Free Sighs Matter by Marianne Stillings Page B

go for a walk down by the pond. I can borrow your cell phone, if I may, to check my messages.”
    “Where’s your cell phone?”
    “Um, the truth is, my purse was stolen.”
    Adam looked thoroughly confused. “You were in a car accident, and you were mugged?”
    “Yes.”
    Taylor watched as Thursby put his arm around her again and began leading her off the porch. “Obviously you’re okay now, but I want to hear about it. I want to hear all about it.”
    “While you’re taking your walk,” Taylor said, “I’ll do that job in the kitchen we talked about.”
    “Job?” Adam stopped and looked back at Taylor. “Are you a carpenter or plumber or something?”
    “Or something,” Taylor said, without elaborating.
    “Wait here, Adam,” Claire said as she stepped off the porch. “I’ll be right back.”
    When she was out of earshot, Thursby turned to Taylor.
    “So you’re a sort of handyman, are you?” Intelligent gray eyes assessed Taylor as he waited for an answer.
    “Handy enough.”
    “You got your toolbox with you?”
    “Yep.”
    “Have everything in it, does it?”
    “Crescent wrench, hammers, wire cutters, screwdrivers . . . the works.”
    “Well, while you’re busy being handy ,” Thursby drawled, his eyes narrowed on Taylor, “just make sure you don’t screw anything that belongs to me.”
    Taylor looked off across the yard to where Claire was closing the passenger door of his truck. Her hair shone like satin. Her movements were graceful, like a dancer’s. And her mouth, plush and rose pink, looked ripe for a kiss— his kiss.
    “Since I don’t see anything here that belongs to you,” he said casually, “I guess that won’t be a problem.”
    Thursby visibly heated, but said nothing as Claire climbed the steps. Showing them a piece of notepaper, she said, “I’d made a list of calls I have to return this afternoon, and left it in the glove compartment. You ready for that walk, Adam?”
    Claire led the way down the steps and out across the barnyard. They passed the chickens, strutting and bobbing as they searched with bright black eyes for leftover bits of grain. Gerty, the goose, flapped and honked, extended her neck as if to attack, then abandoned the strategy to waddle away.
    Near the pond, plump bees, their dangling legs heavy with pollen, rose and dove from clover to columbine to daisy, while butterflies floated on the wind like white gossamer bows. Claire looked on the familiar scene with fresh eyes. As a little girl, this place had been her summertime playground. Then, as a lonely teenager, her haven of love and safety and peace.
    And now her sanctuary had been invaded. Why? And by whom?
    She risked a quick glance back at the farmhouse, knowing Taylor was there, in the kitchen, doing everything he could to find some clue to who had hurt and robbed her. Rubbing her temples, she tried to settle her frazzled emotions.
    Next to her, Adam seemed thoughtful, too. He’d flipped the edges of his jacket back and slid his hands in his pants pockets. Though his shiny black shoes had accumulated a patina of brown dust, he seemed not to notice.
    “Are you sure you’re really okay?” he said as they reached the wooden arbor bench Claire’s grandfather had built decades ago. A profusion of wild red roses stretched up one side of the trellis and tumbled down the other, creating a shady spot from which to rest and enjoy watching the mallards drift like bathtub toys across the flat surface of the pond.
    Claire edged onto the bench and folded her hands in her lap. Adam settled next to her, close enough for her to feel the heat from his body. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees.
    “I’m sorry you were hurt. I care about you, Claire . . . care for you. I don’t think you realize how much.”
    Studying his handsome profile, Claire bit her lip. She liked Adam. He was fun to be around, and they’d had some interesting conversations, but that was about as far as it went. Since her