One Snowbound Weekend.... Christy Lockhart
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the tea.” Releasing one hand, he held a finger beneath her eye and transferred the moisture from her lashes to his skin, as if trying to take away her pain.
He held her gaze as captive as he held her tear. With his thumb, he stroked the dampness until it disappeared.
How was it possible that the love they shared had vanished? Nothing was more important to her than Shane.
When she’d accepted his proposal, she’d turned her back on her family and the groom her father had chosen for her. She’d known the consequences—being disinherited and cut off from her family—and was willing to pay the price because the idea of a future without Shane’s love hurt even more.
There had to be something he didn’t know, something she couldn’t remember. She was still the same woman who promised to love Shane forever. “I wouldn’t have willingly destroyed our relationship.”
She tried to pull away, only to have Shane once again tighten his grip.
“The doctor said you need to rest. I’ll see to it that you do.”
She laughed, a brittle sound. “That’s the only reason you didn’t throw me out in the snow, isn’t it? Because the doctor said I’m your responsibility.”
“Don’t.”
“You must hate me.”
“Hate? No.”
“But you don’t care.”
“I’ve had time to get over it.”
“Over me?”
His silence spoke louder than words.
“Go in the front room and curl up in front of the fire,” he said into the crackling silence.
She didn’t.
He pulled her a little closer, so close she inhaled the scent of masculine determination and saw the flash of daring in his eyes. He overwhelmed her.
“Go willingly, or I’ll carry you there myself.”
“I’ll make my own decisions—”
“You always have. No matter who you hurt.”
She flinched.
“I’m not negotiable, Angie. Don’t push me.”
Her heart was as heavy as the snow suffocating the outdoors. Needing to regroup, she conceded. For now.
She lowered her gaze, and he released her.
Crossing to the couch, she massaged her shoulders where he’d held her.
Hardhat jumped up beside her. Absently she ran her hand down his back. With a sound that was half yawn, half whine, he dropped his head in her lap.
She looked at the beautiful stone fireplace, and a cold frisson frosted her spine. Their wedding picture used to occupy the center of the mantel. Now it was bare.
Shane brought in two cups of tea and put them on coasters. “Hardhat’s not allowed on the couch.”
“Sorry.”
“He figures you’re a soft touch.”
“I don’t know him.”
“No.”
She exhaled shakily. “And the furniture?”
“I bought it after you left.”
“You’ve made other changes, too. You’ve added on, put in lots of windows. It doesn’t look like a cabin any longer. It’s more like one of those fabulous mountain retreats you’d see in a magazine. It takes a while to make those kind of changes.”
He nodded in agreement.
“How long, Shane? How long have I been gone?”
He crouched to scratch Hardhat behind one ear. “It doesn’t matter.”
Despite herself, she reached for him, curving her fingers around his shoulder. In the craziness, he was her only anchor. Damn it, she needed him. Her voice hoarse, she whispered, “It matters to me.”
He looked at her squarely. “Five years. You left me over five years ago.”
She gasped. Not months, but years. Years of her life had vanished.
Instantly he covered her hand with his.
Something in her stomach, warm and deep, fluttered. No matter what had happened, she still responded to his most casual touch. “I want to see the letter.”
He cursed beneath his breath. “I’m under strict orders from Dr. Johnson to keep you calm.”
Her laugh was frayed at the edges. “Things can’t be any worse than they already are.”
He clamped his lips together.
“Let me see the letter. I have to know…”
“Sorry.”
“It has to be real to me, Shane.” She turned her palm up. “Please understand.”
After long seconds, when she thought he’d refuse, he finally nodded curtly.
While he was gone, she wondered if she was making the right decision. Maybe it would make everything seem real, maybe her memory would flood back.
It didn’t.
She didn’t recognize the stationery. But there was no mistaking the word Shane in her handwriting.
The edges of the paper were tattered and yellowed, the creases crisp, as if he’d dragged a thumbnail across them with finality.
She paused before unfolding the page, meeting his gaze. It was as cold as the winter wind battering the cabin.
Her hand trembled as she held the letter, and the words blurred from the tears gathering in her eyes.
Shane strode away. His back to her, he tossed a log on the fire and stabbed the timber with a poker.
Shane,
I’m going home to my father. Don’t try and find me. I don’t want to see you again. Our marriage was a fling and a mistake.
I never loved you.
Angie.
The brutal coldness of the words sliced into her heart. “It’s not true,” she whispered, her voice shaking with unshed emotion.
How could she have done this to him? Why would she do this to him? It couldn’t have been that she’d fallen out of love with him, not with the emotion still swelling in her soul.
“I loved you then,” she said. “I love you now.”
Shane said nothing.
There had to be an explanation, and now, more than ever, she was desperate to know what had happened to the five years erased by an accident.
“Did we have a fight? Is that why I wrote this?” she asked softly, the words breaking on a sob.
“No.” He turned to face her. “I went to work. We’d made love….”
His gaze skimmed up and down her body, and she felt it like a caress. A blush colored her face as recognition flared into need.
“Being with you made me late for work. I didn’t mind. You’d almost convinced me to call in sick and stay in bed with you.”
“Did you wish you had?”
“At first.”
“And now?”
“If you didn’t love me, I’d rather you left. Like cauterizing a wound. Hurts like hell in the beginning. Less painful in the end.”
“Did you come after me?”
“Yeah.