Chapter Forty-four

He looked around the room again, at the paper plates with the potluck dinner, at her homemade gown, clearly not believing her. He set his jaw. ‘I’m just surprised your father couldn’t do better for Becky. Even if money is tight.’

Sylvia folded her arms, feeling ice in her heart. ‘He couldn’t,’ she whispered. ‘My father died four months ago.’

She heard Xavier’s intake of breath. ‘What?’

‘He had a heart attack during harvest. We didn’t find him on his tractor until later. When he didn’t come home for dinner.’

‘Oh, Sylvia.’ Xavier took her hand in his own. ‘I’m sorry.’

She felt his sympathy, felt his concern. And she felt the rough warmth of his palm against her own—the touch she’d craved for the past year and all the five years before. Her fingers curled over his as longing blistered her soul.

With an intake of breath she ripped her hand away.

‘Thank you,’ she said, blinking back tears. She’d thought she was done grieving for her father, but she’d spent most of the day with a lump in he