She seemed to hesitate before shaking his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Lebow. I'm sure my grandfather would appreciate your kind words."
The older man bowed slightly then before assuring her there was no need to escort him to his car.
Cole watched Elinor silently as she remained standing by the door, her hand raised in final farewell to the funeral director.
"Your grandfather would have despised Lebow's 'kind' words," Cole remarked.
Elinor started when she heard his voice. She pivoted around, staring at him without expression.
He smiled. "I've been waiting to take you home."
Seven
They walked in silence, the only sound made by the damp sighing of last year's fallen leaves beneath their feet and the hum of honey bees among the shrubs. Cole strolled along, not prying into Elinor's abstraction.
The sunlight fell through the sheltering trees in long bars of gold, filtering through the leaves with shifting beams. Cole watched the play of light on Elinor's chestnut hair, setting the golden strands afire.
This path would forever evoke her presence for him, he knew. The sweet scent of honeysuckle sifted up to him, no more captivating than the scent of her in his arms.
"The hardest thing about Grandfather's death," Elinor said at last, her face troubled, "is that so few people will actually grieve for him."
"Charlie will," Cole offered even though he knew what she meant. Daniel Prescott hadn't endeared himself to many people. Old Charlie had lived his life taking care of Daniel. That kind of investment left its mark, even if you didn't particularly like a person.
"Yes," she agreed, reaching to tug a leaf off a nearby shrub. "But who other than Charlie and me?"
She sighed deeply when Cole didn't immediately answer. "Do you know that in the two years I lived here, my grandfather only really talked to me once?"
"The other day when I was here?" Cole guessed, feeling both sadness and anger that Daniel had ignored Elinor's love.
"Yes, that was the only time he actually seemed to see me as a person," she confirmed, her voice unhappy. "You know, Cole, I feel as if I should grieve his loss and miss him. But what I feel most is sad for what might have been."
"That's only natural." Cole shrugged. "You tried to be there for him, but he wouldn't allow it."
"I know." Her face was shadowed. "But it doesn't seem right to grieve for a selfish reason."
"You don't have a selfish bone in your body, El."
She glanced up at him. "Yes, I do. Grandfather's death leaves me feeling ... rootless, disconnected. My mother's parents both died before I knew them. They had no other children. Grandfather was the only family I have."
"I know," Cole said softly. He reached for her hand, weaving his fingers with hers.
"So here I am mourning my solitary state," she said, "when I should be grieving my grandfather."
"El, that's only natural," he insisted rationally. "You can't manufacture feelings you don't have."
"Maybe," she acknowledged with a sigh. "But I wish I'd tried harder to reach him."
They fell silent, Cole battling with an insane desire to strangle a dead man. Elinor's guilt made no sense. She'd done more for the old man than most people would. Certainly, more than Daniel's own son.
But then, Elinor was making it a point not to live by Jeffrey's example.
She felt alone, she'd said. Disconnected. Cole drew in a deep breath, looking up into the canopy of trees that stretched overhead. The word jarred in his head—disconnected.
Walking here beside her, Cole had never felt more connected to anyone in his life. And he was achingly aware that when she knew the truth about Oakleigh's buyer, she might never speak to him again.
Their steps brought them to the last corner in the path. The cottage was just up the walk.
When they reached the steps, Cole stopped abruptly, tugging Elinor to a halt beside him. She looked up in surprise, her hazel eyes clouded with emotion.
"El . . ." He gathered her into his arms. "You aren't alone."
He lowered his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss, a soft whisper of reassurance that ignored the flare of passion inside him. She didn't resist, but just stood in his arms, seeming to absorb his touch without question.
Not daring to test the emotions that raged through him, Cole lifted his head and simply held her, her head nestled against his shoulder.
She sighed deeply, a strain seeming to leave her body as she leaned into his embrace. Around them the evening air seemed to thicken, the perfume of the flowers growing headier as the breeze dropped.
Every part of Cole thundered for her. He longed to engulf himself in her softness, to bury himself, heart and all, in her warmth. But he just held her.
After long minutes ticked past with her even breathing tickling the skin of his neck, Cole released her. If she had reached up to him, invited him only a fraction, he'd have taken her. Right then and there.
But she didn't. He'd come to Oakleigh to offer support and comfort when he'd heard about Daniel's death, and he was going to stick with that even though it threatened to kill him.
"Goodnight, El." He brushed a soft kiss across her lips. "Sleep well."
Elinor sat in the cushioned folding chair and stared at the preacher, blinking back the tears. Around her were clustered a group of friends that made her heart swell.
Daisy sat beside her, like second lieutenant, jealously guarding Elinor's needs. On the other side of Daisy sat Myrtle from the diner. Elinor had counted twelve of her clients in attendance at Daniel Prescott's funeral. She didn't think half of them had ever known him, except by reputation.
Cole had been right. She wasn't alone.
A warmth settled in the pit of her stomach. Cole. Without even turning around, she knew where he stood. It was as if she suddenly had Cole-sensitive radar.
With effort, Elinor managed to refocus her attention on the preacher.
In deference to Daniel's wishes, the graveside service was held at Oakleigh, where her grandfather would be buried in the family plot.
Around her were the headstones of three generations of Prescotts, the weathered, lichened markers bearing names unfamiliar to her. Her grandfather had asked to be buried beside his long-dead wife. It was an unusually romantic request for someone so disregarding of emotions, and it warmed her as she sat there.