Luke looked one last time at Joey—a long, oddly vulnerable expression—and turned on his heel before she could open her mouth to speak. His grandmother leaned out the doorway and called after him, cackling. “I know what I see, boy! Tu vas d’voir attendre un peu plus!”
Too dazed to do anything but obey, Joey let herself be coaxed and gently bullied into preparing for bed. Her clothes had been washed, hung on a line to dry before the fire—not decorative, but certainly practical. The bed that she was given was surprisingly soft, stuffed, she guessed, with down—the quilts that covered it were works of art in themselves, and very warm. Bertrande chattered to her in incomprehensible French, casting her knowing, amused glances all the while, and it was only after Bertrande had blown out the candles and settled with a sigh into her own adjoining bed that Joey had the peace to think again.
The old woman’s whistling snores filled the unfamiliar silence of the room. Joey lay wide awake, and all her thoughts were of one thing. It seemed almost frightening to realize how much she missed Luke, even now—even when he was only a few houses away. She wondered if he was thinking of her too. This strange game between them, this dancing back and forth, was driving her to the brink of something.
Tossing her head against the pillow, Joey muffled a groan of frustration with her fist. At one time it had helped to concentrate on the goal she was so close to reaching, forget about every other distraction. Somewhere along the line that simple solution had ceased to be effective. Somewhere along the line she had fallen over the edge.
When sleep finally came, it was a different kind of falling, and the dreams that followed consumed her and left nothing but ash.
Chapter Eleven
Luke accepted one more embrace from his grandmother, who seemed unable to stop cackling and winking conspiratorially at him. “You be sure and come back soon, Luc—and you bring her with you, too, hein?” The gap-toothed, triumphant grin she turned on Joey made him long to lose his temper, but he’d done it once, and it hadn’t done a damned bit of good. Not with her. As he should have known. Only one thing would make her realize how wrong she was, about him—and Joey. He’d have to come back once Joey was gone and show her. That her guesses were wrong, her expectations a kind of torture. The mental image of her leering face falling in disappointment held little satisfaction.
What Joey thought of all this, what she must have thought of his grandmother’s behavior, he could not guess. She seemed cheerfully friendly to the villagers who came to wish her well on her journey, unaware of deeper meanings. He was profoundly grateful, now, that she had not understood all the words that had been spoken of them, around them—words that might have made her grasp the significance of the knowing looks the villagers turned on her.
She was smiling as she came up beside him, her hair smelling of soap, eyes bright with excitement. He looked away before the whirling gold sparks could trap him “This is the day, Luke, isn’t it? The day we reach the mountain?”
Her voice was so filled with innocent enthusiasm that he could not quite hold back a smile. Or a rush of feeling he could ill afford. “Perhaps. Depends on how hard we push. But we aren’t going to rush this, Joey. Remember, I want to get you there in one piece.”
His admonition failed to quell her high spirits. “Fine. Whatever you say, Luc!” The way she gave his name the intonation of his mother tongue almost made him touch her, caress the soft pale curve of her cheek, draw his fingers down the arch of her jaw. But he stopped the action within his imagination.
“I’m glad you’ve learned how to cooperate,” he said dryly.
She drew herself up, arched her brows, and folded her arms across her chest. “I beg your pardon, but I’m always cooperative. I know some people who aren’t nearly as flexible.” Abruptly she bit her lip, as if she’d said something she hadn’t quite intended. Luke felt the slight burn of heat in his face as he searched her words for hidden meanings but was spared a retort by the sudden appearance of Claire, who flung herself with characteristic abandon at his legs and began to babble in French.