accidentally touch.
He looked at her. She was pretty still, with thick hair and soft eyes, and she moved so gracefully that it almost seemed as though she were gliding. He’d seen beautiful women before, though, women who caught his eye, but to his mind they usually lacked the traits he found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits he aspired to himself.
Allie had those traits, he knew, and as they walked now, he sensed them once again lingering beneath the surface. “A living poem” had always been the words that came to mind when he tried to describe her to others.
“How long have you been back here?” she asked as the path gave way to a small grass hill.
“Since last December. I worked up north for a while, then spent the last three years in Europe.”
She looked to him with questions in her eyes. “The war?”
He nodded and she went on.
“I thought you might be there. I’m glad you made it out okay.”
“Me too,” he said.
“Are you glad to be back home?”
“Yeah. My roots are here. This is where I’m supposed to be.” He paused. “But what about you?” He asked the question softly, suspecting the worst.
It was a long moment before she answered.
“I’m engaged.”
He looked down when she said it, suddenly feeling just a bit weaker. So that was it. That’s what she needed to tell him.
“Congratulations,” he finally said, wondering how convincing he sounded. “When’s the big day?”
“Three weeks from Saturday. Lon wanted a November wedding.”
“Lon?”
“Lon Hammond Jr. My fiancé.”
He nodded, not surprised. The Hammonds were one of the most powerful and influential families in the state. Cotton money. Unlike that of his own father, the death of Lon Hammond Sr. had made the front page of the newspaper. “I’ve heard of them. His father built quite a business. Did Lon take over for him?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s a lawyer. He has his own practice downtown.”
“With his name, he must be busy.”
“He is. He works a lot.”
He thought he heard something in her tone, and the next question came automatically.
“Does he treat you well?”
She didn’t answer right away, as if she were considering the question for the first time. Then:
“Yes. He’s a good man, Noah. You would like him.”
Her voice was distant when she answered, or at least he thought it was. Noah wondered if it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
“How’s your daddy doing?” she asked.
Noah took a couple of steps before answering. “He passed on earlier this year, right after I got back.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing how much he had meant to Noah.
He nodded, and the two walked in silence for a moment.
They reached the top of the hill and stopped. The oak tree was in the distance, with the sun glowing orange behind it. Allie could feel his eyes on her as she stared in that direction.
“A lot of memories there, Allie.”
She smiled. “I know. I saw it when I came in. Do you remember the day we spent there?”
“Yes,” he answered, volunteering no more.
“Do you ever think about it?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Usually when I’m working out this way. It sits on my property now.”
“You bought it?”
“I just couldn’t bear to see it turned into kitchen cabinets.”
She laughed under her breath, feeling strangely pleased about that. “Do you still read poetry?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I never stopped. I guess it’s in my blood.”
“Do you know, you’re the only poet I’ve ever met.”
“I’m no poet. I read, but I can’t write a verse. I’ve tried.”
“You’re still a poet, Noah Taylor Calhoun.” Her voice softened. “I still think about it a lot. It was the first time anyone ever read poetry to me before. In fact, it’s the only time.”
Her comment made both of them drift back and remember as they slowly circled back to the