“I was only about a year old when you moved out, and not even three when you went away.”

“We couldn’t speak two sentences to each other without it devolving. It was better, a little better, when we had a few thousand miles between us. I came out every month or two to see you for the first few… then less. You were already a working actor. It was easy to tell myself you had such a full life, to agree that it wasn’t in your best interest to come here for part of your summer break when you could be making appearances.”

“And you were building a life here.”

“Yes, starting over, falling in love with Patty.” He looked down at his hands, then dropped them to his sides. “You were barely real to me, this beautiful little girl I’d visit a few times a year. I could tell myself I did my duty-never failed to send the support check, or call on your birthday, Christmas, send gifts. Even if I knew it for a lie, I could tell myself. I had Angie. Right here, every step. She needed me, and you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Cilla’s eyes swam. “I did.”

“I know. And I’ll never be able to make it up to you, or to myself.”

His voice went thick. “I wanted a quiet life, Cilla. And I sacrificed you to get it. By the time I understood that, you were grown.”

“Did you ever love me?”

He pressed his fingers to his eyes as if they burned, then, dropping his hands, walked over to sit beside her. “I was in the delivery room when you were born. They put you in my arms, and I loved you. But it was almost a kind of awe. Amazement and terror and thrill. I remember most, a few weeks after we brought you home. I had an early call, and I heard you crying. The nurse had fed you, but you were fussy. I took you, and sat with you in the rocking chair. You spit up all over my shirt. And then you looked at me. Looked right into my eyes. And I loved you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

She took a breath as something opened in her chest. “You helped me pick out rosebushes, and a red maple. You painted my living room. And you’re here now.”

He put an arm around her, drew her against him. “I saw you,” he whispered, “standing on a veranda you’d built with your own hands. And I loved you.”

For the first time in her memory, for perhaps the first time in her life, she turned her face into his chest, and wept.

LATER, SHE ATE CHICKEN SOUP. It surprised her just how much better it made her feel. A tall green vase full of bright yellow sunflowers didn’t hurt, either. Cilla decided she looked a great deal better when Ford didn’t argue with the idea of her walking over to check on what work had been done that day.

“Walking around some’ll help you not stiffen up too much, I imagine.”

“It’s cooled off some. It feels good to be outside. Smells like rain’s coming.”

“Aren’t you turning into the country girl.”

Smiling, she lifted her face to the sky. “That, and like any contractor, I checked the weather channel this morning. Evening thunderstorms, sixty percent chance. And speaking of weather, you weathered the emotional storm earlier very well.”

“Barely, if you want to know the truth. My mother’s giving Patty the there-theres, and Angie gets going, and that gets my mother started. So I’ve got three women crying in the kitchen while they’re heating up soup and arranging flowers.” Looking pained, he dragged a hand through his mass of disordered hair. “I nearly bolted. Spock slunk out through his dog door like a coward. I thought about doing the same.”

“Sterner stuff is Ford made of.”

“Maybe, but it was touch and go when I looked in the living room to see if that coast was clear and you’re mopping at your eyes.”

“Thanks for sticking it out.”

“It’s what we men in love do.” He unlocked the door, pushed it open.

She paused in the doorway, as Spock made himself at home and walked straight in. “Were you ever, before?”

“Ever what?”

“In love?”

“I was in love with Ivy Lattimer when I was eight, but she treated me with derision and mockery. I was in love with Stephanie Provost at thirteen, who returned my affection for six glorious days before tossing me for Don Erbe and his in-ground swimming pool.”

She pressed her finger into his chest. “I’m serious.”

“Those were very serious love affairs to me, at the time. There were others, too. But if you mean has it ever been real, have I ever looked at a woman and known and felt and wanted and needed all at the same time? No. You’re the first.”

He lifted her hand, brushed his lips lightly over her knuckles and made her think of her father making the same gesture with Patty. “Looks the same in here to me. What do these guys do all day?”

She wandered into the living room. “Because you don’t know where to look. Switch plates and outlet covers I special-ordered-hammered antique bronze-installed. That was a nice, unnecessary thing to do. Matt left the trim in here because he knows I have an emotional attachment to it and want to hang it myself.”

She moved off, let out a happy sound at the doorway to the powder room. “Tile’s laid.” She crouched, studied. “Nice, very nice, the warm pallet in this mosaic ties in well with the color of the entrance foyer, the living area. I wonder if they got to the bathroom on the third floor, or finished the drywall?”

And she’s up and running, Ford thought, following her through the house.

By the time she’d checked everything to her satisfaction, the first rumble of thunder sounded. Spock let out a pip of distress and clung to Ford’s side like a burr.

She set the alarm, locked up.

“Wind’s starting to kick. I love that. I really love when it waits to rain until night, and doesn’t screw up time on the job. Brian’s crew is scheduled for tomorrow, and we’re finally going to work on the pond. Plus, we’re… Oh damn, I completely forgot. I put an offer in on the house this morning. Just had the impulse hit, and hit strong enough, it said do it now. I should hear if they’re going to counter tomorrow. Which is when I made an appointment for us to go through the other house. I figured if that didn’t work for you, I’d just reschedule. And I forgot about it.”

“Gee, wonder why? What time tomorrow?”

“Five. I’ve got a full slate, so five worked out.”

“It’s fine. We’ll go right after your doctor’s appointment. That’s at four.”

“But-”

“Four,” he said in that tone she heard rarely. Which, she imagined, spoke to its success.

"Okay. All right.”

“Now, what do you say we sit outside with some wine, and watch this storm roll in.”

“I say that sounds like a nice way to end a seriously crappy day.”

CILLA THOUGHT SHE was pulling it together pretty well. She’d gotten a decent night’s sleep-maybe aided by two glasses of wine, two Motrin and another bowl of Penny’s famous chicken soup. She’d managed to creak her way out of bed at seven without waking Ford. Another spin in the whirlpool, some very light and gentle yoga stretches followed by more Motrin and a breathlessly hot shower had her feeling almost normal.

Over a quiet cup of coffee she wondered why she needed a doctor’s appointment. It didn’t require a doctor to tell her she’d been banged around and would be a little stiff and sore, a little achy for a couple of days.

But she doubted Ford would see it that way.

And wasn’t that nice, when you got right down to it? There was someone who cared enough to get pushy and bossy about her welfare. It didn’t hurt to be flexible, to bend enough to accommodate.

Besides, the worst was over. Hennessy was in jail, and couldn’t touch her or her property. She’d be able to live, and finish her rehab in peace. And move on to the next.

She’d be able to sit down and really think about what it meant to have a man like Ford in love with her. And, yes, to worry and obsess about what it meant for her to be in love-if she really understood the state of being-with a man like Ford.