“And you’ll tell me which was which?”

She flinched at the icy sarcasm, but couldn’t find enough of her temper to scrape together for a retort. “You know how to aim and shoot as well as any,” she said quietly. “And it’s all the more effective as you do it so rarely.”

“All right, I’m sorry for that.” He had to be, as he’d never seen her look quite so wounded. “I’m angry still.”

“I’m pushy.” She drew a breath in, let it out, but the ache was still there. “And single-minded, and I can be careless with people even when they matter to me. Maybe more when they matter. I did think, well, the man’s doing nothing with this music of his, so I’ll have to do it for him. That was wrong of me—wrong to put the way I’d do things or think about them onto what was yours. I should have told you, as you told me.”

“On that we agree.”

“But it wasn’t wholly selfish. I wanted to give you something, something important, something that would make you happy and matter to you. It wasn’t about the money, I swear it. It was for the glory.”

“I’m not looking for glory.”

“I wanted it for you.”

“What does it matter to you, Brenna? You don’t even care for my music.”

“That’s not true.” Temper spiked a bit now, at the sheer unfairness of it. “What am I, deaf and stupid now as well as a bully? I love your music. It’s beautiful. It never mattered to you what I thought, anyway. Christ knows, poking at you about it over the years never riled you enough to prove me wrong. You’ve been wasting a gift, a kind of miracle, and it makes me furious with you.”

Glaring at him, she swiped tears from her cheeks. “I can’t help that I feel that way, and it doesn’t mean I think less of you, you blockhead. It’s because I think so much of you. And then you go and write a song that reaches right into my heart, that touches me the way nothing ever has before. Even before it was finished, weeks and weeks ago, when I saw what there was of it there on the piano, just tossed there like you couldn’t recognize a diamond if it jabbed your eye out, I loved it. I had to do something with it, and I don’t care if it was wrong. I was so proud of what you can do I couldn’t see past it. Damn you to hell and back again.”

She’d rocked him onto his heels, staggered him. He whistled out a breath. “That’s quite the apology, that is.”

“Oh, fuck you. I take back every bit of any apology I was foolish enough to make.”

There, he thought, was his woman. This time he laid his hands on the gate and gave her a look of wicked satisfaction. “It’s too late, I already have it, and I’m keeping it. And here’s something back at you. It always mattered what you thought of my music, and of me. It mattered more what you thought than anyone else in the world. What do you say to that?”