Page 16 of Some Like 'Em Burly
How long has he known? Does he pack his bags every night when I go to sleep? I’ve been staying at his forge for days now, damn it, and he never thought to mentionthis? He tells my father first instead?
And my father must read these horrified thoughts on my face, because he nods with grim satisfaction, the morning breeze flapping at his plaid shirt collar. “I warned you, Gwendoline. I told you this man would tire of your nonsense.”
Rhys’s hand tightens around mine. “I’m not tired of her. You’ve driven me out of the valley, as you well know. I need to find business again.”
Not tired of me? So am I invited to go too? Oh lord, I feel sick. My head’s spinning and my heart’s thumping, and my palm is sweaty in the blacksmith’s hold.
I tug my hand free and he blinks down at me, surprised.
“Well, there’s always a place for you at the farm.” My father isn’t even gloating, and I suppose that’s a surprise. He sounds sorry for me, his weathered brow creasing as he watches me hug myself on the cobblestones. His fair hair is lighter than usual, bleached from all those hours of summer sun. “We can forget the marriage thing.”
My mouth is dry as I lick my lips. Rhys stares at me, waiting to hear my reply, and okay,hecan jog on. Apparently our future plans are our own business. Fine.
“No, Dad. I’m making my own way now.” And that’s true whether Rhys takes me with him or not. Whether I find a job in this valley or somewhere else. I’m on this path. I need to see where it leads.
But oh wow, I thought the blacksmith and I had settled something between us. I thought we werebuildingsomething, something strong and lasting and sure.
This is a rude awakening. And I don’t even register the rest of what my father says as he and Rhys mutter together in low tones. Whatever they say, they’re far from friends when they part, my father striding away toward the butcher’s striping awning, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Gwen,” Rhys scrapes out as soon as we’re alone again. “Gwen.”
There’s a beetle on the cobblestone beside my boot. I watch it, watch those tiny black legs searching for purchase on the smooth stone, feeling that cold, sickly numbness spread through my insides.
Rhys curses somewhere overhead, then takes my elbow and starts steering me across the town square. He marches me likethat along streets and down lanes. Past the river, still swollen against its banks, and all the way back to his forge, and the whole way the wind snatches at our clothes and the sky is bright white overhead. Too bright.
“We didn’t buy milk and eggs,” I mumble as he unlocks the front door, jaw set and face grim. A big hand presses against my shoulder blades, nudging me inside.
“It doesn’t matter.”
No, I guess not.
He’sleaving?“When?” I croak. “When are you leaving, Rhys Evans? And when were you going to tell me?” I’m so dazed.
The blacksmith curses softly and pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. He presses me down to sit, then crosses to fill the kettle. And god, this silence is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. There’s nothing but dead air and a ticking clock and the wind moaning outside, and if he doesn’t fill it soon, I will scream.
“Rhys Evans!”
A mug slams down on the kitchen counter. He whirls to face me, and lord, I’ve never seen the man so animated. His eyes could throw off sparks. Every muscle in his face is tensed, his lip drawn back from his teeth.
For the first time since I met him, Rhys seems like a dangerous man. Strong and wild and full of feeling.
“Wetalkedabout it, Gwen. You suggested yourself that I might need to leave.”
“‘Might need to’ and ‘planning to’ are two different things! You know what I think? I think you just didn’t want the awkward conversation. You didn’t want to tell me no.” I’m gripping the edge of the kitchen table so hard my knuckles are white, the bones pressing against the skin. “Well I can take it, mister. I’m not a child. And I thought yourespectedme, thought you liked me enough to be honest with me at least.”
“Iamhonest with you.” The blacksmith sounds broken. He’s slumped against the counter, already looking as exhausted by all this as I feel. “But it’s like you told your father. You’re choosing your own life now, and I don’t want to get in the way of that or pressure you one way or another. But Gwen,” Rhys pushes upright, “you always have a place at my side if you want it.Always. I thought you knew that.”
Oh.
The clock ticks nearby, the sound echoing off the flagstones. We’re close enough to hear the rush of the river further down the bank.
“I’m…”
…I’m an idiot. A paranoid, easily hurt idiot. I’m so used to being rejected that apparently I’ll leap ahead and do the job myself, then blame Rhys for nonsense conjured up in my head.
My chin wobbles. My throat is so tight. “I’m sorry.”
And Rhys is already coming for me. Barreling toward me across the kitchen, but I’m not afraid. I’m gasping with relief, arms reaching up for him as he plucks me from my chair and sets me on the table.
