the bar.â
A moment later he realized what heâd done. He might have let her touch him, but this time heâd touched her. No, heâd handled her. Like she was a kid or a close friend. He didnât even know her name. He had no right. He didnât know much but one rule had always been clear. A woman could touch a man, but a man never handled a woman without an indication of the womanâs consent.
Yancy stepped back and straightened. His eyes staring down at the floor like heâd done in prison when he was little more than a kid lost in a world of rules and punishment. Heâd spent every day since heâd 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.
Theyâd had a great night working together, talking, laughing. But a woman who wouldnât tell him her name wasnât likely to welcome his hands on her. When heâd caught her as she fell from the loft, heâd felt her stiffen even as he lowered her to her feet. Sheâd been polite. Sheâd thanked him for saving her, but sheâd moved away.
âYancy?â Her voice echoed in the empty room.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered as he forced himself to look up. âI didnât mean to...â
Her gray-blue eyes were smiling. âItâs okay, Yancy. You didnât hurt me.â She crossed her legs and put her elbows on her knees. âThe 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 weâll look directly at each other. I get tired of always looking up at people.â
He leaned his head to the side, studying her as if she were an animal heâd never encountered. âYouâre not mad at me?â
âWhy?â She watched him.
âI put my hands on you, Rabbit.â
âYou did that when you caught me. If you hadnât Iâd have probably broken a few bones.â When he just kept staring, she added, âIâve made up my mind that you are a good man, Yancy Grey. Iâve not always been a good judge of men, but Iâm learning. I am not afraid of you. I believe you wonât hurt me.â
âI wouldnât,â he managed to say, knowing she had no idea what a gift she was giving him with her trust. âBut most folks donât warm up to me very fast after they find out Iâve been in prison. Iâve done hard time, Rabbit, and they say that changes a man forever.â
She looked more interested than afraid. âWant to talk about it?â
Heâd 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 heâd been caught stealing when he was nineteen and had turned twenty in prison.
She listened as he remembered details heâd spent years trying to forget. He had to be honest with her. She trusted him.
âThe smells in the whole place made me half-sick most of the time. Iâd 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.â
She covered his hand with hers without saying a word.
âI used to lie awake in my tiny cell listening to the sounds around me, wishing I were somewhere, anywhere else. Sometimes Iâd 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, thereâs still a little bit of the smell left in my