...isn't welcome

At Hope's suggestion of hanging out while he took more pictures, Scott's gaze roams her face. Whether she knew it or not, her eyes said a lot more than her words did. The way she looked at him proved she missed him...more than just a friend missing a friend. She was patient, but she was still waiting on him to make some kind of move beyond the relationship they had now. She wanted more. She still loved him. 

Letting his eyes drop again, he takes another sip of coffee before focusing on the table. Part of him very much wanted to spend more fun time with her. But part of him also felt a burden... a burden to resist so as not to hurt her in the long run. 

"That sounds like fun," he finally responds quietly. "I, um... it's just..." He gives a short half laugh half scoff and shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this..." 

Looking up again, he locks with her gaze. His own was full of tiredness and remorse. "I think maybe it would be better if... we didn't spend as much time together." He pauses, swallowing hard and resisting the urge to reach over and take her hand. "You're waiting for something that's just never going to happen, Hope. I'm... not the same man I was before, and... I just don't see that I'll ever be in a place where I'll be able to have a relationship with you... 

...I'm sorry."


Hearing a knock at the door, Cindy gives a wail of frustration. Who was bothering her now? It had just been one of those days, and she'd already taken Wendy up on her offer to watch Kaylee since she'd been a holy terror. Alone in the house, she'd decided she could finally get some things done... until the clothes dryer had quit working, her computer had frozen up, two dishes had been dropped and broken, a shelf full of books had come tumbling down on her while being dusted, and the vacuum cleaner had stopped working. And now she was elbow-deep in cold soapy water trying to unclog the kitchen sink. And someone was at the door? Seriously?

Pulling her hand out of the drain, she grabs a towel. But drying off, something didn't feel right. Glancing down in dismay, she sees her ring finger empty. She'd lost weight and she'd known her wedding ring had been loose, but hadn't done anything about it. And now she was paying for that bad decision. Not to mention, she should have taken it off before doing the dishes like she always did anyway. What had she been thinking?

Pent-up frustration forced tears to her eyes and she swipes at them with her t-shirt sleeve. She'd pulled her hair back earlier but now half of it was falling around her face, and she knew she was a royal mess. And someone had to come now? She had half a notion just to ignore the door.

Huffing a sigh, she rolls her eyes and heads for the door. She'd come back and continue trying to unplug the drain, and now also hunt for her ring. Throwing the dish towel somewhere between the kitchen counter and the table, she ignores where it lands and goes in her bare feet to see who was there. If it was anybody but ranch family, she had half a notion to sock 'em in the face just for bothering her. 

Yanking open the door with irritation, her eyes looked straight ahead to see an Army uniform. A mixture of fear and even more irritation flooded her veins. Lifting her gaze, it traveled up until she saw his face. And when she realized who it was, it felt as though her heart stopped completely. Blinking, little emotion showed on her face. Was she dreaming? Had she fallen asleep and was now having a nightmare? Was this a joke? Was this real? Was this really Wes standing in front of her? Her husband? The man who was supposed to be dead? 

Taking a shocked step backward, her breath catches in her throat. The woman that had cried into her pillow at night yearned to leap into his arms and hold him tight and scream for joy. While the woman that was angry he had been taken away in the first place would just as soon leave mended the wounds she'd finally sealed. 

"Wes?" Her voice was but a hoarse whisper, her thin face contorted in confusion. Wrapping her arms around herself, the inner conflict worsens as she lifts her chin in defiance. "You better have a change of clothes," she whispers tersely. "'Cause that uniform isn't welcome in this house."