Chapter 4

Clearing his throat awkwardly as he dropped his hand from hers almost reluctantly, Luis suddenly found himself unable to look anywhere but at her blue eyes. For the first time since she'd unexpectedly walked back into his life, he saw a flicker of hope, a tiny beacon that told him they'd shared more between them in Boston than lies; behind the smoke and mirrors had lain her soul. At least, that's what the shadow of the old Luis told him, the man who had once been on the verge of falling in love. The new, improved, impenetrable Luis wasn't having any of it. The children were the only innocents in this unsavoury situation; it was his desire to help them that had led him to come here, not any lingering almost feelings on his part for the woman standing before him, looking like she was waiting for his one-man jury's verdict. Still, hints of the old Luis crept into his voice, gruff and not without kindness as he communicated a simple but loaded phrase, "We need to talk."

Nodding shortly, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip lest she do the unthinkable and smile prematurely, Sheridan swept the black cape over her shoulders, making but one request, "Take me away from here. Anywhere."

Wordlessly, Luis led her to his parked jeep, the gentleman his mother raised compelling him to open the passenger side door for her. Her fingers fumbled in the darkness for the seatbelt, and unthinking, Luis leaned across her, reaching for and retrieving the belt. Pulling and stretching it, he fastened it low across her hips, his face so close to hers he could feel the gentle warmth of her breath across his cheeks and mouth. Realization dawned on him, as his eyes traveled across the classic features of her face, drawn by an invisible force far stronger than his own will to her eyes. His oft-visited memories were faulty and didn't do her justice. The hue of her sad eyes was even bluer than he'd remembered. The uncertainty lurking in them finally spurred him back into action, and shutting her door, he strode quickly to the other side of the jeep, climbing in and staring straight ahead as he laid his hand on the keys in the ignition. "Have you eaten dinner?"

Opening her mouth to tell him 'yes,' Sheridan realized she couldn't tell him another lie, no matter how small. Quietly, she answered him. "No."

With a stilted glance in her general vicinity, Luis cranked the jeep, put the vehicle into gear, and pulled out of the Crane driveway.

Soon, the Mansion was nothing but a pale, shadowy illumination against a stark winter's backdrop, and the streets of Harmony moved outside the jeep's windows at a fuzzy blur. Tension made the air in the small space seem heavy and limited, and, as if aware of the seeming shortage, neither occupant dared breathe a word until the jeep slowed to a stop in front of a local restaurant, the rumble of its engine dying to nothingness.

Before Sheridan had time to blink an eye, Luis appeared again at her side, opening her door for her. Unbuckling the seatbelt, she took his offered hand and slid from her seat. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage when he dropped her hand in favor of cradling her elbow and steered her toward the Lobster Shack's entrance.

Due to the advancing hour, and the fact that business at the Lobster Shack was always a little slow during the middle of the week, finding a table with a modicum of privacy wasn't that hard.

Sheridan seated herself in the chair Luis pulled out for her and took the dinner napkin into her lap, twisting at it anxiously with her hands as she waited for him to speak.

A young waitress smiled at them as she welcomed them with a much-practiced speech about the evening's specials, her pen poised over the small pad in her hands, ready to scribble down their orders.

The memory of the sadly empty state of his refrigerator this morning and the insistent low rumble of his stomach prompted Luis to order more generously than usual, and after giving the young waitress instructions on how he wanted his steak cooked, he looked to Sheridan, waiting for her to make her own order.

Smiling wanly at the friendly young woman, Sheridan handed the menu back to her. "I'd like the salad, and a glass of iced water would be nice."

Frowning as he heard this, Luis noticed, truly, for the first time the pallor and thinness of her beautiful face and made the obvious deduction. She wasn't eating right, and the stress, fatigue, and pain of the separation from her children was showing itself in her appearance. To anyone else, it might not be perceptible, but, finally letting himself really look at her, it was readily apparent to him. "Change her order to the lobster and bring us two glasses of Pinot Grigio."

"Luis, really," Sheridan protested when the waitress had gone. "I'm not that hungry. The lobster and the wine…it's too much."

"I can afford it," Luis said tersely, his jaw tightening at her remark, knowing she didn't mean it as an insult but taking it as such, his mind and pride not letting him forget for a moment that she was, indeed, a Crane.

"That wasn't what I meant," Sheridan sighed, fidgeting with her silverware. "I just don't have much of an appetite."

His tone apologetic, Luis found himself reaching across the table to cover her hand, stilling its nervous movements, as he said, "I know. But you need to keep your strength up. We could be in for a long haul." As he spoke, he studied the melding of their hands, the way his dark hand nearly engulfed her smaller paler hand, and with his finishing remark, his gaze landed on her astonished face.

Sagging with relief, Sheridan's lips trembled as she tried to form words of gratitude, but words seemed inadequate. Her tears this time were those of hope with a hint of happiness, and she tried to communicate her feelings to him with the way she fiercely squeezed his hand, her fingers interlocked with his own.

For a brief moment, they smiled at each other, and Luis could almost forget the disappointment he'd felt all those years ago and the instant, stinging sense of betrayal he'd felt this afternoon when he'd learned her true identity. But all too soon, it was business as usual, and he closed his expression off to her, abruptly disentangling their hands. Smoothing his dinner napkin over his lap, he lowered his eyes, and when he raised them to her again, compassion still shone in their depths, but it was of the impersonal nature, and the intonation of his voice was flat when he addressed her. "I've read the file, but pieces of paper never tell the complete story. That's up to you. Tell me more about Richard and your children and why you think you deserve to have custody."

And, over the course of their meal, that's what she did.