1120,

head, but his face
was in shadow. Unable to tell whether he empathized or taunted, she went
with the truth.
"No. I have no right to be angry."
"I needed to walk. Even wet, it was good. I needed to think."
About her? About another "obligation"? "You sound like you have the
weight of the world on your shoulders," she teased.
"It sometimes seems that way." His voice was softer, more rueful. "It's
been a bad week."
"Work?" she asked with caution.
"No. Work's fine. I have good backup there. They keep things running
when I fade out."
Anne sat quietly, waiting for him to say more. If his problem wasn't
business, it had to be personal. Suddenly, she didn't want to know.
She stood with a start. "I'll go make dinner." He caught her wrist.
Suddenly gentle, he said, "It's my turn. You did it last night. This
time I'm cooking for you."
His gentleness threw her, as did his eyes, which begged her to let him
do this. It wasn't exactly the begging she wanted, but it was something.
Trying to be as nonchalant as she could, she sank back into the chair
and held up both hands. "It's your house."
He chuckled, in a suddenly lighter mood. One agile movement brought him
to his feet, another brought him to her. He planted a kiss on her cheek
before she had time to pull away.
"What was that for?" she asked.
"For being a saint," he said and set off. Dinner was so companionable,
that when Tuesday morning brought bright sun, Anne wasn't surprised to
see Mitch up early to join her for breakfast.
"It's a perfect morning to set in the spouts," he said, wiping the
dishes as she washed.
"Spouts?"
"We've had cold nights and warm days. The sap should be flowing like
water."
Anne laughed in delight. "Maple-sugaring? We can do it ourselves? I'd
planned on visiting a local farm to watch."
He gave a satisfied grin. "Why go elsewhere when we have everything we
need right here?"
"Do you know what to do?"
"Do I know what to do? Since when have you had cause to question my