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  “And what did the doctor say about your dad yesterday?”

  Amy said nothing, only gave the straw another kick.

  “He kept his appointment, didn’t he?”

  “I took him in,” she replied, her voice tight.

  Paul chewed thoughtfully on the straw, watching Amy. She looked as tightly wound as a rodeo saddle bronc waiting for the gate to open. “What’s wrong, Amy?”

  She stopped moving the straw around, her hands slipping into her pockets, her gaze fixed on her dusty boots.

  “Nothing,” she said decisively.

  Paul got up, concerned with her reticence, the brevity of her replies. “Amy.” He touched her shoulder, and as he did so he caught the glint of tears in the corner of her eye. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

  She hugged herself, looking upward, blinking carefully. She took a slow breath that caught on the end. “You’re leaving tomorrow, Paul. What’s happening in my life won’t matter in a few days.”

  “That’s not true.” He curled his hand around the soft curve of her shoulder, her words cutting him. “I’ve always cared about what happens to you.” Too much, he thought.

  He watched her silent struggle, arms crossed tightly over her stomach, hands clutching her waist. Something twisted inside him, deep and low, as she dropped her head and took one shaky breath. Then another. In the half-light her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Then, as he waited, one coursed down the curve of her cheek.

  Paul could bear her silent pain no longer. He could no more stop himself from drawing her in his arms than he could stop the sun’s descent each evening.

  For a moment she tensed, her elbows clamped to her midriff, her fists pressed against her mouth.

  “It’s okay, I’m here. You don’t have to be so tough, so strong.” Paul stroked her rigid back, pulling her closer.

  A shudder rippled through her tense body, then another, and suddenly she drooped against him, her hands clutching his shirt, her hot forehead pressed to his cool throat. A sob slipped out, then another and soon her tears flowed freely, her cries muffled against his chest.

  “It’s not fair,” she cried, pulling on his shirt.

  “What isn’t?” Paul prompted, cupping her head with his large hand, stroking her neck with gentle fingers.

  “Life, everything.” Amy twisted his shirt. “The doctor phoned me this afternoon. I had to take Dad to the hospital right away.” She paused a moment, drawing in an unsteady breath. “They figure he’s diabetic. His blood sugar was so high they were scared he was going to go into a coma.” She sniffled again and wiped her nose against the back of her hand, then palmed tears from her dusty cheeks. More streamed down to take their place.

  She tried to pull away from Paul, but he still held her, sensing her need for comfort. She carried so much, he thought, looking down at her slight figure. Those slim shoulders bore so much.

  “I know there are worse things…the doctor said it was a matter of getting Dad’s blood sugar balanced.” She sniffed again. “I’m just tired. Rick got a job at Jack’s, and Tim’s mom…” She stopped there, her words muffled against his shirt.

  Paul rocked her gently, stroking her back, her soft hair. A feeling of protectiveness surged through him and he held her closer still, arms wrapped right around her.

  After a time her tears subsided, yet she stayed in the comforting circle of his arms. Paul laid his head on her warm one, enjoying far too much the feel of her in his arms. It was wrong. He knew that. He was leaving tomorrow, his own future uncertain. He had no right to hold her so close, to take Tim’s place as comforter.

  Then why isn’t Tim here?

  Paul remembered other times—taking Amy to the hospital, caring for Judd when she went to Prince George, helping her with the fencing.

  Why was Tim never around when Amy needed him?

  He closed his eyes as if to banish the treacherous thought. But slowly another rose to take its place, this one more insidious than the last.

  I want to be here for her. Not just now, but forever.

  His mind raced ahead, imagining himself supporting, helping, loving. He buried his face in the silky mass of her hair as a wave of pure longing washed over him. Tim wasn’t right for Amy, just as Stacy wasn’t right for him. But how could he tell Amy that, now, with his arms around her and Tim’s ring on her finger?

  Amy was the one, however, who finally straightened. “Paul,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Paul, you have to let me go.”

  “Why?” He inhaled the delicate scent of her, overlaid with the earthy smell of straw dust. He wasn’t ready to let reality intrude on the haven he had created for himself and Amy for a few precious moments. But he knew he must.

  He lifted his head, and as their eyes met, his breath seemed to catch midway in his chest. Once again he felt that indefinable pull of attraction that drew them together. This time he didn’t fight it or stop to question.

  He ignored the sudden flare of panic that ignited Amy’s eyes. He shut off the warning in his head and with a fierce tenderness, lowered his mouth to hers.

  As he touched the warmth of her lips, her resistance melted as snow beneath spring rain. For a moment they clung, their lips moving softly against each other, fighting what they knew, pushing aside what waited for each of them. It wasn’t enough, it could never be enough.

  Then Amy pressed her hands against his chest, breaking the moment.

  But Paul wasn’t finished. He tilted his head slightly as he kissed her damp cheek, the soft hair at her temple, her eyelids. She stood as if waiting for him to finish and finally pulled away. As he stepped back, he let his eyes drift over her familiar and beloved face. A lump gathered in his throat.

  He had cared for this girl all her life, and now it was too late.

  “I wish I could say I’m sorry,” he said, his own voice hoarse from emotion. “But I’m not.”

  He wasn’t sorry for kissing her, but he was sorry for the confusion his kiss had created. A confusion that mirrored his own.

  “I know it’s not fair to tell you now, Amy,” he said, the words coming out of that deep place he had hidden them, knowing he didn’t deserve to receive anything from her. “You’ve got another man’s ring on your finger. But I love you.” He laughed shortly, looking down. ‘It was selfish of me to tell you, but I had to.”

  He fell silent as he saw the import of what he said register on Amy. She closed her eyes as if to shut him out.

  “I think you had better go back to your girlfriend, Paul Henderson, and stop playing games with me.”

  Her words cut him deeply, reminding him of previous commitments. He nodded as if agreeing.

  “I’m not playing games with you, Amy. You’ve always been someone very important to me. I’ve realized too late how important.” He waited, but she still stood firm. “I’ll be praying for you, Amy.” He touched the side of her cheek with his lips, and she flinched. Then he turned and left.

  “Mr. Onyschuk on line four, Paul.”

  The tinny sound of the intercom on the desk behind him interrupted Paul’s contemplation of the streets below. He turned his head from the rain-smeared glass of his fifteenth-floor office window and glanced back at a phone that blinked like a Christmas tree.

  “And please put those other two callers out of their misery,” Rhonda, his secretary, added plaintively.

  Paul allowed a wry grin to lift one corner of his mouth. He tugged on his burgundy silk tie, an excellent complement to his navy blue, double-breasted suit, and wished that he had stopped by his condo to change after his meeting this morning. He usually favored more casual wear, but he and Bruce had to schmooze, and in the corporate world of Vancouver, schmoozing required suits.

  Shouldering himself away from the window with the rain sheeting down it, he turned to face the inevitable.

  Mr. Onyschuk probably wanted more information on the last set of blueprints Paul had sent out with one of the underlings in the office. Line one was Allied Concrete’s sales rep
—some guy named Wade or Wayne, who had been trying all week to connect with him.

  Line three was Stacy.

  He waggled his fingers over the desk trying to choose. And the winner was…line one.

  “Hello, Wayne. Paul Henderson… Sorry, Wade. What have you got for me?” As he listened to the all-too-familiar sales pitch on servicing, delivery promises, quality control, payment options, Paul doodled absentmindedly. It didn’t seem to matter what product the salesmen were selling—re-bar, cement forms, cranes, heavy equipment, paper or personalized pens, the pitch sounded the same as the others, the deal the best in town. And Paul was growing weary of being told that everyone was looking out for his best interests.

  In this business, everyone looked out for themselves.

  “Thank you for all that, Wade,” Paul said as soon as he could. “Tell you what. Send me your brochure and card with some price lists, and I’ll talk to my partner. Talk to you soon.” Paul waited a moment until he was sure Wade or Wayne had hung up before he hit…

  “Mr. Onyschuk. How are you today?” Paul chatted and doodled, trying to ignore the flashing light beside line three. Mr. Onyschuk’s problem took little time to straighten up and Paul hung up, leaving line three still sending out its mute plea.

  Last week, over salmon linguini, he had officially put an end to his and Stacy’s relationship. She had called each day since. Today he didn’t feel like doing yet another postmortem on their situation.

  Nor did he feel like sitting in the office going over the numbers on the last three projects Henderson Contractors had done for B.C. Transit. They’d made money, but Bruce didn’t trust the cost analysis and wanted Paul to verify it before they took on another project for them.

  But Paul didn’t want to sit over a calculator in a stuffy office “verifying.” Nor did he want to head out to the Upper Narrows to check on their newest work site and make sure all the sub-trades were on schedule. It seemed pointless to keep going, hobbling from job to job—one partner wanting to sell out and another partner that couldn’t commit himself.

  With a frustrated sigh he pushed his chair around. The rain obscured his view of the mountains and distorted his view of the bay below them. When work was behind schedule, the weather concerned him, but otherwise he wasn’t the one that got wet when cranes were moving and cement trucks were rolling in. He had spent his time pouring cement, perched on scaffolds and I beams. He and Bruce had worked their way to this office above it all.

  And now?

  Now all he could think of was soft gray eyes, hair that caught the sun and soft lips that could curve in laughter and just as quickly thin in frustration.

  Paul leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head, slipping into the reverie that often caught him these days. He wondered how Amy was managing, if things were falling into place like Amy had so often reassured him—and herself—they would. He wondered if she thought about him as much as he thought about her, and he wondered if she had second thoughts about Tim.

  And as he so often had, he prayed for her, for himself, for all the things that tangled themselves around her life. He prayed for her happiness. And that was all he could pray for.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the telephone. The solitary light no longer blinked on its console. He felt guilty relief wash over him. He had talked to Stacy enough. With each phone call, she became more bitter, and the last time he spoke to her, she had thrown out accusations about his attraction for Amy. He wondered how she noticed—she had only been around for a day.

  And his time away from her had shown him quite clearly that it would not have worked between them, even though she refused to see that.

  He couldn’t explain to her that his visit home had filled a need even as it had created a deeper one. He had renewed his relationship with his Lord and his family. But now he wanted to go back home, to the mountains, to Amy.

  Paul plowed a hand through his hair as he reminded himself once more that Amy was engaged.

  And what could he offer her in return? What was his life now? Busyness and running around. But what alternative did he have? If he went back to the ranch, would he be content to live there if Amy wasn’t there? Could he be happy living in the Cariboo with Amy and Tim as next-door neighbors?

  Could he convince her that Tim wasn’t the man for her?

  Paul dragged his hands over his face. He couldn’t do that to her. She loved Tim, didn’t she?

  Then why did it feel so right to have her in your arms? When he had kissed her, just before he left the valley, it had felt so right. It was like a homecoming, like finding some lost part of himself.

  “Paul, are you talking to your mother today?” Rhonda’s voice cut into his troubled thoughts.

  Pivoting in his chair he hit the button of the intercom before he picked up the phone. “How does she sound?”

  “Work with me here, Paul,” Rhonda sighed. “I only fib to callers during your nap and when you have a very important meeting with the minister of transportation.”

  “Put her through.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “Minus the sarcasm.”

  Rhonda said nothing, and Paul hit the button. “Hi, Mom. How’s things with my favorite girl?”

  “Don’t even start with that smarmy Vancouver chitchat.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Mom. Cut to the chase.” He leaned back in his chair, ready to connect with home.

  “I dislike fake cheerfulness, you know that.”

  “So what momentous occasion made you decide to reach out and touch?”

  “Just wanted to connect.”

  “Okay. Let’s connect.” Paul turned around facing the window. “How’s things at the ranch?”

  “Good. We got the cows down from the leased land and the hay is all hauled home. Prices are up. We should do quite well this year.”

  “And…” He hesitated, his previous thought too close to the surface for him to be able to adopt a completely casual tone. “How are things with Amy?”

  “Judd went home for a while. Then Amy found him unconscious in his bedroom and she had to take him back to the hospital. Did you know he has diabetes?”

  “Amy told me.” Paul leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He wished he could be there. “How’s she doing?”

  “You know Amy. Strong and independent—on the outside. She quit her job. It was getting too much.” Elizabeth sighed. “Rick’s working at Jack’s now and he likes it.”

  “So what is Amy going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. She still comes over, but she doesn’t talk much these days. She seems so troubled. Pray for her, okay?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Every day.” And night and morning, he thought, and whenever she crossed his mind. Which was often.

  “And how are things with you?”

  Paul was hoping she would skip that part of the phone call. “Got another contract from Speers and Lovell. They want us to build a mall in Surrey and another in Langley. We’re bidding on a couple of high-rise apartments….”

  “It’s been two weeks since you broke up with Stacy,” his mother interrupted. “You still okay with that?”

  “I’m still glad I did it, yes.”

  “And are you going to buy out your partner?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked out the window again at the dismal weather beyond, suddenly realizing how less depressing a rainy day felt looking out of the windows of his parents’ house than from his office or condo.

  “Have you thought about your father’s offer to become partner in the ranch?”

  “Constantly.”

  “Good.” She sighed, a light sound. “I’m still sorry about you and Stacy, but I’m glad that you found out now instead of after you got married. It was the right choice, you’ll see it in time.”

  “I see it already.”

  “So now what?”

  Paul pulled his hand over his face and inhaled deeply. “I’m not sure I w
ant to tell you.” He paused, his hand still covering his eyes. “But I’m in love with Amy.”

  Silence greeted this remark.

  “I know it sounds bizarre and the timing is terrible…”

  “Doesn’t sound bizarre and doesn’t surprise me. I think you’ve always cared for Amy, but didn’t dare raise yourself to her standard.”

  Good, old Mom, Paul thought. Not afraid to call things as she saw them.

  “Be careful with her,” his mother continued. “She has her own burdens to bear, and lately she carries them poorly.”

  “And is Tim around to help her?”

  Another pause. “I’m not going to defend or accuse. Amy has to make her own decisions about what she needs.”

  “If it’s any comfort to you, right now her needs are more important to me than my own personal satisfaction.”

  “You’re a good man, Paul Henderson.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ve had good teachers.”

  They exchanged a few pleasantries, spinning down to the end of the conversation and the final goodbye.

  Paul dropped the handset in the cradle, a wry smile curving his lips. He sat back, wondering, thinking. He offered up a prayer for Judd…and for Amy.

  Then jumped as the door burst open.

  “Couldn’t you make a less dramatic entrance?” he grumbled as Rhonda dumped a pile of mail on his desk—letters to be signed, papers to initial, topped off with the morning paper.

  “I’d like to see you try to open that behemoth you call a door a little less dramatically with all this stuff in your hands.” Rhonda set his coffee beside the phone. “Also got a very abrupt call from Les Visser. He was way too busy to be put on hold. He told me he wants to meet with you to talk about the buyout.”

  “I’m too busy.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “If he calls again, Rhonda, I’m busy.” Paul smiled up at his secretary, who looked over her half glasses, a smirk curving her bright red lips.

  She shrugged. “Okay. Busy,” she replied. “Better to bury yourself here, I guess.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. He knew she meant something else, but she only smiled back at him.