Secret Garden

“Rhiannon!” Again, those charming, handsome gray-blue eyes went up and down her body. Scrutinized her face. Lingered on her eyes.

She felt herself flushing.

Did he remember her as fondly as she remembered him?

Obviously not, because he threw back his head and laughed at her. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but this hadn’t been it. Pity, perhaps. Quiet respect. Silence.

But never ridicule.

“I can’t believe this!” he said, still laughing at her.

What, that she was a recluse by choice? That the best way to manage her agoraphobia was to cut herself off from the rest of the world?

She’d never wanted him to see her like this. She’d thought that of all people, he would understand.

She’d been wrong.

“What did you expect of me?” she asked quietly.

“Sorry. It’s a long story.” Shaking his head, he leaned toward her...touching her, and she jumped backward as if scalded.

What was he doing? No one touched her. She controlled her space.

“I have to go,” she said.

He caught hold her arm. “Hey, Rhiannon, wait...”

“Stop,” she whispered, staring at his hand on her sleeve. She could feel her heart drumming, feel the panic returning. People didn’t treat her this way. They were respectful of her dignity.

Colin looked at her quizzically, and she drew herself up, groping for her inner peace. Control was the most important thing. “Please.”

He let go of her. “Oh, Rhi, I’m sorry. You’re married, huh? I didn’t mean anything by it. Touching you, I mean.”

Married? What a cruel joke.

“How are your kids?” he asked, drawling at her like a true Texan. “You have a bunch of ’em. Right?”

Something stung at her eyes. Something fierce and unexpected.

How could an agoraphobic ever bring up a child?

A strangled noise came from her throat. A harsh, suppressed sob.

“Rhi?”

Horrified, she shook her head.

Normally, she would be calm about it. Philosophical and gentle and accepting, but today...after her cousin’s wedding news...she was on edge.

“No kids? Figures he lied to me,” he muttered. “Well, me, neither.” Colin talked blithely along as if he hadn’t noticed her discomfort. “No kids. No wife. Just the traveling life.” He glanced down at her. His eyes were so blue. “How about you? Do you travel?”

Colin had no idea. None. It was as if she was seeing her life the way it might have been. The way it could never be.

“Rhi?”

“I’m fine!” she shouted harshly.

His face fell. Utterly fell.

She slapped her hand over her mouth. She turned and fled back to the castle before she did anything worse.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3982de9f-ac92-5df2-9100-a1da70930a96)

SMOOTH MOVE, WALKER, Colin thought as he watched Rhiannon run away. Obviously, she’d been appalled by him. How dumb had he been, hitting golf balls into the woods? He was a trained professional and he should have known better. That was what driving ranges were for.

Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt. Still, the broken camera in his hand rattled—he needed to replace it for her. Maybe his grandmother would be awake now and could help him make arrangements for that.

Blowing out his breath, Colin headed back to the cottage. The rain had stopped, but there was still no hint of sun, just gray, overcast skies. This place was about as different from Central Texas as he could imagine.

Under the overhang to the porch, he tossed his club and glove into the golf bag.

“Colin?”

Colin froze. He’d know that voice anywhere—Nana. Instinctively, a lump rose in his throat, and he turned to see her.

“Oh, Colin.” Tears glistened in his grandmother’s eyes. She was thinner and sadder looking than he remembered. He’d come to Scotland still harboring anger, but somehow, seeing her in person, that seemed to disappear.

Jessie’s arms shook as she reached for him. He pulled her close and gave her a hug. She wore an apron that smelled like black pudding. He hadn’t eaten black pudding—the Scots name for blood sausage—in ages; it had always been a favorite of his when he’d visited in the summers, because the boy in him had loved that it was made with real blood.

She stood back and held him at arms’ length. “I’m so proud of you.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I watch you on the telly. But you look bigger and taller in person. So handsome.”

Colin couldn’t help smiling. “You’re looking good, too, Nana.” He winked at her and lifted up her chin. He didn’t want her to be so sad.

A light seemed to come on inside her, and her face appeared less tired. “Come in, dear.” She opened the door and led him into her cottage.

He followed her and took his canvas bag with him. The clubs would be fine under the overhang.

The front room was as he remembered it, but the contents had completely changed. The stuffed furniture was new. The TV was a silver flat screen, and though relatively small, it dominated the space. The old childhood pictures of him and his parents weren’t on the wall anymore. A large landscape oil painting hung in their place.

He tilted his head, trying to figure out why the scene in the painting felt so familiar. “Is that the clearing where Rhiannon and I built a fort?” He’d climbed those oak trees and hauled old loose boards into the limbs. He and Rhiannon used to sit and swing their feet there.

“Aye, that’s Rhiannon’s work.”

“She’s a painter?” he asked, surprised.

“She’s known the world over,” his grandmother said with obvious pride, and pointed to Rhiannon’s small signature on the bottom right. “She paints scenes from the estate. Wealthy collectors buy them, but this was a gift to me and Jamie.”

The painting was seriously professional work—to Colin, it looked museum quality. “I had no idea,” he murmured, though maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised.