Grady stared at her open-mouthed, shock bright in his eyes.

Having entirely omitted what had happened between Mac’s coarse remark and the earring attack, Laurel’s truth-telling became still more selective. ‘Amie said if I told anyone, she, Mac and their friends would say it was a lie, that I’d caught my earring on something and then blamed her. Mac being your brother, you might not have believed me. If you had believed me, it would have set you against Mac. It seemed easiest not to tell you or see you. It seems too gauche for words now. I apologise.’ She forced a self-conscious laugh, reasonably confident she’d pieced together a believable scenario and would never have to go through the burning humiliation of revealing what had happened on the playing field. ‘I was young, terrified by the violence, and everything got distorted.’

Comprehension in his deep brown eyes was accompanied by horrified dismay. ‘You should have told me! I would have believed you and I would have stopped the bullying, regardless of Mac’s involvement. Was it the day of that Christmas party we were supposed to be going to together?’

Surprised at the clarity of his memories, she said evasively, ‘About then.’

He swore. ‘I thought you were mad because I stood you up when I broke my ankle. It was such a crappy time for you. Trust Poison Amie to make it worse.’

Laurel got to her feet, brushing off her jeans, shamed by his warmth and understanding but shying away from talking about that party. ‘It was just that you’re Mac’s brother.’ That had been the reason she hadn’t told him the truth then and why she wasn’t telling him the complete truth now. Mac’s little family was all Grady had – similar to Laurel only having Rea, Daisy and Aunt Terri. The thought of risking spoiling his love and respect for the person closest to him … No. She didn’t care about Mac but she’d always cared about Grady.

Grady rose, too. ‘Amie left the village in her early twenties.’

She nodded. ‘I think Rea mentioned it.’ Then her eyes fell on the car in the middle of the paint shop, its bonnet and side panels partly masked up with blue tape. ‘Wow. I just realised that’s a Bentley.’ Then she caught sight of the artwork across the bonnet, silver luminosity surrounding a cratered moon and an ethereal spangling of stars. She let out a low whistle, approaching slowly. ‘That’s amazing,’ she breathed. ‘Is this what you do? You’re an air brush artist?’ She glanced round to look at him.