Reality was nothing like the movies. It hadn't been romantic at all. What she'd seen had been raw and brutal, and she wanted to blot it out of her memory.
She took another shower, then collapsed across the bed, exhausted from her emotional upheaval. Perhaps she dozed; she wasn't certain, but all of a sudden the room was darker as twilight gathered, and she realized she had missed supper. Another black mark against her, she thought, and sighed.
She felt calmer now, almost numb. To her surprise she was even hungry. She pulled on some clean clothes and
trudged down the back stairs to the kitchen. Tansy had already cleaned up the dishes and gone home, but the industrial-size stainless-steel refrigerator would be full of leftovers.
She was nibbling at a cold chicken leg and a roll, with a glass of tea at her elbow, when the kitchen door opened and Webb strolled in. He looked tired, and he'd removed both coat and tie, the coat slung over his shoulder and hanging from one crooked finger. The top two buttons on his shirt were open. Roanna's heart gave its customary jump when she saw him. Even when he was tired and disheveled, he looked like heaven. The sickness roiled in her stomach again at the thought of what Jessie was doing to him.
"Are you still eating?" he teased with mock amazement, green eyes twinkling.
"Got to keep my strength up," she said, striving for her usual flippancy, but she couldn't quite achieve it. There was a somberness in her tone that she couldn't hide, and Webb gave her a sharp glance.
"What've you done now?" he asked, taking a glass down from the cabinet and opening the refrigerator door to pour himself some iced tea.
"Nothing unusual," she assured him, and even managed a wry, crooked smile.
"I opened my big mouth at lunch, and both Grandmother and Aunt Gloria are mad at me." "So what did you say this time?"
"We were talking about cars, and I said that I wanted one of the Pontiac Grand Pricks."
His broad shoulders heaved as he controlled a spasm of laughter, turning it into a cough. He dropped into the chair beside her.
"My God, Ro."
"I know." She sighed.
"It just popped out. Aunt Gloria made one of her snide remarks about the way I eat, and I wanted to get her goat." She paused.
"It worked."
"What did Aunt Lucinda do?"
"She sent me from the table. I haven't seen her since." She picked at the roll, reducing it to a pile of crumbs, until
Webb's strong hand suddenly covered hers and stilled the movements.
"Had you eaten anything before you left the table?" he asked, and there was a stern tone in his voice now.
She made a face, knowing what was coming.
"Sure. I had a roll and some tuna."
"A whole roll? How much tuna?"
"Well, probably not an entire roll."
"More than you've eaten of this one?"
She eyed the demolished bread on her plate, as if judiciously weighing each crumb, and was relieved to be able to say, "More than that."
It wasn't much more, but more was more. His expression told her he wasn't fooled, but he let that slide for now.
"All right. How much tuna? How many bites?"
"I didn't count them!"
"More than two?"
She tried to remember. She knew she'd taken a couple of bites just to show Aunt Gloria that her verbal swipe had fallen short of the mark. She might try to evade the truth, but she wouldn't lie outright to Webb, and he knew it, so he would continue to pin her down with explicitness. With a little sigh she said, "About two, I guess."
"Did you eat anything afterward? Until now, that is?" She shook her head.
"Ro." He turned his chair toward hers and put his arm around her thin shoulders, hugging her to him. His heat and strength enveloped her the way it always had. Roanna burrowed her untidy head against that broad shoulder, bliss overtaking her. When she'd been young, Webb's hugs had been a haven for a terrified, unwanted little girl. She was older now, and the quality of her delight had changed. There was a heady, faintly musky scent to his skin that made her heart beat faster, and made her want to cling to him.
"You have to eat, baby," he said cajolingly, but with a firm undertone.
"I know you get upset and lose your
appetite, but I can tell that you've lost even more weight. You're going to damage your health if you don't start eating more."
"I know what you're thinking," she charged, lifting her head from his shoulder to scowl at him.
"But I don't make myself throw up or anything like that."
"My God, how could you? There's never anything in your stomach to be thrown up. If you don't eat, soon you won't have the strength to work with the horses. Is that what you want?"
Chapter 3
"No!"
"Then eat."
She looked at the chicken leg, her expression miserable.
"I try, but I don't like the taste of most food, and p-people are always criticizing how I eat and the food turns into this big wad that I can't swallow."
"You ate toast this morning with me and swallowed just fine."
"You don't yell at me or make fun of me," she muttered. He stroked her hair, pushing the dark chestnut strands away from her face. Poor little Ro. She had always hungered for Aunt Lucinda's approval, but was too rebellious to modify her behavior to get it. Maybe she was right; it wasn't as if she was a juvenile delinquent or anything like that. She was just different, a quirky wildflower growing in the middle of a sedate, well-ordered southern rose garden, and no one knew quite what to make of her. She shouldn't have to beg for her family's love or approval; Aunt Lucinda should just love her for what she was. But for Aunt Lucinda, perfection was her other granddaughter, Jessie, and she had always made it plain that Roanna fell short in every category. Webb's mouth tightened. In his opinion, Jessie was far from perfect, and he was sick and tired of waiting for her to grow out of some of that selfishness.