She nearly laughed aloud at the emphatic declaration that popped fully formed into her head. But it was so true. She thought she found him even more appealing now, with that slight stubble and in the charcoal sweater that made his eyes look even darker gray. And jeans worn by work, not paid extra for as some designer feature.

Oddly, she found herself focusing on his feet, and the gray shoes he wore. The heavy-duty moc-style slip-ons that were so popular in the city, for him a piece of style that somehow surprised her. She was wondering if he normally wore cowboy boots at home when it hit her. Of course he wore slip-ons instead of lace-ups, because how would he tie them? She tried to imagine how she would do it, how she would get her dominant hand in any position that would work if her elbow wouldn’t straighten completely and would only bend halfway. She couldn’t come up with a single scenario that didn’t involve positions worthy of a yoga master.

“Something wrong with my feet?”

Her gaze shot to his face. His voice had been edgy again, as it had been inside. “No,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“Again?” he said, and what he’d said earlier, about her father’s joke about her thinking made her smile. But it didn’t last. It couldn’t, not in the face of the idea she was formulating in her mind.

“You lost a lot, too, that night. Not just...physically, but the life, the career you’d planned and worked so hard for.”

He stared at her, his eyes going from merely bothered to icy. “How can you even say that? I’ve got no room to complain. You, you lost your father. And Greg lost...everything.”

She watched him, saw the pain in those gray eyes, before she said softly, “When is it enough, Adam? When will you have paid enough?”

He looked away then, stared out toward the trees. “About as soon as Greg walks back in that door.”

She heard Cutter make a sound, a quiet cross between a growl and a whine, as if he didn’t like either the words or the tone. But she kept her gaze on Adam, his profile now; he looked just as good from this angle.

“Is that really why you’re here?” she finally asked, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. “You’re trying to make up for what happened to my father by taking care of me? Because if the only reason you’re staying is because you feel you owe it, I’d just as soon you go.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t react. She would have thought he hadn’t heard her if she wasn’t sitting within three feet of him.