Page 128 of Dream Weaver

“She is. But I do have to thank you. And I need to apologize too.”

“No need. Really.”

She snorted. “Big need. I’m sorry. For everything.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“No, it isn’t, because I owe you. Big-time.”

I didn’t want her to owe me. I wanted her to trust me — and her heart.

“And, actually, you owe me too,” Abby went on.

Huh?

“I owe you?” I thrust my hands deep into my pockets and formed tight fists.

She nodded. “Yep. All that blacksmithing I taught you…”

Her voice wavered, and my initial burst of anger faded away. This wasn’t Abby being demanding. This was Abby trying to lay something bare. Something hidden for so long under so many layers of protection, it would take a while to wrestle out into the open.

But, hell. Patience was a virtue, and I was all ears. Big, African-elephant-sized ears.

“So, I figure it’s time you taught me a few things in return,” she went on, barely above a whisper.

My heart pounded in hope. “Like what?”

“Like, how to be nice. How to be patient. How to be as good a person as you.”

I shook my head. “I’m not—”

She cut me off in a whisper. “How to see the best in people. And how to trust.” Her eyes were wide and pleading, her lips tight. “I really want to. But I don’t know how.”

I clasped her hand in both of mine. “It’s not as hard as you think.”

“Maybe not, but it scares me. Really scares me.” Abby’s eyes glistened, and I ached at seeing her so lost. But, hell. I was here to find her, right?

“I would never hurt you,” I vowed quietly.

“I know. But what if I hurtyou?”

I thought it over, because she had. But we all made mistakes, didn’t we? And anyway, what kind of bear would I be if I didn’t have a thick hide?

I shrugged. “I’m a bear. We bounce back.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You shouldn’t have to.” Then she sniffled. “I bet Greta wouldn’t hurt you.”

I waved, dismissing that. “She wouldn’t, but I don’t love her. I love you.”

Abby’s eyes jerked up to mine, and I held perfectly still. There I was again, with that butterfly on my nose. A moment of truth.

“I love you too.” Her eyes shone. “Desperately. But I’m afraid I’m not good at it. At loving, I mean.”

I gestured toward the house. “One look at you with Claire proves you wrong. You’reverygood at it.”

“You’re not Claire.”

I grinned. No, I wasn’t. And I was hoping for a different kind of love. But, still. It was like my mother liked to say. Love was a party, and there was always room for one more.

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