“Hey,” Adrian said, coming up beside her.

Rooke finally looked at her, and her eyes were so bleak all Adrian wanted to do was put her arms around her and hold her. She wanted that so much her chest ached, but she was afraid Rooke might misinterpret her actions as pity and she was absolutely certain Rooke would not want that. She contented herself with running her fingers down the arm of Rooke’s jacket.

“Can we take a walk?” Adrian said.

“Where?”

Adrian smiled. “Show me Stillwater.”

Rooke hesitated and Adrian was afraid she was going to say no.

She didn’t know what she would do then, but she couldn’t bear to feel the barrier that had suddenly sprung up between them. Ordinarily, she welcomed barriers, and she was always the one erecting them. She decided how close she allowed anyone to come. More than one lover had complained that she wouldn’t let them in, wouldn’t share enough, and that was probably the main reason why she’d never had a serious long-term relationship. Most of her affairs were casual and mutually convenient and the few times they’d drifted toward something deeper, she’d pulled back. Breaking those connections, even with women

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she’d slept with, had never left her feeling as bereft as Rooke’s sudden withdrawal.

“I started research for a new article,” Adrian said casually, propping her hip against the truck next to Rooke as if they weren’t standing outside in fifteen-degree weather. As if Rooke hadn’t just told her something she still couldn’t quite take in. “I’m going to do a series on cemeteries.”

“Cemeteries.” Rooke shot a quick look at Adrian. “Why?”

“Not cemeteries per se, actually.” Adrian tried not to smile, but she loved that Rooke always wanted to know. She didn’t seem to take things for granted or make assumptions. Her uncluttered, grounded view of the world was terribly refreshing. “Grave markers. Their design, the symbols that have been used over the centuries to indicate all kinds of things. Family associations. Superstitions. Religion. Social and economic status. It’s like the gravestones are history books with their own language. If we know the language, we’ll know how to read them.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. God. Could she have picked a worse time to bring up this subject?

“I’m sorry,” Adrian said quickly.

“What for?” Rooke grimaced. “I’ve had a long time to get used to what I can’t do, and what people think of me.”

“I’m not people.” Adrian shivered, more from the coldness inside than the lancing wind that blew ice crystals from the surface of the snow into her face like tiny, invisible knives. “Damn it, I’m doing this really badly. Take me to the older part of the cemetery, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

“All right. But you’re going to get wet.”

Adrian laughed, relieved to see Rooke’s shoulders relax and hear the teasing in her voice. “You mean more than I am now?”

“The paths aren’t cleared. We could wait—”

“No.” Adrian grasped Rooke’s hand and tugged her away from the truck and toward the one road into the cemetery that had been plowed.

Her relief was short-lived. Something was wrong. Even though both their hands were bare, she couldn’t feel Rooke. She’d lost the sense of her, and the absence of that quiet strength made her ache. Adrian feared if Rooke took her home now, she would never have another chance to

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restore their lost connection. “My friends tell me that when I get started on a project, I’m like a dog with a bone. I can’t let up.”

“Okay, if you want to go exploring, we will.”

Rooke withdrew her hand from Adrian’s and the hollow place inside grew larger, and so did the pain of loss. Did Rooke really think she would find her lacking because of what she’d just confided? Of course she did, because very clearly others had. She doubted there was anything she could say to combat those old hurts. She would have to convince Rooke that what mattered to her was the woman she was, the whole person, not just one aspect of her. She’d need time to show her, and hoped they would have it.

“You’re elected tour guide,” Adrian said, trying for a casual note.

“You have to put your gloves on,” Rooke said, removing her own from the inside pocket of her jacket.

When Adrian pulled on her leather gloves, Rooke took her hand again. Adrian clutched Rooke’s arm against her side, happy for the slightest bit of contact. Before long she was holding on even tighter to keep her footing on the icy surface as Rooke led her off the semi-cleared road into a section of the cemetery where the stones were obviously very old. Most were marble, and on many, the engravings were so worn by the years that the names and dates were illegible.

“There—the matching crossed hands on those two stones,”

Adrian said, indicating two markers side by side jutting from the snow.

“According to what I’ve read, those symbolize—”

“Relatives,” Rooke said. “Sometimes marriage.”

“Yes,” Adrian said eagerly, pointing to another marble marker with a scrolled top and the image of a bird in flight carved above the names. She hadn’t come across that in her initial research. She looked at Rooke questioningly. “What about that one?”

“The soul—the birds are usually shown rising, because—well, you know. Heaven and all. The lamp is for innocence, the lily for purity, the anchor for hope.”

“You know all about this, don’t you? Of course you would.”

Adrian shook her head. “I could have saved myself a lot of time on the computer yesterday.”

Rooke shrugged. “There’s probably a lot more I don’t know. I’ve only seen this cemetery and some of the small family plots in other parts of the county. According to what you said, symbols might be

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different in other places, right? Depending on what the people were like who lived there.”

“Yes,” Adrian said softly. “Exactly.” She hesitated because she didn’t want to make Rooke self-conscious, but she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know that Rooke could not read. She could only imagine how hard it had been for Rooke to share something so personal, and she wouldn’t treat the subject as if it were something Rooke should be ashamed of. “How do you know all of this?”

“It’s the family business. I know it the same way I know how to do the carvings.”

“Does your father do this too?”

“No, my grandfather said he didn’t have it in his blood. He joined the army instead. My great uncle taught me. I started when I was eight.

Simple stuff.”

“So will you explain to me about the other symbols?”

“Yes, if you want me to. When the weather lets up, we’ll come back out and I’ll show you. Some of the earliest markers at Stillwater are right here,” Rooke said. “These are the founding families.” She pointed to a large obelisk-type monument with a simple cross at the top surrounded by many small rectangular markers. “The Brewsters.

Harold and Hannah were the first. Then, their children—Matthew, Thomas, Lydia, and James.”

Adrian followed Rooke’s hand as she pointed to each smaller stone in turn, reading off the faint names on the stones. She looked from the stones to Rooke. “I thought—”

“I’m not reading them,” Rooke said gruffly. “My grandfather told me who they are.”

“And you remember them all?”

Rooke smiled faintly and nodded.

Adrian dragged Rooke by the hand to the next grouping. “Well?”

“The Smiths. Reginald and Elizabeth. Their sons, Arthur, Charles, Robert, and Thomas,” Rooke said, pointing to each gravestone. “Their daughters Elizabeth, Margaret, Roberta, and Anne are buried with their husbands further down this row.”

“Oh my God. That’s amazing!” Adrian turned and took in what she could of the cemetery. It stretched beyond the crest of a tree-lined hill farther than she could see. Dominic had said Rooke knew the story

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behind all of the stones, but she hadn’t taken him literally. “Tell me you know everyone here.”

“I do. I remember things like that.”

Adrian couldn’t contain her astonishment and wondered how it could be that people like her grandmother had no idea what a remarkable person Rooke was. She couldn’t restrain her need to let Rooke know just how special she found her. Guided by instinct, she took off her gloves and pressed her palms to Rooke’s face. “You’re amazing.”

The wind howled and snow danced in the air like spirits released from the grave, but Adrian didn’t feel the icy cold. Heat emanated from Rooke, reaching to Adrian’s very core. She saw herself standing before a great stone hearth in a vast hall, torches flaming on the walls, huge arches disappearing into the darkness overhead. Thick furs covered the stone floors and hung over openings chiseled through the thick walls.

In the shadows, a warrior watched. Adrian sensed great strength and great power. And more—passion and desire. Belonging. The yearning for those feelings was so strong she felt herself drifting into the dream, even while part of her knew it was not real. Would never be real.

“Adrian.” Rooke’s arms came around her and her embrace was very real. Rooke held her close, shielding her from the biting wind, and brushed her hair back, searching Adrian’s face. “We need to go back.

You’re shaking and pale again.”

“Your skin is warm,” Adrian said thickly, wanting to stay by the fire, surrounded by thick walls of stone and fierce passion. But Rooke’s call was strong, and the vision receded, leaving her a little disoriented.

She let herself lean against Rooke for just a few heartbeats. Rooke felt so good.