Unwilling to soil it, she dabbed her eyes with one corner.

“Ach,” he scoffed. “Go on and use it for what God intended.”

She let out a laugh and blew her nose. “I’ll wash it and get it right back to you.”

“No hurry.” Pulling out a chair for her and one for himself, he sat.

Shoes sticking with every step, she joined him. He was so patient, this gentle giant of a man. Sitting beside him, she felt like the only human being on the planet. “I broke Richard’s heart yesterday,” she said finally. “He offered me a tremendously generous gift, and I didn’t take it. I walked away.”

He knitted his brows. “You’re crying for Richard?”

“For Richard…and for me.” Tears clouded her vision again. She lifted her hands and dropped them in her lap. “And for the horse.”

The crease between his brows deepened. “What horse?”

She shifted, her toes bumping his boots. Her knee brushed his thigh, and she stared at her kneecaps—her freckled skin so fair against his black pants. “Over the weekend, I visited a dear friend in New York City, and we came upon a carriage horse that was killed in an accident. It just lay there on the asphalt, and I don’t know…something about that horse got to me. I can still smell it. It was awful.” She wiped her nose with the handkerchief and buried it in her pocket. “Richard didn’t understand about the horse at all. I tried to explain, but he just laughed.”

The little muscle in his jaw fluttered. “Is that why you refused his gift?”

“Partly. And partly I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t know much of anything anymore.” Her neck gave out beneath the weight of her head. She tucked her chin and let tears flow.

He rose and returned with a glass of cold milk, placing it in front of her.

She hiccupped a sob. “Why are you so nice? It just makes me cry.”

With a chuckle, he sat, interlacing his fingers atop the table.

Condensation frosted the glass. She clasped it with tight fingers and drank deeply. “I guess what I meant to say was thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Like a deer in the woods, he was so still and so alive. His calloused hands were relaxed, but she knew the power they possessed. She ached to feel the strength contained just beneath his skin. Holding her breath, she extended one hand and ran a fingertip over his knuckles. Ever so lightly, she traced the veins on the back of his hand and down the valley between his thumb and forefinger.

He inhaled deeply and stiffened.

She pulled away. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

He met her gaze.

His jaw was tight, but his eyes were soft—an expression guarded but kind. What was he thinking?