One Snowbound Weekend.... Christy Lockhart
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love.
“I hope you don’t mind me changing,” she said, as if reading his mind. “I was too hot in sweats.”
“Sure,” he lied. Forcing himself to refocus, he slid the tray onto the nightstand and saw her discarded clothes on the floor, the silk and lace of her bra on top of the pile.
His mouth dried.
“Thank you,” she said softly, the words huskily drawn across a sleep-rubbed voice. “You’re too good to me.”
Shane offered her a cup of tea, two sugars stirred in, the way she always drank it.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, sipped from it, then wrinkled her nose. “I drink it black.” She blinked. “Don’t I?”
“You tell me.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited.
Angie frowned, her brows pinched as if in pain. Her hand shook as she slid the tea back onto the tray.
She wrapped her hands across her shoulders again, in the same protective way she had earlier. She hadn’t done that when he’d known her before. Just how much, he wondered, didn’t he know about her?
He’d thought he knew every part of her, how she cried out his name when she teetered on the brink of fulfillment, the way she wiggled next to him, stealing the sheets and seeking his heat after they made love, the way her eyes darkened, like a storm on an alpine lake, when she shyly initiated intimacy.
But he hadn’t known a thing about her, not really. He hadn’t suspected she could run away from him, leaving behind her clothes, a scrawled letter and a diamond ring that winked damningly in the dull autumn light. He hadn’t known that her courage and declarations of love had all been a lie.
“Your soup’s getting cold.” He turned to leave.
“Shane.”
He paused, but he didn’t look back.
“I can’t fix our problem if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice was a low, husky plead.
He told himself it had no effect on him. “It can’t be fixed, Angie.”
Her head roared and blood thundered against her temples, echoing Shane’s words. It can’t be fixed.
She pressed the aspen leaf against her breast, holding on to the feelings she’d had that day when she’d scooped the hair from her neck and he fastened the clasp at her nape.
Closing her eyes, she tried to fill in the blanks, only to come up empty. She remembered meeting him at Aunt Emma’s coffee shop, the way his eyes had narrowed speculatively with distrust when she smiled at him. That hadn’t stopped her, though. She’d smiled even brighter.
He’d returned the next day and asked what her name was. By the third day, he confessed he’d never drunk coffee before that week. On Thursday, their hands had accidentally touched; on Friday, he’d invited her out on a date.
Her pulse had taken flight. He was so tall, so handsome, so enigmatic, so different from any other man she’d ever met. Man and earth combined in Shane. He was everything she’d fantasized about as a young girl.
She’d said yes immediately, thrilled to know he was interested in her as a woman, not as an heiress. She’d had enough of expectations and she’d longed to live her life in her own way. Shane was part of her new life.
She recalled their fourth date. Shane had taken her to the county fair, where he’d given her the aspen leaf, a gift that meant more than all her fancy jewelry simply because he’d wanted her to have it.
She remembered his heart-stoppingly romantic proposal, their midsummer wedding beneath the sun and trees, the thrill and fear of wondering if she was pregnant, then…
Nothing.
Warm air whispered from the floor vents, but that couldn’t stop goose bumps from sliding up and down her arms. It was winter now, meaning she’d lost at least a couple of months. So what had happened that was so bad between then and now?
He said their argument couldn’t be fixed, and yet…
Was it possible her memory loss was a blessing?
She continued to hold the aspen leaf—a promise of forever—close to her heart.
Maybe, with nothing to hold back her true emotions, her honesty could find Shane’s heart.
Angie was nothing if not a strong and determined woman. And now she had a mission, getting her husband back.
After gingerly climbing from bed, she grabbed the post, waiting for the world to right itself.
She slid into her undergarments slowly, then pulled on the sweatpants and shirt, and borrowed a pair of his thick socks from a drawer before moving into the living room, toward her future.
Shane stared out the window and she moved up behind him. Hardhat, the adorable Labrador, cocked his head to one side. One ear flopped over endearingly. She smiled. At least the dog didn’t mind having her here.
Before she reached Shane, he turned, facing her with a formidable frown.
The hand she’d been reaching toward him fell to her side.
“You should be in bed.”
“Only if you’ll join me.”
The frown deepened. “Angie,” he warned.
“I want to know where I stand with you. Do you want a divorce?” Despite her best efforts, emotion ran her words together into a breathless blur. “I don’t think I could bear that.”
“It’s too late for that discussion,” he stated flatly.
“Don’t you want me?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling strands back from his face and emphasizing the fine lines grooved beside dark green eyes.
Frightened of the answer but needing to know, she asked, “Is that it? You don’t find me desirable anymore?”
His gaze swept up her, holding nothing back. He lingered at the swell of her breasts, looking at her for a long, long time, long enough for her nipples to tighten with want.
“Hell, Ang, a man would have to be blind to not want you.”
“Did you kick me out of the house?”
“No.”
“Then I left you.”
Silence roared.
“Yes.”
Terror tapped a staccato in her veins. “But I’d never do that, not after what your mother did.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
She shuddered. All of a sudden, she was no longer certain of anything. “Why? Why would I do that to you? To Sarah? To us?”
“You were playing house with a poor boy and decided you didn’t like it. Your future with a social equal was more important than your sworn promise to me.”
She shook her head. “It’s not possible. I don’t believe it, Shane, I can’t.”
“I’ve got your note, Angie.”
“Note?”
“A Dear John letter. An excuse, no apology.”
From the other room, the teakettle shrilled. She seized the opportunity to escape him, fleeing into the kitchen.
Her hand shook as she turned off the burner.
Collapsing against the counter, she gulped half a dozen desperate breaths.
She’d left him?
Her heart raced and the aspen leaf lay against it, suddenly feeling cold. Tears swelled in her eyes. She was confused, vulnerable, and she hated not being in control.