“Did you go back?”

“As soon as I was sober enough to realize what had happened. The man I was with, he helped search for her, too. He visited the hospitals and I spoke to every person I saw on that street, but we never found her.”

Chase turned away from Harriet and pulled on his boots. He didn’t think he could stand seeing the disappointment in her eyes. “I was on my way out of the country when I came here.”

“Out of the country…Why?”

“The companion I was with that night has been steadily draining me of funds ever since the accident. I decided the time had come to face my demons.”

“By running away?”

“By protecting my family from scandal. My brothers and sister do not know the truth. I couldn’t tell them.” Chase picked up Harriet’s gown and shift and draped them over the edge of a stall.

“You need to tell them.”

“It is better if no one knows.”

She regarded him steadily. “You are the one who told me that I was not doing my family any favors by taking care of them. Perhaps you should heed your own advice.”

Chase wiped a hand over his eyes. He had said that. And for Harriet, it made sense. But for him? “I’m not sure why I told you about it. I-I haven’t told anyone.”

“Perhaps it is practice, for when you face your family.” There was a rustle of hay as Harriet stood and made her way to the water bucket. Water plopped in fat drips to the ground as she washed.

Chase watched her silently, noting the lush curve of her backside, the tight muscles of her calf. She was a nymph of ancient lore, washing herself at the bucket, the slanted afternoon light that cut through the cracks in the barn walls stripping across her smooth creamy skin and touching her hair with gold. But for all that her outer beauty tantalized him, it was her inner beauty that held him, captured him, and refused to release him. The unfairness of his situation cut to his soul. Damn it, why had he met her now, when he had no choice but to leave?

Chase turned toward the barn door, his chest tight. “I should go and see if Stephen and Derrick need any help.”

“What you should do,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice that brooked no argument, “is pack your things and get yourself home as soon as possible. You cannot run from yourself, you know.” There was a soft whisper as she pulled her clothing from where Chase had hung them and began to dress.

Chase stiffened. “I’m not running. I am—”

“Running.”

She was right, and he knew it.

“You made a mistake, Chase. We all make mistakes.”

“Not mistakes that cost lives.”

“No. But whatever our mistakes are, they weren’t performed because of malicious intent. They happened because we were careless or didn’t realize the consequences of our actions.”