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“Hi,” he said.
Bringing her image to mind day-to-day didn’t do her justice. Nothing compared to seeing her standing in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He almost laughed. That was exactly what he’d asked her when she’d stumbled across his doorstep the first time they’d met.
“You invited Winston for a visit,” he said. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Winston stared up at him with two parts disbelief and accusation.
“Uh-huh,” Hattie said, looking back and forth between him and Winston.
“And I figured as long as we were here I could get started on some paintings. The light is good today, and I’ve been told you have the next two days off.”
“O’Hara network?” she asked.
“It’s a powerful force,” he said.
“You’re not going to go away, are you?” she asked.
“If you really want me to,” he said. “But I don’t think you’d want to disappoint Winston like that. He’s very particular about his friends. And you did promise to let me paint you.”
“Come on, Winston,” she said, holding the door open. And then she looked at Duncan. “You too.”
* * *
Hattie had done a good job the last three weeks of putting Duncan O’Hara out of her mind, and now here he was, standing in her living room and taking up far too much space.
It was a lie, of course. She hadn’t done a good job of putting him out of her mind at all. His words had haunted her every day. There were no coincidences in life. She was here because she was supposed to be. Because they were supposed to be together.
She felt the connection, just as he’d described. But just because he spoke the truth didn’t mean she was ready to hear the truth. And just because it was the truth didn’t make it possible. She was a married woman. Just because she’d been declared dead and Atticus had given her a new identity didn’t mean the slate had been wiped clean from her former life.
Duncan had told her he would let her dictate the terms of when she felt comfortable confiding in him. That there’d be no judgment or condemnation. But she wondered if he was really capable of giving her what he’d promised once he found out the life she was living in Laurel Valley was a lie.
It was the life she wanted. And she’d discovered during her time in Laurel Valley that it was a life she loved. But it was still a lie. No one here had ever heard of Hattie Ashbury-Bancroft. They didn’t know she’d died in a fiery car crash in New York, or that her husband was the cruelest sort of man. And the people in Laurel Valleywouldcare about such things, not because of her past, but because she’d lied to all of them.
The O’Hara women had treated her like family. She’d met friends and co-workers. And she could only imagine the look on their faces if they knew the truth. She’d never be able to live down the shame and embarrassment of hurting so many people if she were caught, and she’d be forced to move on. Maybe she’d made a mistake by living in such a small town. Maybe she needed to be anonymous in the big city and keep to herself.
She went to the pantry and pulled out a box that had Winston going on high alert.
“Can he have a treat?” she asked.
“If you didn’t give him one,” Duncan said, looking down at his companion, “he’d probably go in and get it himself. Winston is more of an ask forgiveness than permission kind of guy.”
Winston woofed in agreement.
“Wonder where he gets that from,” she said, handing Winston a dog biscuit.
“You keep dog treats in your pantry?”
“I like to make sure I’m prepared for visitors, no matter who they are,” she said.
“This doesn’t even look like the same house,” he said. “You’ve got a good eye for color. I like the contrast of the pale yellow walls and the bright blue streaks of color. I’ve got a painting that would be perfect for over your mantel.”
“I’ve seen how much your paintings sell for,” she said. “It’s not in my price range.”
“Consider it payment for being my muse for the next few weeks. I can be bossy and demanding when I’m working.”
