Free Conall's Legacy by Kat Wells Page B

glistening.
    Thank God, he doesn’t know I’m here, she thought. His face drew her full attention. Unspeakable pain carved his features into a grotesque mask. He didn’t even look like himself, as he turned away to pick up another piece of metal.
    As though sensing someone watching him, he stopped and slowly lowered the mallet, then let it drop to the ground. His head fell forward as his chin dropped to his bare chest. He pulled in a deep breath, lifted his head, and turned. His eyes were moist, his jaw set tight against the pain he must be feeling.
    “I’m--I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just so hot. I thought you could use a break.” She looked past him at his sculpture, and gulped. It looked like a bombed-out building. Hatred and evil radiated from the twisted metal pieces. Nothing was recognizable. What terrible pain drove him to create such a piece as this? Her hands shook again, so she set the tray on a bale of hay before she dropped it.
    Luisa watched as he struggled to regain control. A small muscle in his jaw jumped and twitched. His own hands shook slightly as he pulled off his gloves. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
    “Maybe it would help to talk about it,” she said.
    He shook his head, his lips drooping in a frown.
    “I’m a good listener.” Compassion choked her. Terror pushed it aside. Did she really want to know what drove a man like Drake?
    He took another deep breath, shrugged off the cloak of despair, and walked to the tray. He picked up a glass of lemonade and drank long and deep. He looked as though he was downing straight bourbon the way her father had after reading her mother’s goodbye letter. Lowering the bottleglass, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he looked at her dead on.
    “I can’t talk about this, Luisa. I appreciate your concern, but ... I can’t talk about it.”
    “Not even part of it? Perhaps you need to start and the rest will come in time.” She saw sorrow reflecting deep in his eyes. “Look, I’m not being nosy. I’ve been through some tough stuff, too, and saw a shrink. It helped a lot to talk things through--to have an impartial listener.”
    He studied the remaining liquid, seemed to consider his options. With a heavy sigh, he set the glass down. “I don’t need your ... assistance. I have to work through this alone. That’s why I’m out here in the middle of nowhere.”
    Luisa’s spine stiffened, and she forced down the pain his rejection brought. “All right, then. That’s clear enough. I only wanted to help.”
    She turned away but he caught her elbow and pulled her back. He gazed into her eyes, plumbed the depths of her soul. Seconds ticked away as silence pulsed between them. He appeared to assess whatever it was he found there. Finally, he spoke.
    “All right, you want answers.” His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “I killed my best friend.”
    Luisa gasped, then she buried any further emotional response. She lifted a hand to her throat, her thoughts in a whirl. She needed to be an impartial listener, to let him feel he could tell her his deepest secrets and be safe. But what kind of a man would do such a thing and then state it so categorically?
    “Surely, it must have been an accident.”
    “Some say it was.”
    She let out a breath of relief. “How’d it happen?” She sank onto an old chair leaning against the wall.
    Drake shrugged. “We worked together in LA. After work, we stopped in at the local pub for a drink. I made two bad choices that day.” His voice caught in his throat and the knife twisted in her heart.
    “But a wrong choice. That’s an accident. No one deliberately chooses incorrectly.”
    “That’s what they said at the inquiry. I don’t know.”
    “So tell me about it, the way you see it.”
    The muscle in his jaw jumped again, his right eye twitching slightly. He sat on a bale of hay, propped his elbows on his knees, and