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Strangely, he found himself thinking about that life-after-death thing, and suddenly it didn't seem half as odd as the changes in his wife.

The next day, Jack was still trying to forget the quiet way she'd whispered his name and the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm. Huddled in the dark privacy of the tack room, he tried like hell to tell himself it was all another lie meant to hurt him. But he couldn't believe it this time. Not even for a minute.

Thunk. Thunk.

Jack paused in his thoughts and listened.

Thunk. Thunk.

Frowning, he laid down the heavy black harness and can of neat's-foot oil.

The noise came again. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Jack tossed his oil-soaked rag down on the workbench and headed out of the barn. Following the steady beating sound, he walked through the yard and around the corner of the house. His wife stood at the top of the hill above him.

He stopped dead.

She was wearing a pair of his old work pants, and one of his new blue shirts, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the shirttail hanging to midthigh. Gripping a hoe, she lifted it high in the air and brought it down with a resounding thunk. Rich brown earth flew everywhere, speckling her hair and disappearing in the tall grass just beyond.

Flinging the hoe aside, she bent from the waist and clawed at the ground. Her shirttail flipped up, revealed the rounded curve of her buttocks.

Jack gasped. The old, often-washed wool of his pants curled enticingly around her body, leaving far too little to his imagination.

His throat went dry. Desire twitched deep in his groin. A hint of breeze rippled the fabric against her shapely calves and thighs. Without warning, he remembered what he'd spent years trying to forget. The perfection of her body, the softness of her skin, the feel of her body beneath him?

All of a sudden she flew backward. Skidding butt-first through the blackish soil, she landed with a shriek at his feet.

Spitting dirt, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and got to her knees. Crawling forward, she turned around and saw him. She immediately smiled. "Phew, that's the second time I've done that. This hill's a bitch."Jack stared at her in shock as she brushed the dirt from her shirt and shook her head. Clumps and particles of earth pattered his chest. His gaze swept her from head to foot, noting the thick rope belt that anchored his pants to her small waist. "Why in the hell are you wearing my Sunday clothes?"She had the grace to wince. "These are your good clothes?" He nodded.

"Sorry. But I couldn't garden in that torture device. Every time I lifted the hoe, I'd have passed out."Suddenly it hit him. She was gardening. He glanced at the freshly turned earth and frowned. "What the hell ...""I'm planting a vegetable garden. I've already gotten in the radishes, potatoes, lettuce, peas. I was just starting on the corn.""You're working in the garden?" She looked at him with a strange expression. "Let me guess: I don't garden either?" "You always said it was beneath you." She glanced down at the newly turned ground. "Maybe I meant it literally."He stopped a smile just in time. "Is this part of the 'new and improved' Lissa?""Yes, I suppose it is." She grinned up at him. "I was going to gather some wild roses to plant alongside the porch. Want to help?"He tried not to look at her, but couldn't help himself. She was staring up at him through wide, concerned eyes. Dirt speckled her pale, flawless skin and clung to one corner of her mouth. Her unbound hair was a curtain of moonshine that slid down her shoulder and swung gently against the soft curve of her hip.

"Is this real?" His words were a whisper, a thought inadvertently spoken aloud.

She moved toward him, smiling a soft, beguiling smile that made his knees go weak. And suddenly he was afraid of what she was going to say. "Don't say anything," he whispered harshly. "Please, no more ..."Her gaze held him captive. "It's real to me, Jack."He flinched. Was it possible?

Don't think it. Not for a goddamn minute.

But it was too late. He'd already thought it. And he was lost. "You really don't remember how we were ... before?" "No.""God help us," he moaned.

She touched him with a butterfly-soft caress. "Only if we help ourselves, Jack."He stared at her in horror. The old Amarylis wouldn't have thought a statement like that. Not ever. Not even to hurt him. It implied a caring they'd given up on long ago. A commitment that had ended on the day he returned from the hospital.

He backed away from her and spun around, running blindly away.

"Jack!"

Her voice followed him, spurred him to run faster.

He couldn't help himself, goddamn it, he believed her this time. Believed her completely.

It was the most dangerous thing he could imagine.

As Tess watched him run away again, her breath expelled in a tired sigh. Disappointment tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"What has she done to you, Jack?" she whispered into the whistling wind. "What?"She rested her hoe in the broken, rich-looking soil and leaned wearily on its rounded wooden end, her gaze focused on the lonely figure walking slowly toward the barn. With every step he took, the sinking feeling in her stomach increased.

Stop it, Tess.

She shook her head slightly, forcing the frown from her mouth. She'd spent a lifetime dealing with rejection and disappointing setbacks. And she'd be damned if she'd let them beat her now.

It'll just take time, she reminded herself. She almost smiled. Time, fortunately, was the one thing she had plenty of. That, and patience.

Chapter Fifteen

Tess sat back on her heels and studied the supplies laid out on the grass in front of her. There were two pound-sized bags of paint powder, two empty extralarge glass jars, and a can of linseed oil. Sunlight spilled through the leaves of the oak tree and turned the tired old burlap sacks a pale golden hue. Beside her, sprawled in the middle of a huge plaid blanket, Caleb lay quietly.

She shot a quick sideways glance at the small building behind her. Jack was still there, watching her. The knowledge sent a tiny jet of warmth shooting through her?a feeling she studiously tried to ignore. She had a job to do.

Scooting forward, Tess grabbed the largest jar and began pouring in linseed oil with a scientist's precision.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing or not?"She didn't take her gaze off the oil splashing in the jar. "Or not.""Well, I gotta get back to the herd."She waved over her shoulder. "I will, thanks." "Will what?"Tess turned and tossed him a bright smile. "Have fun. I always do. Nice talking to you."A slow, cautious smile tugged at his lips.

Tess felt the impact of that smile all the way to her toes. She had to force herself not to get up and go to him.

"I better go," he said, indicating the barn.

She nodded. "By all means."

He didn't move, just stood there, arms crossed, hat pulled low, studying her from beneath the brim of his dark hat. Tess felt the heat of his gaze like a caress along her flesh.

Finally he spoke. His words were so quiet, she could barely hear. "Really, you don't have to do that. But it does look good."Tess's eyebrows drew together in a small frown. "What looks good?"This time he grinned. "That apple cider you've got there."Tess couldn't believe it. She smiled. "Why, Jack Rafferty, you do have a sense of humor."His smile faded. Tess felt its loss as acutely as if a cloud had covered the sun. She got quickly to her feet and poured him a glass of cider from the pitcher. "I liked the smile," she said softly, holding the glass toward him.

His fingers curled around the sun-warmed glass just above hers. There was a brush of flesh on flesh, and then slowly he eased the glass from her hands and took a sip. "Thanks."Tess looked up at him. For a split second she saw him not as he looked at this instant, sipping cider, but as he'd looked ten seconds ago, with a carefree smile transforming his face.

She started to lean toward him. When she realized what she was doing, she froze. Her heart thumped in her chest and her breathing sped up. She'd been going to kiss him again.

Steeling herself, she eased backward. A shaky laugh escaped her.

"What is it?" he asked, but his voice was husky, and she knew that he'd felt it, too, that sudden, unexpected rush of desire.

"I was going to kiss you," she answered simply.

He flinched, swallowed hard. "Oh.""But I changed my mind." She closed the infinitesimal gap between them. She tilted her face up and gave him a challenging stare. "The next time we kiss, Jack, you'll be the one who starts it."He gazed down at her, his breathing rushed. His tongue darted out, nervously wet his lips. Tess stared at the glistening trail and felt a gut-wrenching pang of need.

She lurched backward, forcing a bright smile. "Well, I'd best get back to work.""Yeah. 'Bye." He stared at her for a long, breathless moment, then pivoted and strode away.

Tess watched him leave, a silly, ridiculous grin on her face. For the first time since she'd realized she was falling in love with him, she felt honest-to-God hope. They'd been close there for a moment. Really close.

It was only a matter of time before they got even closer.

Tess was just setting the cradle back in its place below the window when she heard Savannah and Katie come into the yard. She gave the sleeping, just-fed baby a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried out to the porch.

"Hi, girls!" she called out.

"Hi, Mama," they said at once, both smiling.

Tess felt a rush of pride and warmth at their easy smiles. "I have a project planned for us. Here are a couple of old sheets?at least, they looked old. I cut out head and arm holes."Savannah's smile faded. "You did what? But?""Come on," Tess said with a laugh, "put them on. We're painting."Savannah's smile came back. She dropped her lard tin and books on the ground near the bottom step and hurried over to Tess. Katie followed right on her heels.

"Okay," Tess said. "Put them over your head like this." She slipped into one as an example.

The girls put on their sheets and followed Tess to the oak tree, where the paint, paintbrushes, and bedroom curtains were carefully laid out. "There you go, girls. Go to it."Savannah cast her a confused glance. "Them are our curtains.""Those are your bedroom curtains," Tess corrected. "And don't you think they're a little ... dull?"Both girls looked at the curtains, then back at Tess. Neither of them said a word.

"Well, I do," Tess said. "No child should grow up in a blah room. So fix it.""You want us to paint our curtains?" Savannah asked. Tess grinned. "Isn't it a great idea?" She bent down and snatched up two paintbrushes. "Here, take 'em."Savannah studied the brush as if it were a two-headed snake. "I really don't think?" "Paint," Tess said firmly.

Savannah kneeled in the lush grass and cautiously dipped her brush in the red paint.

Then, careful not to spill a drop, she started painting a solid red border along the bottom.

Tess waited for a spark of creativity, but none came. Savannah was focused on the border with the concentration of a brain surgeon.

Tess squatted down beside her. "Savannah, honey, do you like borders?"The paintbrush lifted. There was a long pause, then: "No.""What do you like?"She shrugged. "I never thought about it.""Think about it now. What sort of things do you like?" "I like ... stars.""Okay.""Okay what?"

"Okay, paint stars."

Savannah gave her a surprised look. A smile hovered in the corners of her mouth. "Really?" "Really. Go on."Savannah turned back to the curtain. Dipping her brush in the red paint, she scooted closer to the fabric and started her first star.

Tess glanced over her shoulder. Katie was standing as far away from the sheet as she could without losing sight of Savannah's star. Her small hands were curled into fists at her sides.

Tess got to her feet and walked toward her. Katie stiffened and stared at the curtain.

Tess gently smoothed a lock of hair from the girl's face. "It's kind of scary to try something new, isn't it?"Katie turned to her suddenly. Stark fear had stolen the color from her cheeks. "I ... I can't do stuff like this? remember? I get all ... flustered."Tess's heart twisted. She had to force her next words past the lump in her throat. "You can. All you have to do is?""I can't." She stared longingly at the paint. Her voice fell to a throaty whisper. "I wish I could...."Tess kneeled in the short grass and took Katie by the shoulders, turning her gently until they were face-to-face. "Remember our talk?"Katie nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

"Okay. Now, let's take this one step at a time. What is it that's hard for you?"Tears magnified Katie's eyes. She struggled valiantly to keep them back. "I don't write so good. The letters get all mushed together.""You can paint without having to write.""I ... can?"Tess smiled encouragingly. "Your sister's making stars for her window. How would you like to make rain on yours?" Katie nodded fervently.

Tess reached for the can of yellow paint and held it up to Katie. "Dip your brush in."Katie gripped the paintbrush in shaking fingers. Frowning with concentration, she dipped the bristles in the can and gingerly withdrew the brush. Sunshine yellow paint clung in globs to the black tip.

"What now?"

Tess cocked her head toward the curtain. "Fling it."Katie's mouth dropped open. "You mean just throw paint at the curtain?" "That's what I mean."Her eyes rounded to the size of quarters. "But that'll make a big mess." Tess grinned. "Yep." "Daddy don't like messes." "Do you see your daddy around here?" Her nervous gaze darted around the yard. "N-No." "Go on," Tess urged with a smile. "Fling it." Katie took a deep breath and moved closer to the curtain. Squeezing her eyes shut, she flicked her wrist toward the ground. Bright yellow paint flew everywhere, speckling the curtain, the tree, the grass.