4
Nathan knew better than to stop her. Heart sick and sore, he watched Hannah go, her slim figure stiff with rage, her trained skirts of patterned green linen twitching with every step.
Truly, wasn’t this all for the best?
His body didn’t think so. Even as he stared after her until she had disappeared around a bend, it took all his will to force him to remain seated, to not launch himself from that bench and run after her, take her hand and turn her around, kiss her until she forgave him.
He did none of those things, however. Fingers curled around the wooden slats of the bench’s seat, he remained where he was until he knew that Hannah McAllister was long gone. At last he stood, feeling as stiff and cramped as a grandfather of eighty years, rather than the man of twenty-five he knew he
