he’d done in prison when he was little more than a kid lost in a world of rules and punishment. He’d spent every day since he’d been out trying to act normal, trying to do what was right, but deep down he knew part of him would always be an ex-con.
The silence of the empty room seemed to throb with each heartbeat.
They’d had a great night working together, talking, laughing. But a woman who wouldn’t tell him her name wasn’t likely to welcome his hands on her. When he’d caught her as she fell from the loft, he’d felt her stiffen even as he lowered her to her feet. She’d been polite. She’d thanked him for saving her, but she’d moved away.
“Yancy?” Her voice echoed in the empty room.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he forced himself to look up. “I didn’t mean to...”
Her gray-blue eyes were smiling. “It’s okay, Yancy. You didn’t hurt me.” She crossed her legs and put her elbows on her knees. “The bar may be a little high but the view is great up here. I can almost see your handmade furniture. Rockers by the fire. A writing table by the window. Bookshelves climbing along the wall to match the stair steps over there. If you build me a stool, make it a few inches higher than yours so we’ll look directly at each other. I get tired of always looking up at people.”
He leaned his head to the side, studying her as if she were an animal he’d never encountered. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Why?” She watched him.
“I put my hands on you, Rabbit.”
“You did that when you caught me. If you hadn’t I’d have probably broken a few bones.” When he just kept staring, she added, “I’ve made up my mind that you are a good man, Yancy Grey. I’ve not always been a good judge of men, but I’m learning. I am not afraid of you. I believe you won’t hurt me.”
“I wouldn’t,” he managed to say, knowing she had no idea what a gift she was giving him with her trust. “But most folks don’t warm up to me very fast after they find out I’ve been in prison. I’ve done hard time, Rabbit, and they say that changes a man forever.”
She looked more interested than afraid. “Want to talk about it?”
He’d been asked before and always said no, but somehow this time he thought it might be all right. He jumped up to sit on the bar a foot away from her and began.
He told her of how he’d been caught stealing when he was nineteen and had turned twenty in prison.
She listened as he remembered details he’d spent years trying to forget. He had to be honest with her. She trusted him.
“The smells in the whole place made me half-sick most of the time. I’d go out in the yard, even on the coldest days, just to be able to breathe. Once, it was snowing and I was the only one to step outside. I just stood, looking up at the snow, and listened to the rare sound of silence while I breathed in the smell of nothing but winter.”
She covered his hand with hers without saying a word.
“I used to lie awake in my tiny cell listening to the sounds around me, wishing I were somewhere, anywhere else. Sometimes I’d dream of getting out and just living a normal life, but prison is still there in the back of my mind. No matter how hard I breathe out, there’s still a little bit of the smell left in my lungs.”
Her stormy-day blue eyes were full of compassion.
“It’s been seven years and I still feel the pressure to do everything right. Like I have to watch myself every minute. If I do one thing wrong I’ll somehow wake up back in prison with all the bad smells and the sound of men crying and cussing. If I say the wrong thing. If I don’t tell people the truth about where I’ve been, then I’m hiding. If I do, I’m afraid of how they’ll react.”
Lacing his fingers in her small hand, he added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you disappeared, Little Rabbit. If you do, I should tell you that tonight was just about the best of my life. Even if I never see you again, I don’t think I’ll ever forget working beside you. It was nice, real nice.”
He’d had this routine before with women he’d met. They acted like it didn’t matter that he’d served time, but if he called for a second date, they were always busy. He expected it. He hadn’t blamed them. He wouldn’t blame her. She’d probably just disappear as if she’d never been there and he’d have no idea how to even look for her.
She pulled her hand away and he let her go without protest. “Help me down, Yancy. It’s late.”
He nodded and jumped off the bar. Carefully, he circled her waist and lifted her down. She didn’t meet his eyes as she looked around the room.
“What are you building next?” she asked, changing the subject.
“The banister.” He answered in a dull voice, knowing this must be her way of saying goodbye. “I thought I’d make the rails out of the same oak that I used on the hearth, then have the top done in wrought iron to make it more modern.”
She moved into the shadows where the stairs climbed the north wall. He heard her feet take the first few steps. “I can see it. It’ll add warmth to the room and last forever.”
“I’m thinking my lifetime will be enough. I don’t have any relatives to pass this place along to.” He walked to her and glanced up into the darkness, where no lights warmed the second floor.
She came down one step so that they were at eye level. “I have to go,” she whispered—as if there were anyone to hear but him. “Start the rails. I’ll be back to help shape and stain them.”
Studying her, he wondered if she were lying. “Fine,” he managed, wishing he had the nerve to ask her just one question before she disappeared.
He waited for her to come down the last step.
She didn’t move. The house was pure, snowflake silent.
“I didn’t mind you touching me.” She moved one step closer. “Would you mind if I got a little closer to say good-night?”
Before he could answer, her lips touched his. When he didn’t move, she leaned against him and put her hands on each side of his face. “Kiss me back, Yancy,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please, kiss me back.”
Something deep inside Yancy broke. Maybe it was reason. Maybe it was the door to his own private prison.
He pulled her against him and kissed her full on, like he’d always wanted to kiss a girl.
After a few moments, he felt her fingers gently brushing against the sides of his face, as if she were calming him down. When he let her go, he realized he’d been holding her so tightly she probably couldn’t breathe.
He’d kissed her too hard. Too long for a first kiss.
His hands dropped to his sides, but she didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she ran. She had to think he was some kind of wild animal. It would probably be no surprise to her that he’d had very few girlfriends.
But she stayed so near he could feel her breath as she whispered, “Easy now, Yancy. Let’s do it again. I’m not going away. You don’t have to hold on so tight. I’m right here in front of you, wanting very much to kiss you. Do you think we can try again?”
He moved his hands gently up her body and held her as tenderly as he knew how as she kissed him a second time.
This woman with all her secrets and closed doors kissed him with an openness unlike anyone had ever kissed him. She wasn’t just going through the motions, waiting for what happened next, but there was tenderness, caring, as if she’d held all her passion in check for so long that she had to explode.
This time he was the one who couldn’t breathe.