Belle turned and looked at Lance. “Honey, it’s that kind of thing––”
“I used to think, Belle, that you had the bluest eyes in the whole world,” Lance drawled quizzically. “They’re blue enough, in all conscience––by heck, Belle! Does a Lorrigan always love blue eyes?”
“I was going to say that––”
“You were going to say that you were not going to say a darned thing, madam. You need a vacation, a trip somewhere. Why don’t you beat it, and get your nerves smoothed down a little?”
“Lance, you don’t believe Duke––”
“Belle, your boys are old enough to think of girls a little bit, now and then. Even your baby thinks of girls––a little bit. Now and then. I’m going fishing, Belle. I’m going to fish where there are fish. And if I’m not back by the clock, for heck’s sake don’t get yourself excited and call me a mystery.”
She called after him. “Lance, come back here and tell me the truth! You don’t believe––”
“Belle, I’ll tell you the truth. Sure, I’ll tell you the truth. I tell you to cut out this worrying over nothing. Why, don’t you know the world is plumb full of real things to worry about?” He came close, patting her on the shoulder as one pats a child who feels abused for slight cause. “This notion of yours––it’s all damned nonsense. Cut it out.”
He went off whistling, and Belle gazed after him dubiously, yet reassured in spite of herself. After all, there was nothing.