Читать книгу Lovers' Reunion - Anne Marie Winston - Страница 10

Two

She had a horribly busy week at the clinic for indigent mothers in the Latino section of the city where she worked. And as if it needed a proper ending, in the middle of the night on Friday, Sophie received a call from a crisis management center that served the clinic’s area. One of her clients had been beaten up by her boyfriend and was in the hospital. The young woman had no family, so foster care arrangements had to be made for her two-month-old infant.

She was at the hospital until dawn completing paperwork. The infant had been checked out by a doctor and declared unharmed, but all of the usual temporary foster homes were either full to overflowing, or she couldn’t reach them.

Finally, around eight on Saturday morning, she got hold of a foster mother who worked with short-term emergency cases The woman agreed to take the baby, but she wasn’t available until Sunday morning. After a brief telephone consultation with her supervisor, Sophie received permission to keep the child overnight and take her to her foster home in the morning.

Fortunately she was prepared for such an event. This wasn’t the first time she’d kept a foster child with her for a night or two.

She got home near 10:00 a.m. and when the baby slept, so did she. Unfortunately little Ana got hungry a lot sooner than Sophie did, and the nap didn’t last nearly long enough. It was amazing how much time it took to accomplish even simple tasks with a baby around. She had to stop constantly to change a diaper, warm and feed a bottle, entertain when Ana fussed and rock her to sleep again in late afternoon.

Not that it was a hardship. She loved babies, always enjoyed helping with her numerous nieces and nephews. Especially now that there would be no babies of her own.

Then she remembered she’d promised her mother she’d come for dinner, so she called to warn her that a baby would be coming along. Edie Domenico, with thirteen grandchildren already, wasn’t fazed by the prospect. So Sophie grabbed a quick shower while the baby girl still slept and stuffed a diaper bag with all the paraphernalia an infant required. Settling Ana in the car seat she always kept for such emergencies, she made the ten-minute drive to her mother’s.

“Hi, everybody,” she called out as she entered her parents’ home, juggling the diaper bag, the baby and an extra bag of disposable diapers. She stopped to give her father’s cocker spaniel a scratch behind his long, silky ears and when he promptly dropped and rolled over, she rubbed his belly with the sole of her sneaker.

“Hello, Sophia,” her mother called. “I’m in the kitchen. Give that baby to your father and come help me roll out the pasta.”

Sophie grinned. She suspected that her assistance wasn’t as necessary as was her presence for a small gabfest. Her father was settled into his easy chair, and from the way he was fumbling around with the newspaper, she suspected he’d been napping behind it. “Hi, Papa,” she said. “You don’t have to take her.”

But Renaldo Domenico shook his finger at her. “Are you trying to deny me a chance to snuggle that baby? And where’s your kiss for your poor old overworked papa? Hmm?”

She laughed as she crossed the room and bussed her father’s cheek. “How can you be overworked? You’re retired.”

“That’s right,” he replied, “And your mother thinks up more chores for me to do than I had when I did work.” He took Ana from Sophie’s arm with the ease of one who’d handled many infants. “So who’s this pretty one?”

She explained Ana’s situation to him and left them getting acquainted in the living room. When she entered the kitchen, she discovered that her sister Arabella was there already. “Hi,” she said as she hugged first her mother and then Belle. “Where are the girls?”

Arabella and her husband had three daughters now. “Elissa had a softball game,” she explained. “Lionel and her sisters are cheering her on. I begged off on the grounds that I needed a few childless moments at least once a week.”

Sophie chuckled. “Do I detect a hint of exhaustion? Frustration? Mild insanity?”

“D—all of the above.” Belle’s voice was dry. “With the girls squabbling nonstop these days, moments of peace are few and far between.” Belle’s oldest two daughters were only seventeen months apart, and at ten and nine, they no longer played like little angels.

“This will pass,” predicted her mother. “And then they’ll be each other’s dearest friends, just like all my girls.”

Belle stuck a finger down her throat in an exaggerated gagging gesture. “Yes, Mama.”

“Sophie, did you hear Marco’s home?” Her mother pounded on the pasta board and muttered at her pasta in Italian.

“Yes. Vee told me.” She steeled herself for the inevitable discussion.

Belle and Edie both looked up from their work. “And...?” said her mother.

Sophie met their avidly curious eyes with a bland smile. “And what?”

“Oh, come on,” Belle said. “Did your heart go pitty-pat? Just the least little bit?”

“Of course.” If she denied it, they’d know she was lying through her teeth. “He was my First Great Love. But I didn’t swoon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Humph.” Her sister muffled a skeptical sound behind her glass on the pretext of taking a drink.

“I saw him the other night,” her mother said. “He’s still gorgeous. But oh, so sad, what happened. He’ll never be right again.”

“What happened?” Sophie repeated cautiously. This was probably one of her mother’s little jokes. A ploy to get her to talk about Marco.

Belle looked up. “You know ... the accident, his leg.”

“What accident?” The sincere sympathy in her sister’s voice was alarming and her voice rose slightly.

Belle’s eyes grew round with concern. “Mama, didn’t you tell her?”

Her mother was looking equally distressed. “No. I thought you or Vee told her.”

“No,” said Belle. “I didn’t tell her. I assumed you—”

“Tell me what?” Sophie’s sharp tone of voice cut through their twitter, and silence descended on the kitchen.

“Well,” said Edie, “you know how Marco’s always traveling into jungles and rain forests and deserts and—”

“Mama.” Sophie crossed her arms.

“He was in a plane crash,” Belle said hastily. “Everyone else on board was killed. He was rescued but his leg was torn up badly and they thought it might have to be amputated. But it wasn’t.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Sophie sat down abruptly at the table. “You’re not kidding.”

“No,” said her mother. “I wish I was. Cesare and Dorotea were frantic. He was in a hospital somewhere in South America. He didn’t even call them until a month after it happened, and he refused to let them fly down. Dora sat here in this kitchen and cried her eyes out.”

“Why didn’t I know this?” Sophie shook her head blindly. “Where was I?”

There was a silence in the kitchen. “You were on vacation,” said Belle. “It was at the beginning of October. I guess it just got overlooked after you got back.”

“Yes, and you know how busy you are, cara mia,” her mother put in. “I’m sorry. We just got our wires crossed, I suppose.”

Sophie rose from the table. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. But it wasn’t. She walked to the back door and stepped out onto the small porch, needing the fresh spring air and a moment alone.

At the beginning of October. The month was a difficult one for her. Kirk had died in October, and for the past two years she’d gone to a friend’s cabin beside a lake in Wisconsin to grieve alone. It would suit her just fine if the month of October were erased from the calendar.

Then the shock of what she’d just been told set in. Images of Marco rose. Playing basketball, dancing a wild swing with one of his sisters on New Year’s Eve, climbing the oak tree to bring down her stranded kitten—Marco was such an active, vital man. His whole life had been built around his physical capabilities.

He would be like a wild animal in a cage.

Her breath caught and she forced down the sob that threatened. It was ridiculous to cry for Marco now. His accident had been seven months ago. He’d survived, and if he’d come home for the anniversary party under his own steam, he must be doing fine.

A door slammed and the sound jarred her into looking around. A man stood on the back porch of the Espositos’ house. A tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair—

And a cane.

He’d been waiting for the excuse to talk to her for days.

Now that she was actually standing mere yards from him, the breezy greeting Marco had practiced flew right out of his head. God, she was beautiful. He stood there, staring like an idiot as she turned her head and met his eyes.

The impact slammed into his gut so hard he had to take a deep breath. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to carry over the fence between them. “Hello, Sophie.”

She simply stared at him for a long moment. Then she smiled gently. “Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.”

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, even for a minute, but he wanted less to humiliate himself with a tumble down his parents’ porch steps, so he tore his gaze away and concentrated on getting down the steps and over to the white picket fence as fast as possible. The whole time, he was conscious of her watching his labored progress, and the slow burn of helpless rage at his uncooperative limb gnawed at the lining of his masculine pride. If only—

No, he wasn’t going to go there. He had a burn leg, a knee that had forgotten it was supposed to bend, flex and bear weight. That was reality.

It would get better than it was right now, he’d been assured, but he could never join his former colleagues in the field again because he couldn’t hike over rough terrain and he couldn’t carry a heavy pack of equipment for more than a hundred yards. He knew, because he’d tried.

That was reality. And thinking about the way his life should be would destroy him as surely as that damned plane crash had destroyed his leg.

He stopped when he reached the fence and leaned one arm casually atop one of the posts, forcing his inner turmoil back into submission as his gaze took in the woman he’d never forgotten. He hadn’t asked about her once in the years since he’d held her last, because he didn’t want anyone to think she was anything more to him than a good family friend.

It was for her own good. If she’d thought there was hope, he knew she’d have waited for him forever.

Still, he’d listened avidly whenever his sisters got to talking about the neighbors on his infrequent visits home. For a while, Liz and Luisa had gleefully brought up her name, rubbing his nose in the dates she’d had, but after the first year had passed, they’d stopped mentioning Sophie at all. He’d nearly broken down and asked them about her several times, and only the knowledge that he’d be leaving again in another day had kept him from inquiring.

Now, he wouldn’t be leaving anymore. There was no reason to deny himself the pleasure that once had been his for the taking.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, his eyes wandering over her slender body with intense interest. “You look... fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She slowly stepped down from the stoop and came across the small lawn to her side of the fence. “It’s nice to see you again. Are you home for the you-know-what?” Her voice was hushed, in case his mother was close enough to overhear any discussion of the anniversary party.

“Yes, that and some other things.” What was different about her? She seemed reserved and wary, not simply shy as she’d been before, and though her words were pleasant, they were impersonally uttered as if she were speaking to an acquaintance. It was probably simply that she was remembering how they’d parted.

He couldn’t blame her for being mad. But still, here she was, and he was pretty sure he could charm her into forgiving him. After all, she’d said she loved him.

“I just heard about your accident.” Her voice was still subdued. “It must be frustrating for you.”

“It has its moments.” He gave her his best unconcerned shrug. “How have you been?”

She appeared to consider the question. “I’m doing well.”

“Sophie...” He hesitated. “About the way things ended between us—”

She passed a hand in front of her in a gesture intended to erase his words. “That was a long time ago, Marco, and I’ve forgotten it. I still consider you a friend.”

He frowned. That wasn’t the response he’d expected—or hoped for. This quiet, reserved woman was a marked contrast to the girl who once had hung on his every word. “I’d like to take you out for dinner, get to know you again. Are you free tonight?”

Her eyes widened, the brown completely eclipsed by a blank look of shock, and he realized it was the first time he’d been able to discern any emotion other than generic friendliness in her eyes. “That’s very nice of you, but—”

The back door opened behind her and they both stopped and looked at her mother, framed in the doorway. She was holding a very young infant cradled in one arm. “Sophie, this baby’s starting to fuss. Shall I warm a bottle?”

She nodded her head, shoving away the hair that flew around her shoulders. “Thanks, Mama, that would be great. She ate almost four hours ago and she’s probably starved.”

Shock rolled through him like a fireball ripping through a munitions plant. Sophie had a baby? As he gaped, she swung back to face him.

“Thank you for the invitation.” She shook her head. “But I have to get that wailing little one to bed. I was up half the night last night, and I’m hoping she’ll sleep soundly.” She smiled wryly. “So I can.”

He nodded, unable to trust his voice. He was paralyzed by a fierce wave of rage that made his reaction to his injury seem mild in comparison. Who had dared to touch her? She was his!

“Have a nice visit,” she said. “See you in a few weeks.”

Her voice brought reality crashing down on his head. She had been his once, and she’d wanted to keep it that way. But he’d left her. Hell, he’d even told her to go find somebody else! He continued to stand, gripping the fence so hard his fingers hurt, and he could see her dismiss him from her mind as she hurried back across the yard and disappeared into her parents’ house.

Slowly he made his way back to his own house, cursing the uneven ground. His mother came to the door as he mounted the steps, and she held the door wide. “Come inside and I’ll fix you some lemonade. Is your leg bothering you?”

He wanted to snarl. Not at all. Just Because I hobble around like an old man, why should you think that bothers me? But instead, he made his voice light and amused. “Knock it off, Ma. I promise I’ll tell you if it needs a kiss.”

She swatted his shoulder as he sat down at the table. “I see you talked to Sophie. She’s still a sweet girl, isn’t she?”

“Who’s a sweet girl?” His sister Elisabetta came into the kitchen with a half-eaten banana in one hand and her toddler son sleeping on her shoulder. “Hi, Ma. Thanks for watching him today.”

“Sophie is. And you’re welcome.” Dora plunked a glass of lemonade in front of Marco and picked up some more lemons for a second glass.

“Ah-h-h.” Liz drew the sound out knowingly. “Still drooling over our Sophie, big brother?”

“A man can look,” he said, forcing the turmoil that scrambled through him into hiding. But he couldn’t resist probing. “Although I guess looking’s all that’s allowed now. I don’t hit on married women.”

Liz threw him a surprised glance. “Sophie isn’t married anymore. Didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t know she’d gotten married at all. Who’d she marry?” He worked to project a mild neighborly interest. He was still reeling from the sight of that baby, and the implications at which its existence hinted. The thought of another man touching Sophie, kissing her, receiving the full pleasure of the hot, sweet response that always had been his threw a dark shadow over his thoughts, though he knew he had no right, no reason, to object He’d been the one to walk away.

So why didn’t that matter?

“His name was Kirk Morrell. They met in college,” his sister said.

“It must not have lasted long,” he commented. “Is Sophie the only one of the kids to have been divorced?”

“She’s not divorced,” Liz corrected. She threw a troubled glance at her mother, and Marco looked at his mother, too.

Dora’s hands stilled over the lemons. “Kirk was a lovely boy,” she said slowly. “He died.”

He was shocked, and he let it show. “How?”

“Cancer.” His mother made the word a curse.

Good Lord. Her baby couldn’t be more than a few months old, so she must have been widowed fairly recently—

“Marco?” Liz still looked troubled. “Please...don’t do anything else to hurt Sophie. She’s had some rough years.”

“I’m not planning on hurting her,” he said, striving for a reasonable tone, though his sister’s admonition stung.

“I’m sure you never planned to before, either, but you did,” Liz said. “And all I’m saying’s that Sophie’s had enough hurt in her life. She’s fragile.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said, smiling. “I’ll ‘Handle with Care.’”

“I think we’d rather you didn’t handle at all,” Liz said under her breath.

Little sisters could be so annoying.

Later he was watching from his bedroom window when Sophie came out of her parents’ house. He wasn’t watching for her, of course—he wasn’t that desperate. It was coincidental that the easy chair near his bed was beside the front-facing window. He’d been sitting there for over an hour, working on the syllabus for the course on glaciology he’d be teaching in September, when movement on the street had caught his eye.

She had a diaper bag over her shoulder, the baby in one arm and with the other hand she carried a big bag that he suspected was full of Mrs. Domenico’s fabulous cooking. She set down the bags beside a little white compact car, then opened the back door and bent to strap the baby into a car seat. Her action gave him a clear view of the way she filled out her dark blue jeans as they stretched over her slender buttocks, and he swallowed, feeling his heart speed up.

So she wasn’t married after all.

The thought of some other man touching her, teaching her about the pleasures a man and a woman could share, bothered the hell out of him, even though he knew how irrational that was. He was the one who’d left.

He’d wanted her worse than any other woman he’d met before or since. But she was the daughter of his parents’ best friends and he’d felt guilty as hell when he’d finally let her push him into making love to her. And he’d known he couldn’t offer her anything lasting. Leaving had been the right thing to do.

The thought gave him little satisfaction. What it did give him was a damned uncomfortable hard-on that forced him to shift uncomfortably in the chair. He could recall with vivid clarity the way her soft body had writhed beneath his hands, the way she’d clutched at him and held his head to her breast, the way her eyes had widened in surprise as sensations ripped through her and she dissolved in his arms.

Each time they’d been together, he’d struggled to remember that it couldn’t be permanent. He’d known he was leaving, and he’d known he shouldn’t encourage her any more than he already had. And really, it wasn’t as if they’d had a long or exclusive relationship. No words of commitment ever had been exchanged.

But as she straightened and closed the back door, then walked around the little car and climbed into her own seat, the only thought that kept running through his head was that he and Sophie had unfinished business between them. When he’d first come home, he’d harbored the stupid belief that Sophie would be waiting for him, just as she’d waited before, that nothing had changed between them.

Well, maybe she hadn’t put her life on hold, and certainly he shouldn’t have expected that she would. But she was single now, and so was he.

And he knew, without putting a finger on her, that together they still could generate enough heat to put the Great Chicago Fire to shame.

The following day was Sunday. His parents went to early mass at St. Vincent’s, and for the first time since the accident, Marco decided to go to church. He hadn’t been a regular worshiper in years, and if he ever went to confession again, he’d have enough penance to keep him talking for a month.

It felt strange to enter the church where he’d grown up, served as an altar boy and made his First Communion, strange to take a seat in the pew where his family had sat since before he was born. Now his four sisters were married or engaged, and sprinkled among the adults was a raft of his nieces and nephews. His older sister, Camilla, came with her family and as he watched, several of the Domenico clan slipped into the pew ahead of him where they’d always sat.

His interest picked up, but Sophie wasn’t with them. Instead, the Domenico pew steadily expanded to two full rows, filled with a new generation ranging from a preteen boy that had to be Stefano’s son down to a fussing infant in pink carried in by a man he assumed was Violetta’s husband.

Sophie’s sister Arabella smiled and blew him a kiss as she took the last empty seat on the far end. He noticed she turned and looked toward the rear of the church several tunes, and when she smiled and beckoned, he glanced back to see Sophie coming down the aisle. It was an opportunity too good to miss. Before Belle could shove everyone in her pew together to squeeze her sister in, he stood and caught Sophie’s hand as she stopped at the pews.

“You can sit here,” he murmured. “I won’t bite.”

He’d forgotten how small she was. She barely came up to his chin, even in the heels she’d worn to Mass. She tilted her head up to look him in the eye, and he felt her subtly trying to withdraw her hand, but he only tightened his clasp. Her eyes were wide—the deep, rich chocolaty velvet that he remembered so clearly—and she hesitated for a moment.

But just as he’d expected, Sophie was too well-bred to make a scene in church, and after that first long, searching glance, her face relaxed into a small, cool smile. “Thank you,” she said, and this time he let her have her hand back after he drew her into the pew.

When she sat, he followed suit, brushing just close enough that his arm grazed hers. It didn’t escape him that she was quick to draw back, though they were both wearing jackets and it was as innocuous as a touch two strangers might exchange.

She didn’t look at him again, simply linked her fingers in her lap, and he heard the rustle of silk sliding over silk as she crossed her legs. His gaze dropped and he studied the shape of her slim thighs in the pretty royal-blue skirt that matched her jacket. She probably hadn’t lost very much weight, but what she had lost had enhanced the natural beauty that she’d always possessed and trimmed her womanly curves to hourglass proportions.

Then the service began, and guilt tore his gaze away from her. He might have gotten away from the church too much to suit his folks, but he had the superstitious feeling that a lightning bolt might just seek him out for thinking lecherous thoughts in a house of worship.

Sophie managed to ignore him during the exchanging of peace between members of the congregation by darting up to the pews ahead of them to greet members of her family. It was, to his mind, a telling sign that she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she’d appeared on her mother’s back porch the other day.

As he spoke the familiar responses, something inside him relaxed. His mother’s soft voice on his right side and Sophie’s on his left, the shuffle and hush that accompanied the rituals of worship...it felt right in a strange way, a way he’d never realized he missed, but needed now that he’d found it again.

When he finally limped back to the pew, he couldn’t kneel. Instead, he had to sit like the little old ladies who were too feeble to get on and off their knees any more, shifted to the edge of the seat with his back bent forward and his right leg stiffly stuck out before him. His prayers consisted mainly of a single desperate plea: Lord, please get this over with.

And his prayers were answered. The service was concluded swiftly. Sophie was out of the pew like a shot when the postlude began to play. She immediately immersed herself in the crowd made by her large family, moving as far from him as she could get.

He wasn’t a particularly patient man, but he knew she couldn’t avoid him forever, so he allowed her to move ahead of him down the aisle and out of the church. He suffered through the welcomes of other members of the congregation, watching her to be sure she didn’t sneak away, and when he saw her break off and head across the parking lot toward her little car, he went after her.

He was slow. He had refused to bring the cane along this morning because he was well rested, he reasoned, and getting stronger every day, and the doctor had told him to start doing without it from time to time. It was frustrating as hell not to be able to stride across the macadam and catch her at her car door. Instead, he forced himself to move carefully, and by the time he reached her car, she was buckled in and had started the engine.

She saw him coming. But until he walked around to her driver’s door and tapped on the glass, she simply sat there with the windows rolled up. He put a hand on the door latch and then she punched a button, rolling down her window and smiling at him, though it didn’t reach her eyes and he suspected it was only for the benefit of others around them.

“Hello again,” she said. “Thank you for the seat this morning.”

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he said, ignoring her casual words. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

But she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

It was a bald, simple response, delivered in a calm, almost flat tone of voice, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, we can make it Tuesday if tomorrow night doesn’t suit.”

Sophie made an impatient sound, lifting her hand to rest on the open windowsill. “Marco, tomorrow night would suit just fine—if I wanted to go out with you. I don’t.”

“Is it because of the baby?”

Her eyebrows rose, and he thought he detected a hint of shock. “Excuse me?”

“We could take it along if you like.” He’d never minded kids, enjoyed them, in fact, and though he didn’t want to think about his Sophie in the arms of another man, he was intensely curious about her child.

She was frowning slightly, not looking at him. Her thumbs were rubbing back and forth along the edges of her steering wheel, and when he glanced at the small motion, he realized she was gripping the wheel hard enough to make the tips of her fingers white. “I didn’t realize you had a child,” she said.

Now it was his turn to frown. “I don’t.”

She looked at him then, and her gaze was cool and clear again. “Whose baby, exactly, are we discussing, then?”

Marco drummed his fingers against the side of his thigh. “Yours. I don’t mind—”

“I don’t have any children,” she said. Silence lay like a wet towel for a long pause, and he thought she seemed upset. “I don’t know where you got that idea.”

“Your mother,” he said shortly, not particularly liking the feeling of relief that coursed through him. He wanted her, badly, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t live without her. “She came out the door the other day and asked you about feeding the baby. If it wasn’t yours, then whose was it?”

“Oh, that baby.” Her eyes momentarily softened and he caught a glimpse of something sad in her eyes before she stifled it. “That was a foster child who was waiting for a temporary placement. I’d picked her up the night before and couldn’t place her until later Saturday, so she was stuck with me for a night.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.” At her questioning frown, he added, “Being stuck with you for a night.” He leaned down until their faces were only a foot apart, trying to ignore the relief that had flowed through him when he’d realized she wasn’t a mother. “Have dinner with me, Sophie.”

Her eyes were wide and her full, lush lips slightly parted. She ran her tongue around the edges of them, and her breasts rose and fell with the rhythm of her quickened breathing. The air between them seemed to hum with a powerful current of attraction, and he let his gaze drop to her mouth, lifting a finger to lightly press against her bottom lip.

She quivered for a moment, and he felt a small gasp escape her. Then, just as he was about to lean forward and seal his position with a kiss, she took his hand by the wrist and drew it firmly away from her mouth, all but flinging it out the window. “Thank you for the invitation but I’m not interested.”

Though a lick of something—anger, mixed with a scary dose of panic—shot through him, he forced himself to smile lazily. “You used to be interested,” he said softly. He reached in again and picked up her hand and brushed his thumb back and forth across her palm, trying to read her eyes.

But now she wasn’t giving anything away. Her eyes remained cool, hiding any hint of what she was thinking. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “I’ve grown up since then.”

“Ah, c’mon, Sophie. Just dinner.” He ran his eyes down the length of her body, chuckling when she pulled her hand away. “A little conversation, a little reminiscing...”

“No.” She dropped her guard and shot him a look of such bitterness that he mentally staggered back from the heat, singed by the anger in her eyes. “I’m not interested in being your entertainment when you come to town anymore.”

“It wasn’t like that.” He didn’t care for the way she made his actions sound so ... callous. He’d done it for her, dammit! “You were a lot more to me than just—”

“It’s not important now,” she told him, and the chilly finality in her tone infuriated him even more. “I have a life of my own now, and it doesn’t include you. That was your choice, remember?” And before he could come up with a response, she slipped the car into gear and started forward, forcing him to remove his hand or lose his balance and be dragged along with the vehicle as she drove away from the church without a backward glance.

His youngest sister Teresa was calling his name, and slowly, taking deep, calming breaths, he turned toward her, reaching for a smile though what he really wanted to do was punch something. Hard.

Okay, fine. Sophie didn’t want to go out with him. He could work around that, and he would. He’d figure out another way to get her to accept his presence in her life. She didn’t remember much about him if she thought he was going to give up and go away so easily.