like a demand, one that went a long way toward proving Cara's hunch. She was more sure than ever that Gray didn't want her to delve into the mystery of Skippy's death.
    "I can't drop the subject when it's part of my story.”
    "Are you writing a story?" he asked just loudly enough to be heard over the incoming waves.
    She swallowed and willed herself not to look at him. If she did, she might not have the courage to continue her charade. Careful not to break her stride, Cara said, “Of course I am.”
    "Then keep your facts straight. First you're driving through town, then you're staying. Then you're researching a story, yet you know so little about the man you're interviewing you’re not aware he's a nationally syndicated columnist. Suppose you tell me what's really going on?"
    "I've already told you." Cara walked faster in a fruitless attempt to get away from his questions. He lengthened his stride to keep up with her. "I'm writing an article about small-town newspapers."
    "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
      "Frankly, I don’t care what you believe," Cara answered, walking faster still, feeling like the tortoise trying to outrun the hare. With a few steps, Gray drew even with her and grabbed her lightly by the upper arm.
    "For God's sake, lady, would you stop for a minute and talk to me?"
    She stopped, staring at the restraining hand on her arm and biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling. It occurred to her that Richard would never chase her down on a beach and demand answers. Nor would any of the men she’d associated with in the past. If they had, she suspected her body wouldn’t be reacting as violently as it was now. As though Gray had magnetized her by his touch.
    "Let go of me," she rasped.
    He immediately dropped his hand from her arm. As she had the first time he’d touched her outside the service station, she felt a chill where his hand had been. "Okay. I let go. Now talk.”
    "We don’t have anything to talk about," she said, trying not to let him see exactly how intimidated she