Читать книгу One Snowbound Weekend... - Christy Lockhart, Christy Lockhart - Страница 10

She was the same woman, yet totally different.

Toward evening, he stood in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept…on his side of the bed.

Firelight from the living room flickered on her light brown hair. The strands sifted across the pillow, inviting his touch. “Angie?”

She didn’t respond.

He entered the room, his bare feet silent on the oak floor.

The comforter snuggled her body, tucked around her shoulders, and only her face peeked from beneath the warmth of down. Shane reached to shake her awake, but stopped, captivated by the light playing on her face.

The cut looked obscene against the paleness of her skin, and he’d do anything to take that ache away from her. No one deserved to be hurt like that.

Without thinking, he succumbed to temptation, feathering his fingers into her hair, letting the rumpled strands wind around his knuckles like he used to.

Before he could pull his hand back, her eyes flickered open. A slow smile slipped across her lips, and they parted in silent greeting. “Shane…” Reaching up, she stroked his hand, as if they were lovers. “Are you coming to bed?”

Instinct warned of danger. “No.” He loosened his grip on the silky lock of hair. No matter how tempting she was, no matter how he suddenly wanted to forget her desertion, he wouldn’t get tangled in her web. He’d done that once and it had cost him his heart. “I made you some soup.”

“Soup?”

“Chicken noodle. Figured it’s always good when you’re not feeling well.”

She blinked, as if remembering the last few hours. The welcome in her eyes and on her mouth faded. “Oh. I’d forgotten.” Her hand dropped away from his.

He shouldn’t want her touch, not when he intended to get her back out of his life. “I’ll bring it to you.” He returned to the kitchen, hoping he’d find sanity there.

Slamming drawers and cupboards, he ladled the warmed soup into a bowl, then piled everything on a tray, grabbing a box of Saltine crackers from the counter on the way back to his room.

She wiggled into a sitting position, the comforter peeling back to reveal that she was wearing one of his T-shirts. Old and faded, the white cotton conformed to her, and her breasts pushed against the fabric.

While he’d brought in the firewood, she’d been doing more than drinking a glass of water. She’d been undressing.

An image of their past flashed in his mind. When she’d slept in anything at all, it had been one of his T-shirts and nothing else.

And she would still think it was okay.

That meant that beneath the covers, her long, shapely legs were bare. It felt like a hammer to the gut when he remembered the feel of those legs, wrapped around his naked waist as they sweetly made 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.

Shane entered the room, curving his hands around her shoulders reassuringly. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ll bring you some tea in a minute.”

“Forget 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. But not at first. About a month after the divorce was final, I was out with Slade Birmingham.” Beside Shane, the fire devoured the dried wood, hissing and crackling.

“I had a few to drink. Before that I’d refused to grab the bottle like my old man used to do.” He jammed his hands into his front pockets. His eyes, electrified by the fire, burned into hers. “That night, Angie, the pain caught up with me. It was my birthday, the anniversary of my mom walking out.”

Oh, God, oh, God, why had she asked? His pain cut through her, and her abdomen constricted.

“I drove all the way to Chicago, like a lovesick fool.”

She winced.

“Arrived just in time for your wedding reception.”

Her jaw went slack. “My…”

“Wedding reception. After your marriage to Jack Hague.” Shane’s eyes darkened like a storm in the forest.

“No,” she protested, disbelief rocketing through her. She wouldn’t have married Jack, even if it was the only thing her father had ever expected of her.

“Oh, yeah. In a long white gown, diamonds in your ears, huge vases of white flowers everywhere, a band, champagne, a sit-down meal…all the things I wanted to give you and couldn’t. The things that apparently mattered to you, even though you said they didn’t.”

A headache threatened to split her skull.

“Six months after you sneaked out of my life. The ink was barely dry on our divorce papers, Angie. It was as if we’d never happened.”

Maybe he was right; maybe she would have been better off not knowing.

“Your daddy figured out who I was and escorted me outside. He was kind enough to answer a few questions for me. He explained you really hadn’t come to live in Colorado, that spending the summer with your aunt was something to give you a taste of the real world, nothing more.”

“No. That’s not true. I came to Colorado to get away, to be an independent woman.”

“Your father said when you were done playing house with a man who wasn’t your social equal, you called him and begged him to bail you out. You were tired of being broke, tired of being a surrogate mother to my sister.”

Her head swam. “No. I loved Sarah.”

“Not only that, but in the generous spirit of the celebration, he wrote out a ten thousand dollar check to ensure I never contacted you again.” His words were short and bitter. “I tore it up and threw the pieces at his feet. Didn’t need money to stay the hell out of your life.” His tone dropped another octave. “It would have cost him more than that to make me speak to you again.”

“And now I’m back.”

“And when your memory returns, I’ll have a few questions for you.”

“Like…?”

He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets. To keep them to himself?

“For starters, are you still married? Are you Angie Hague? Oh, wait, maybe it’d be Angela Hague.”

She pressed her hand to her temples. “Shane, please…”

“Does he still have a claim on you? And if he does, why the hell are you sleeping in my bed?”