Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

Sara Mitchell: Even five-year-old Sara could tell her mommy and daddy were still in love. And she desperately wanted to keep her daddy home safe and sound forever—and complete her family!

Kyle Mitchell: After two years under deep cover, the FBI agent came home to find his family in danger. Now nothing would stop this passionate husband and father from defending his own.

Danielle Mitchell: Danielle didn’t want to need Kyle—after all, the sexy secret agent had become a stranger to her during his long disappearance. But she couldn’t deny her daughter his protection. How would she keep herself from falling for the husband she no longer knew?

A Family Homecoming

Laurie Paige

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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LAURIE PAIGE

“One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from RT Book Reviews for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette Book in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list.

Settled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will bring.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Home.

Kyle Mitchell stood on the cracked sidewalk in front of the white ramshackle house. Danielle, his wife of six years, had bought it when she’d moved to Whitehorn two years ago. Until this moment he’d never laid eyes on it.

The wind howled forlornly through the evergreens that lined the drive and formed a windbreak against the driving snow. It slid icy fingers under the thick collar of his down-filled parka, roamed down his spine in a series of chillbumps and robbed the heat from his body.

January in Montana was something to be reckoned with.

The lights of the house glowed faintly through the windows, urging him inside where there would be warmth and human companionship. Still, he lingered.

The letter packed in his luggage didn’t invite a rush into the old homestead, which was sort of Victorian, sort of early ranch house style. The twin gables in the steeply pitched roof indicated a second story, perhaps with bedrooms carved out of the attic.

He wondered where Danielle slept.

The longing he’d blocked for two years hit his chest and radiated outward. Dani, his heart repeated with each beat. Dani.

She wouldn’t be glad to see him. The letter proved that. In it, she had said it was time for a divorce. So that they could get on with their lives. So that the uncertainty of their marriage would be resolved. So that they could be entirely free of each other to do whatever they wanted.

What he wanted…her warmth. Her generous love. Her catchy way of laughing. Dani. Ah, God, Dani.

The wind rushed down the Crazy Mountains, blew snow in a swirl around his head and blinded him for a moment, bringing the unexpected sting of tears to his eyes. When the gust passed and the air cleared again, he blinked away the flakes that clung to his lashes and stared into the eyes of a young girl. Joy flashed through him.

Sara. His daughter. She’d been three when he’d left two years ago.

Her eyes rounded in obvious fright and her mouth dropped open as if in a silent scream. She spun from the window. The heavy curtains dropped into place behind her, shutting out most of the light.

Stunned, he realized she didn’t remember him. That brought its own remorse, separate from all the other regrets that lingered inside him. If he could go back…

But, once started on a course, life wouldn’t let a person go back to Day One and make a better decision. And regret didn’t do a damned thing but deepen the pain of loss.

The words of the letter burned in the back of his brain, stamped there for all time, a personal message from Dani to him written on the crumbling wall of their marriage.

I think it best if we consider divorce. I made the down payment on the house from my own savings. Naturally I would like to keep it. Your salary has mostly gone into your savings account. I did have to use some for Sara, clothes and dentist and such. I have split her expenses with you, which I thought was fair.

Yeah, it was fair. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch that wrapped around the side and front of the house. Damn, but it was colder than a well digger’s…

He would have to watch his language around a five-year-old. The last couple of years had been spent with rough company. He had of necessity spoken their lingo. Now he could shut off that part of his life. It was over.

Just like his marriage.

The cost of serving justice had been high, but the safety of his family had come first, or else the price could have been even higher. The picture of a woman and two children, blasted beyond recognition by a shotgun, lingered in his mind like a horror movie. He’d arrived too late to save them.

Given a tiny twist of fate, that family could have been his. Dani and Sara. It was an image that haunted him in the depths of long, long, lonely nights.

A shiver snaked down his spine. He reached for the handle of the old-fashioned bell on the front door.

Danielle heard Sara’s running steps cross the living room, the formal dining room that they used for a family room, and on the linoleum of the old-fashioned eat-in kitchen—the quaint, cozy kitchen being one of the reasons she’d bought the drafty old house that needed more repairs than a demolition derby junk heap. She laid the stirring spoon aside and knelt just as Sara rushed to her.

“There, darling, it’s all right. Nothing is going to hurt you,” she crooned.

She held her daughter tightly, every fiber of her being ready to fight or soothe or do whatever was necessary to protect her daughter from harm or fear or anything that bothered the five-year-old.

For a second she marveled at the ferocity of feelings that swamped her. She had rarely felt this intensity of emotion, not even in the heady weeks after meeting Kyle, not even during their first year of marriage when she had thought nothing could be more exciting than her dark-haired, blue-eyed FBI agent husband. Fear had put a different spin on the nature of her feelings for her child.

For a moment the loneliness and loss of something—perhaps her expectations that life would be good, that it would be fair—threatened her emotional control. This past month had come close to being too much—

Pushing the thought firmly behind her, she snuggled Sara close until the child’s tremors subsided. Drawing back, she studied the frightened face of the five-year-old.

Blue eyes. Like her father’s. Blond hair, thick like her own auburn curls, but wispy fine as children’s hair often was and so hard to keep contained in barrettes or ponytail bands. At present, hair straggled over Sara’s forehead and tear-reddened cheeks.

Fury crimped the corners of Danielle’s soothing smile. If she ever got her hands on the men who had put fear into Sara’s soul, replacing the trust and bighearted goodness of childhood with the terror of being kidnapped and held for ransom someplace up in the mountains…

“Here, let’s get you fixed up,” she said lightly, putting a brightness she was far from feeling into her voice and smile. She, too, knew fear. Terror was no stranger to her heart. Her nights had been filled with it for weeks.

When her child had been kidnapped and forced to rely on her own quick thinking to escape, Danielle’s view of the world had also changed. The two men who had taken her daughter, thinking she was Jenny McCallum, heiress to the Kincaid fortune, were still on the loose.

The police hadn’t been able to find them after the men grabbed her daughter from the school parking lot. They hadn’t been able to find them after Sara escaped from their lair, even though the authorities knew the general area where the men had held Sara because of the holly berries found in her hair.

December fourth to December eighteenth. Fourteen days of the most awful fear she’d ever known.

Then Dr. Winters had found her child running coatless down the county road, her pixie face streaked with tears.

Anger seared down Danielle’s spine like a hot poker. She hated those men for what they had done to her child. At times during the past month, she had hated the police for not preventing the abduction and for not finding her baby.

Sometimes she hated the FBI who hadn’t answered her call for help after she had gotten Sara back and realized her child was still in mortal danger. Sara was the only one who could identify the men.

And Sara’s father? Did she also hate the supercool FBI undercover agent who had deserted them, who hadn’t answered her frantic calls for help?

She pressed her face into Sara’s sweet baby flesh and fought a need to cry as loudly and painfully as her daughter. With an effort she pulled herself together. There was no point in thinking about it. That was the painful past. She had the terrifying present to contend with now that she and Sara were on their own. They had been staying with Sterling and Jessica McCallum since Sara had been found. Sterling was a special investigator with the Sheriff’s office and he had offered Danielle and Sara the protection of his home. Though Sara had enjoyed staying with the McCallums, who were the parents of her best friend, Jenny, Danielle knew her daughter needed to return to her normal home life sometime and so they’d come home after the New Year.

Taking a deep breath, she fixed the smile more firmly on her face. “Where’s your pony band? Ah, here it is, dangling by a hair.”

No answering smile appeared on Sara’s trembling lips.

Danielle finger-combed the wisps of hair into place and replaced the band around the left ponytail, then did the same for the right side. “There.”

Sara sniffed. She looked worried.

Danielle had consulted the pediatrician about the trauma and how to handle it, especially the fact that Sara hadn’t spoken a word since she had been found. Studying her daughter, Danielle decided this wasn’t a case of Sara’s realizing she’d wandered into a room alone and rushing back to her mother or teacher.

Dear God, what more did she and young Sara have to face? How long could terror last?

“What is it? Can you tell me? What frightened you?” She spoke confidently. As if she could handle everything that life dishes out. Sometimes she wondered how close the breaking point was.

Sara stared at her mutely.

Danielle fought the anger and despair. “Show me, then. Did you see something? Or someone?”

Her heart lurched. She felt the reassuring weight of the semiautomatic pistol tucked into the back waistband of her jeans and covered by a flannel shirt worn over her T-shirt. She didn’t know if she could aim it at a person and deliberately shoot him.

Do not give warning. Point and fire. Keep shooting until they stop coming.

The police training program played through her mind. If someone broke in the house, she was to go into the self-defense mode.

Assume they mean you harm. Because they do.

“Show me, love,” she encouraged with a show of bravado. She would do whatever necessary to protect her child.

Taking Sara’s hand, she gently urged her into the family room, then through the glass-paned doors into the big, drafty living room they never used in winter. Her eyes darted left and right as she tried to see everywhere at once. She didn’t want to be surprised and not have time to use her gun.

Don’t give warning.

The living room was empty of strangers as well as furniture. She couldn’t afford to fill every room in the old house. “I don’t see anything,” she announced, the tension easing out of her neck and shoulders somewhat. “Perhaps you saw your shadow on the wall.”

Sara shook her head vehemently. Curls escaped the hair bands and sprung out around her temples.

Danielle frowned as she checked her daughter’s set face, her fear-filled eyes. “You have to tell me—”

The harsh ring-ring-ring of the old manual doorbell tore a gasp from her and froze the words in her throat.

She and Sara stood as if suspended in the shadowy world of late afternoon, caught on the cusp of winter’s darkness and unable to return to the bright warm world of the kitchen where dinner bubbled in the pot.

The noise grated across her nerves as the bell rang again. Whoever it was, was impatient.

Still she hesitated. Would the kidnappers come to the front door and ring the bell? Maybe pretending to be from the electric company or something? The lights had been flickering ominously all afternoon and a blizzard was churning up outside.

Sara tugged at her hand.

Danielle put on a brave smile and went to the door. She edged the window blind away from the etched glass panes of the oak door and peered outside, her heart going like a frenzied trip-hammer.

An unfamiliar shape stood in the dark shadows of the porch. Definitely masculine. Tall. Lean. His black Stetson wore a rim of snow on top and around the brim. His dark-blue parka was zipped up to his chin. She couldn’t make out the details of his face.

Fear ate at her. Letting go of Sara, she put her right hand behind her and clasped the handle of the .38.

Point and fire.

“Yes?” she said into the crack between the blind and the etched panes. “Who is it?”

A voice from the past spoke to her. “Kyle.”

It was shocking, like meeting someone you knew to be dead and buried right on the street, alive and walking. “Kyle?” she repeated as if she’d never heard of him.

“Your husband,” came the dry reminder. “Open the door. It’s damned…it’s cold out here.”

Sara peered up at her anxiously. For a second, Danielle could only stare at her daughter, her muscles locked in shock, anger, regret, too many emotions to name.

“Kyle,” she said again. “It’s your father,” she said to the child. “Daddy. Do you remember?”

Sara, big-eyed with fear, shook her head.

Danielle pulled herself together. “Wait,” she called out. “I’ll unlock the door.”

Her hand trembled as she flicked open the chain, the dead bolt and finally the old-fashioned key in the door lock. She turned the knob. A blast of cold air hit her in the face as the storm door opened and the man who claimed to be her husband stepped into the tiled foyer.

“It’s colder here than in Denver,” he said and took off his hat, then banged it against the door frame to knock the snow off onto the porch.

Danielle stepped back instinctively and felt Sara’s warm presence as the girl hid behind her, one small fist holding on to Danielle’s flannel shirttail.

Kyle removed his coat, checked the snow that clung to the shoulders and shook it off on the porch before closing both doors against the temperamental wind.

“Where can I hang this so it won’t drip on the floor?” he asked while she locked up.

“In the mudroom.” At his questioning glance, she added, “The kitchen. It’s off the kitchen.”

Trying to grab the tatters of her composure, she led the way back into the light. The homey aroma of beef stew calmed her somewhat when they entered the family room. She closed the French doors behind them to shut out the cold of the unheated areas.

Sara, Danielle noted, kept close to her and far from the silent man who followed at their heels. Looking over her shoulder, she encountered dark-blue eyes that had once turned her insides to jelly. An electrical current ran through her at the visual contact. She wasn’t sure what it meant. The moment seemed surreal.

The bitter gall of subdued anger rose to choke her. It centered on the silent man behind her. She had needed him desperately and he hadn’t come. With the memory came the silent, painful tears she never allowed herself to shed in front of her daughter.

“Did you get my letter?” she blurted, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. Sara scooted behind her and watched Kyle with a distrustful gaze.

He visibly stiffened. “Yes.”

“Well?”

“We’ll talk about it later. We have…other problems to deal with at the present.”

He glanced pointedly at Sara, then back to her. So he knew about the kidnapping, she realized as he spotted the mudroom and went to hang his hat and coat in there.

Turning back to the kitchen, he silently perused her. She saw his gaze take in the thick socks she wore around the house, the jeans that fit her loosely after the ordeal of the past month, the flannel shirt that had once been his, an old T-shirt with an unreadable message.

She was aware she wore no makeup, that her hair, always unruly, was slipping from the rubber band at the base of her neck. She felt vulnerable, as if all her insecurities were laid out bare before the world. She didn’t want him to see. He was a stranger, not the man she’d once trusted with all her heart. She’d lost that man, and she didn’t even know how or why….

Aware of Sara watching them in her solemn way, Danielle bit back the torrent of questions and strived for normalcy.

“We’re about to have supper. Do you want to join us?” she asked.

Her innate politeness, taught at the knee of her loving parents, forced her to be courteous, but she didn’t want to share anything with this man, this stranger back from the dead or wherever he’d been.

“Yes.”

“Well, have a seat.” She gestured vaguely.

He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down with a weary sigh. “It’s been a hell of…a heck of a trip.”

“Two years.” Her voice shook…with rage, with loneliness, with accusation. “You shouldn’t have come. You didn’t have to.”

“You sent for me.”

She denied it with a quick shake of her head.

His eyes narrowed. She watched him, tension in every nerve as if she might have to fight or run at any moment. His cheeks were dark with five-o’clock shadow and leaner than her image of him.

He was all muscle and bone and sinew. As sleek as an otter, every movement fluid and controlled. She remembered the way he could hold back until she was satisfied—

She cringed as if she’d touched a hot stove. She wanted to do something physical, like throw him out with her bare hands, to flail at him until all the pent-up feelings were drained and she was free of them. She wanted answers—why he’d deserted them, and why he’d come back.

But not now, not in front of Sara, who still trembled behind her, frightened of the man who had once been her favorite person.

Sara’s father. Her husband. She wanted to cry.

“Dinner smells good,” he said. “It’s been a long time—” He broke off abruptly.

“Yes.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. She cleared it and spoke more firmly. “Yes, we’ll eat. Then talk.” She lifted Sara into her arms. “It’s okay. This is…this is your daddy. Don’t you remember him?”

The blue eyes darted to the man, back to her. Slowly Sara shook her head.

“She’s frightened of strangers,” she said to Kyle, leveling the blame at him with her gaze.

“I had to go,” he said. “For you and Sara—”

“For us?” she interrupted in blatant disbelief. “For us you disappeared for two years? No visits, no calls, not even a note to tell us you were alive? This was for us?”

Sara hid her face against Danielle’s shoulder. Danielle clamped her lips together, stopping the flood of questions and accusations.

“The case had reached a crisis point,” Kyle said, his tone level and matter-of-fact compared to her emotional outburst, “Luke and the director agreed with my assessment that it was too dangerous for me to go home. You and Sara could have been at risk. I couldn’t chance it.”

“You and Luke and the director,” she repeated with an effort to appear as calm as he did. “What choice was I given in the matter? When were my wishes and needs considered? Sara and I were whisked out of Denver in the dead of night without one word from you. Not one. So much for being a family, for discussing the future, for sharing decisions. So much for loving and honoring and cherishing.”

A flicker of emotion dashed through his eyes…Sara’s eyes…then was gone. Guilt, regret, sadness? She turned away, angry and upset. He should feel guilty.

After placing Sara on the stool at the end of the counter, Danielle went to the stove. She dished up three bowls of stew, poured three glasses of milk and placed a wooden bowl of crackers on the table.

It seemed strange, setting dinner for three when for days, then weeks, then months, it had only been the two of them. She glanced at the dark-faced stranger at the table. For a second, she was more afraid of the man in her kitchen than the two men who threatened their lives.

Kyle inhaled deeply as Danielle set the stew in front of him. The aroma was intoxicating—the rich, meaty smell of the stew, the lemony trace of cleanser and wax used on the furniture, the scent that was unique to his wife—a blend of her cologne and powder and shampoo and her sweet womanly essence.

Home. But not welcome.

The knowledge dwelled in the bottomless pit that had taken over his soul. He studied Danielle’s face, noting her carefully averted gaze, as she finished serving the meal and took her place at the opposite end of the table. Their daughter ate at the counter, still perched on the stool.

Silence fell over the room. An uneasy one. The quiet that had first attracted him to Danielle was now a shield against him. She had withdrawn, enclosed herself in a cocoon of mute hostility that excluded him. He hadn’t expected anything different after reading her letter.

But a man can dream. If only…

He buried the regret. Feelings didn’t count in this case. He wasn’t leaving until he found the guys who had kidnapped his daughter and now threatened his family. Then he would leave. If Dani said he must.

A tiny unexpected light flared in his heart. He extinguished it with an impatience new to him. She didn’t want him here now. She wouldn’t want him to stay.

“How long are you staying?” she asked, shaking him out of his introspection.

“However long it takes,” he said.

Her frown indicated this wasn’t an acceptable answer.

“I’m on R and R for two months.” He figured he’d have the bad guys locked up by then. If not, he would stay longer. That was one thing she didn’t have a choice about.

“Rest and recuperation,” she interpreted. “Did you finish the case you were on?”

He nodded. Two years ago, he’d been assigned to a jury-tampering case that had quickly expanded into gangland violence involving extortion, gambling, racketeering, drugs, you name it. Upon seeing one of the gang’s own family—the man’s wife and kids—soon after they’d been blown to bits because of a disagreement with the gang boss, he had notified Luke, his contact at the regional FBI office, to get Danielle and Sara out of town, just in case the crime lord should find out who he was and decide to do the same to his family. The deeper he’d gotten into their evil world, the more dangerous he had realized it would be for his family if he was exposed.

Her mouth tightened. “I can see you’re not going to regale me with details.”

Too late he realized he should have explained what had happened. But blabbing on about his cases wasn’t part of his credo. It increased the chances of spilling too much to the wrong person at some unguarded moment. He had made it a habit not to discuss details at all. Life was simpler and safer…that way.

“The case is finished. Right now, I’m worried about you and Sara.”

At the sound of her name, his daughter looked at him. Her eyes, so like his own, held fear and wariness. That distrustful gaze stabbed at something deep and primitive inside him.

A memory came to him. Sara, eyes sparkling, dashing into his arms as soon as he came home from a week-long chase after an escaped felon. The sweet baby scent of her—talc and lotion and grape lollipop.

A fist closed around his heart and squeezed hard. He had missed a lot of his little girl’s life.

Danielle gave a little snort of ironic laughter. He looked a question her way.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing we were here in Whitehorn where bad things never happen. When Luke said we had to go, I chose this area because my family once vacationed here. I thought it was safe.”

He hadn’t heard cynicism from her before. It bothered him that she had changed from his memories of her. She had been a friendly, unassuming woman when he’d met her. There had been a quietness about her. He had fallen into the enticing peace of her inner goodness and never wanted to come out.

Dani. Her name echoed through him, his talisman against the darker forces in his life.

He wanted to be buried inside her, exploring her passion, loving her gentle yet feisty ways, her flashes of humor. He needed her, the woman who had looked at him as if her world were contained in his arms.

The sense of loss hit depths that he had carefully avoided stirring for two years.

Danielle, unable to stand the long, empty silence during the meal, rose as soon as she finished. She excused Sara, who returned to a video she’d been watching in the family room, and took her dishes to the sink.

“Do you want more?” she asked, compelled to be polite to the blue-eyed stranger who had watched her with an unrelenting gaze the entire meal, his thoughts totally concealed behind the handsome planes of his face.

“Uh, no. Thanks.” He brought his bowl and glass over.

She was at once aware of his warmth when he stopped beside her. He was over six feet tall and she felt his latent power as a threat to her peace of mind.

Why should she feel threatened by her own husband? Because he was a stranger. Because she didn’t know what he thought about her request for a divorce. Because life was now filled with uncertainties on all fronts, and she didn’t know how to deal with one, much less all of them at once.

Impatient with the jittery state of her nerves, she washed the few dishes, put them in the drainer and turned back to the room, moving a step away from Kyle.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a cold dampness seep into her thick wool socks.

“The snow,” he said, following her gaze to the wet tracks left by his hiking boots. There was a puddle of melting snow under the table, too. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll get the mop—”

“It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

Without direction from her, he went to the mudroom and retrieved the mop stored there. He removed his boots and left them in the small room, then mopped up the puddles on the kitchen floor. He checked the family room and living room, cleaning up melted snow in there before returning the mop to its place.

“There,” he said upon finishing. He glanced at her as if to see if she was pleased with his efforts.

It tore right down into her heart. Kyle’s mother had died when he was young. His father was a stern, demanding man who had rarely praised him. She had found her husband endearing because he liked for her to notice when he did something especially nice for her.

She put a hand to her head, dizzy with sudden longing and wishing she could turn back the clock to the days when she had trusted him with her heart, when he had said he loved her…and then had shown her.

His gaze locked with hers. Questions thickened the air between them. And something more elemental.

She sensed the hidden hunger in him, could feel it ripple over her skin like a warm touch or a sigh. He was a man of driving passions, she had learned during their six years of marriage. Four years, she corrected. The last two didn’t count.

Their courtship had been of the whirlwind variety. She, a quiet efficient librarian, had married a man she’d known only three weeks. Foolish people did foolish things.

Grimacing at the memory, she hurriedly gathered the rest of the dishes. Sara’s stew was only half eaten. Neither she nor her child ate very much these days. Kyle had polished off every bit of the large serving she’d given him. For a second, she resented his ability to ignore problems when it came to satisfying his appetite.

She was probably being unfair. After all, he’d had no part in their recent terror. Frowning, she carried the remaining dishes to the sink. “So what did Luke tell you about us, about the kidnapping?”

She didn’t lower her voice. Dr. Carey had thought it best to speak calmly about the event in front of Sara in hopes it would get her to open up about her ordeal. Other than being cold and frightened, the child hadn’t been physically harmed, thank God.

“Not a lot. I want to hear about it from you. Every detail you remember. Also Sara.”

“She doesn’t speak. She hasn’t since the kidnapping. Not once.” It was another complication, one among many.

His head snapped around. He glanced toward the family room where their child silently watched a video, then back at her. Danielle recognized the bleak pain that appeared in his eyes. It was a feeling she had learned to live with.

“Tell me about the men who took her,” he said.

She was startled at his tone, harsh and businesslike. “Did the FBI assign you to the case?”

Another flicker of emotion dashed through his eyes. “You might say that.”

Which was no answer at all. “Then you’ll be staying until it’s resolved?”

“Do you think I would leave you and Sara to face this alone?” he asked on a soft note.

A chill went up her arms. She’d heard him use that tone when he’d discussed a case with Luke by phone once. In it, she heard determination and grit and an absolute refusal to be distracted from ferreting out the truth.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

A scowl darkened his face.

“How would I?” she defended herself. “You haven’t been around in two years. You made us move away from the place we knew. You weren’t here when we needed you—” Her throat closed and she couldn’t continue. She held on and refused to give in to the despair. Who cared about a woman’s tears?

“I know.” His shoulder moved restlessly under the blue shirt that matched his eyes. “It will be different now.”

Danielle swallowed a retort. Once she had accepted every word he told her as gospel truth. Once she hadn’t minded his trips away from home. She had known he had important work to do that involved saving lives and righting wrongs. But those excuses no longer worked for her.

“You’ve changed,” he said as if reading her mind.

“Two years is a long time.” She headed for the family room. “It’s time for Sara’s bath. Tomorrow is a school day.”

“It’s a blizzard out there. You won’t be able to drive to school,” Kyle told her.

“The elementary school is only two blocks from here. We can walk. Besides, I have four-wheel drive on the car,” she added defensively, feeling criticized.

“Did you get a new car?”

“Yes. From my savings.”

With that parting shot, she left the room. In the bathroom, she started filling the tub while Sara went to their room and removed her clothing. The child brought back several bathtub toys and dumped them in the swirling water, then handed Danielle a book.

Danielle sat on the lid of the toilet to read while Sara acted out the story with her rubber bear and dog and doll family. “There once was a little girl with lovely golden curls and big blue eyes, just like you and Jenny,” Danielle began the story. She paused when Kyle came to the door.

He gestured to indicate she should continue.

Sara shook her head. She pointed at the door and shook her head again.

“She doesn’t want you in here,” Danielle explained. “Men make her nervous nowadays.”

“And I’m a stranger to her,” he murmured.

She saw pain flicker through his eyes, an oddly desolate, lonely ache. She looked away. She didn’t want to feel anything for him, not sympathy or need or desire, not anything. It was much too late.

He left without another word.

An hour later, Danielle returned to the kitchen. Kyle sat at the table. She saw he had made a pot of coffee.

She poured a cup and took her usual seat. Fatigue dragged at her heels. “There’s a guest room upstairs. It isn’t heated, though.”

“Anything will do.”

She pressed her fingers against her temples where a headache pounded with each heartbeat. “The attic bedroom will be freezing. The sofa in the family room makes into a queen-size bed. That might be better. I only heat part of the house in the winter,” she added as if he had made some remark about her thrifty ways.

“The sofa will be fine.”

His voice dropped to a deeper, huskier tone as he spoke. She remembered past homecomings, times when she had rushed into his arms, filled with the incredible excitement of his nearness, the demanding hunger riding high in both of them. They had been like kids in their eagerness to rush to the bedroom after Sara was safely tucked into bed.

“I share a room with Sara in the winter,” she added for no reason. “I moved her bed in my room.”

“There’s no place for me in your bedroom,” he interpreted. He gave a half smile. “I get the message, Danielle. I read it in your letter.”

She was shaken by the incredible bleakness of his tone. “I just meant…I don’t want any misunderstandings between us. At the end of your R and R, you’ll leave.”

He didn’t answer, only stared at her until she looked away. She decided she’d been mistaken about the emotion.

“I’ll show you where the sheets and blankets are.” She rushed down the hallway to the linen closet and wondered who or what she was running from.

Chapter Two

Kyle woke instantly, alert and still. He heard the noise again. The coffeemaker burped, then began a rhythmic gurgling as it heated up. The radio came on. He relaxed.

The announcer detailed the day’s weather. “Cloudy in the morning, perhaps some sun breaking through in the afternoon. Snow flurries again tonight. All roads are open at present. Schools will keep to a regular schedule until further notice.”

Listening to his wife’s quiet movements as she prepared breakfast, he faced the facts of his life. He was thirty-eight years old and he had blown the one perfect thing in his life. He would have to learn to live with that.

Some foolish part of him had hoped that Dani and Sara would rush to him last night and welcome him home. He pushed the thought down into the dark pool along with all his grief.

His own fault. Choices. Everyone made choices. Maybe his had been the wrong one….

He rose and pulled jeans and the blue shirt over his thermals, then padded down the hall to the bathroom. There was only one. He had discovered this after Dani and Sara had gone to bed.

He’d searched the whole house last night until he knew it like the back of his hand. In case of a nasty surprise by the kidnappers, he wanted to know every nook and cranny.

He had also chosen a room for himself across the hall from his wife and daughter. In the attic bedroom, he’d found a usable bed frame that he could move downstairs. The attic had been freezing, as Danielle had noted.

The old house could use a thick layer of insulation. And new windows, he added as the wind shook the panes and puffs of frigid air circulated around him. The foundation and framing were sturdy, but the place needed a major overhaul. It would cost a mint to hire the work done.

He had worked his way through college as a carpenter and was pretty good with his hands. But this wasn’t his house. It wouldn’t be his home. Danielle was right. He had left his family, no matter the reasons, and they no longer trusted him. He had no place in this house.

After a quick shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and proceeded to shave.

Sensing a presence, he looked at the door. It was ajar and a small face peered at him through the crack. He smiled and pushed the door open with his toe. “Sara. How’s it going with you this morning?”

She ran off as if he had growled at her.

The fist squeezed his heart again. If he’d been at home the past two years, would his kid be afraid of him even after her ordeal? He knew the answer was no.

From deep inside, the pool of emotion he hadn’t realized existed until he’d gotten that letter from Danielle shifted and churned bleakly. He finished shaving and went to the room where he’d stored his luggage.

Five minutes later he entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said softly.

His wife spun about, fear on her face, determination in the set of her mouth. He watched her take in everything about the situation—him, the distance between them, the threat of danger. She was as edgy as a startled cat.

“Relax,” he advised and pushed a smile on his face with an effort. “Okay if I have a cup of coffee?”

Danielle gestured with her left hand toward the pot. “Help yourself.”

Her right hand, behind her and hidden by an old flannel shirt that he recognized as another of his, dropped to her side. She flexed her fingers as if they were stiff.

“I’m making oatmeal,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Do you want some?”

“Please.”

She nodded without looking at him and busied herself toasting English muffins and stirring a pot. A longing to go over and bury his face against the side of her neck, to breathe her fragrance into his starved body, speared right through him, churning up the dark pool. Regret rose to the surface. He would never have that right again.

“Sara, breakfast,” she called.

He took a drink of coffee, studying his wife as she stood at the stove. The hot need that flooded his body took him by surprise. He fought the urge and conquered it. Control was important. It was all he’d had going for him many times in his life. It would get him through the present.

He had already accepted that his return wasn’t going to result in conjugal bliss, so he’d thought he had the hunger under wraps. His libido was showing him otherwise. He carried the cup to the table and took a seat. His jeans were tight and uncomfortable.

“So, Sara, are you in third grade yet?” he asked his daughter when she entered and perched on her stool in thick pajamas that covered her from neck to toes.

She looked startled. Her glance darted toward her mother, but Danielle was busy elsewhere. Sara shook her head, slowly at first, then more firmly.

“Well, you’re in first grade then,” he teased.

This time she was a bit more self-assertive. She shook her head immediately.

“Oh, of course, you’re still in Tiny Tots.” He nodded as if remembering. “I used to drop you off at Miss Engles’s on the days Mommy had to open the library early. We would have doughnuts for breakfast at the diner and keep it a secret because Mommy thought we should eat cereal.”

“Sara is in kindergarten,” Danielle interjected, bringing their bowls to the table. She frowned at him.

“Kindergarten?” he said as if amazed. “That old? You must be…” He pretended to search for an answer.

Finally Sara held up one hand, palm outward, fingers and thumb splayed. Relief eased the soreness inside. His daughter had responded to him.

“Five. That’s right.” He smiled in approval.

Sara stared at him with an unwavering gaze and no answering smile. Danielle served them without a word. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“Eat up,” she said. “It’s almost time to go.”

She was speaking to Sara. He felt the chill of her rejection to his bones. Please let me know your thoughts on the divorce as soon as possible, her letter had read.

Always the polite librarian. But she was also his secret delight—his enchanting, passionate lover, the calm center of his being, all the good things in life.

The ache intensified. Maybe he should have handled things differently, but it had been easier to close off that side of his life than think about missing her and Sara. For their safety, he’d been willing to pay the price. He hadn’t realized at the time it would include his soul.

Danielle forced her hands to move, to do the usual morning chores, to act normal when everything about her seemed so totally alien.

She’d spent a restless night—that was nothing new—but a new element had been added. She had listened to the sounds of Kyle prowling the house and wondered what he was thinking…feeling…if he was remembering…

Had he missed her at all during those two years? If he asked, she could tell about missing him and about the loneliness of being abandoned and wondering why. Why? she wondered again now. Because of the danger? He’d told her of that possibility before they were married. She’d accepted it and determined to live with it. He’d worked on other dangerous cases. There were other ways to protect agents’ families without leaving them. She would have done anything to keep their family together. All he’d had to do was ask.

Shutting off the useless thoughts, she buried herself in the trivia of day-to-day living. “Shoes,” she told Sara after the child was dressed in plaid flannel pants and a red turtleneck. “Hurry.”

She put on her insulated boots and heavy coat after helping Sarah with her hat and mittens. They were ready to go. Kyle was at the door, dressed in the parka and black hat he’d worn last night.

“I’ll take you in the truck,” he said.

His tone indicated he was in no mood to argue. Giving him a hard look to let him know she would go because she thought it best, not because she was obeying his orders, she followed him to his pickup. She didn’t want him doing things for them. She didn’t want to learn to need him and then be deserted all over again.

Before she could do more than open the pickup door, he was there, scooping Sara up and depositing her on the seat, then his strong hands were at her waist and she found herself lifted as effortlessly as a doll and put firmly on the passenger seat.

“I could have gotten in by myself,” she rebuked after he’d gotten in, put the truck in gear and backed carefully out of the drive. He gave her a glance and said nothing.

Her neighbor’s son had plowed the drive before she’d gotten up that morning and the county road department had already done the street, so they arrived without mishap at the school. Danielle wasn’t surprised when Kyle went in with her and checked the room out.

“Introduce me to the teacher,” he requested.

Resentment flared in her, but she did as he ordered. Lynn was one of her best friends as well as Sara’s teacher. “Lynn, this is Sara’s father, Kyle Mitchell. Lynn Taylor, I mean, Garrison.”

Laughing, Lynn stepped forward. “I was recently married,” she explained, holding out her hand.

As Danielle watched the lovely blonde smile and talk to Kyle, a funny feeling came over her. Not that she was jealous. Kyle meant nothing to her. But she couldn’t help remembering that once he’d brought her such joy.

However, she obviously meant nothing to him. A two-year absence without a letter or phone call proved that. She had accepted it, grieved over it and gotten on with life.

But she still felt funny watching him talk to her friend, even one recently wed and obviously in love with her very new husband. For a birthday present, she had given Lynn a makeover at the Whitehorn Beauty Salon. The results had been startling as Lynn’s natural beauty had surfaced.

Danielle, stifling the odd feelings, helped Sara with her coat and spoke to Jenny and her mother, Jessica. The girls ran to their table and took their seats, Jenny talking a mile a minute while Sara nodded or shook her head. Danielle’s heart ached. She hoped their friendship lasted their whole lives—

“Sterling says there are no clues,” Jessica told her and sighed resignedly. “We’re afraid to let Jenny out of our sight for a minute.”

“I know what you mean,” Danielle commiserated.

“The Kincaid fortune,” Jessica murmured, speaking of the legacy that had been left to her daughter when Wayne Kincaid and Clint Calloway, Jenny’s half brothers, had given up their share of the Kincaid legacy. Both men had decided to put the estate in trust for Jenny. Neither man wanted anything their father, Jeremiah, had left them. Now Jessica understood why. “I agree with Wayne. The Kincaid name is nothing but a curse.” After all, Jenny’s life was in danger simply because those kidnappers knew what she had to inherit.

Wayne Kincaid had unexpectedly returned to Whitehorn after years of being away. Everyone had thought he had been killed in Vietnam, so the story went, but he returned under an assumed name to check out the town and the Kincaid ranch.

He had helped nab some men who were trying to destroy the ranch so they could buy it for a song, then, his identity exposed, he’d stayed on. He had married Carey Hall, the pediatrician who took care of Sara and Jenny. The couple had just been blessed with their first child together at Christmas, and seven-year-old Sophie, Carey’s daughter from her first marriage, was delighted to have a baby brother.

“I didn’t know your husband had returned,” Jessica continued, looking over Danielle’s shoulder.

“Yes, for a while. A couple of months,” she added so that no one, including herself, would think it was a permanent arrangement.

Jessica cast her a quizzical glance but didn’t ask any questions. Danielle was grateful.

She glanced across the room. The teacher was explaining the security in place for the girls to Kyle. Rafe Rawlings, who had recently been promoted to the town sheriff, had taken on the case himself and would be within a few feet of them at all times while they were at school. Lynn pointed out the window to a man dressed as a custodian.

“Sterling said Shane McBride was coming out to do a security check on your house this morning,” Jessica continued after a thoughtful moment.

“Oh, good,” Danielle said distractedly. Shane was the deputy sheriff and was working with Rafe on the case.

She felt she knew and had dealt with every law enforcement officer in the county during the past month. All except the one she’d needed so desperately—her husband.

Kyle strode toward her. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes.” She introduced him to Jessica. “Sterling McCallum is a special investigator with the sheriff’s office—”

“I know who he is.” Taking her arm, Kyle nodded to Jessica and ushered them out of the building.

On the way home, Danielle went over several opening statements in her mind and discarded them all. “Don’t manhandle me in front of my friends,” she finally said.

He cocked one dark eyebrow. “Only when we’re alone? Okay, I can handle that.”

She clenched her hand inside her mitten. “Don’t touch me at all. And don’t give me orders.”

He turned in the drive and parked. Leaning against the door, he observed her for a long moment. “You ordered me out of the library the first time we met. It was time to close, but I wasn’t finished researching old issues of the newspaper for information.”

She stared out the window, wisps of memory floating around in her mind. It had been a day much like this one—cold and cloudy and threatening snow. She had ended up helping him, then walking across the street for coffee, which turned into a late meal, then he’d walked her to her car and driven behind her until she was safely in her small cozy house. He’d been waiting when the library opened the next morning. Her heart had quickened. When they’d married, he had moved from his sparse apartment to her two-bedroom cottage. Those had been the happy days, the star-crossed sun-kissed days.

“There’s no point in remembering.” She climbed out, slammed the pickup door and went into the house, her heart heavy with a mass of confused feelings.

He didn’t come in until he’d made a circuit of the house and the stable in the back that had been converted into a four-car garage. After fighting a battle with her conscience, she had told him he could park there, too.

He’d accepted her offer and was gone a half hour. She figured he was checking out the building. When he returned, a cobweb caught on his hat confirmed her suspicion.

His dark-blue gaze met hers. She was at once aware of the silence that surrounded them. They were alone.

Flames ignited in the depths of his eyes. His gaze roamed over every inch of her as if he were comparing her to his memories the way she found herself constantly doing. Sweet, treacherous yearning blazed over her. Her body answered the question in his eyes with a resounding yes.

Shaken, she looked away. Her heart beat like a trapped bird in a cage. Once they would have rushed into each other’s arms. Endless kisses would have been followed by endless caresses, the merging of their bodies and their souls. No! Don’t even think it.

Stretching her arms to the side, she clutched the edge of the countertop and held on, waiting for her body to follow her mind’s bidding. She gazed at the snow out the window and thought of cold things—winter rain, glaciers…loneliness. Heat radiated over her back.

Kyle’s hands clasped the counter beside hers. His warmth caressed her arms, her back, her thighs. She was trapped. Like a cornered animal, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think—

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

His cheek brushed her hair as he leaned his head near and peered out the window. A tremor raced through her.

“The mountains can help put life into perspective,” he continued on a soft, husky note. “They lift our aspirations above the petty irritations of daily life.”

She stared at the snow-covered peaks, but her thoughts didn’t rise to lofty heights. They dwelt on more mundane matters—the earthly delights of kisses and lovemaking and the sharing of hearts and souls. She pressed her teeth into her lower lip and fought the yearning.

His hands touched hers, then glided up her arms. “When I look at the mountains, I think of you.”

He caressed her shoulders, then slid his fingers into her hair and gathered it into bunches in his fists. Through their reflected images in the windowpane, she saw him bury his face in the thick strands and inhale deeply.

“Why?” she asked, needing to know more, seeking an answer to why he had left her. “Why think of me?”

He lifted his head and met her gaze in the reflection. “Because, like the mountains, you remind me of all the good things in life. You are the good things.”

His gaze didn’t waver, but compelled her to listen, to believe what he said. She wanted to. Heaven help her, but she wanted so desperately to turn and fling herself into his arms and beg him never to leave again.

“Dani,” he whispered.

Her name seemed to echo through the silent house, full of need and a desperation she’d never heard from this man who had never truly needed anyone. His lips touched her temple. His hands gathered her hair and lifted it aside. He kissed the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes, feeling vulnerable and helpless. The way she had when Sara was taken. Helpless. And alone.

“No,” she said. It was hardly a murmur.

“Don’t shut me out.”

She heard the agony, and it stunned her. The man she had known would never express such an emotion. He dipped his head. She felt the touch of his lips against her throat, a butterfly caress that threatened to melt the icy core that had enabled her to survive the past two years. For a moment, she imagined that he had been as lonely as she.

“No,” she said again, stronger this time. “I can’t go back. I’m not that person anymore.” Whirling, she faced him. “I don’t believe in us anymore.”

Silence so deep, so filled with despair she thought she would weep, echoed around them. His features shifted slightly, becoming as unreadable as stone. He dropped his hands and stepped back.

She retreated to the small office off her bedroom and turned on the computer. Her hands shook. By sheer willpower, she forced her thoughts to the task at hand. She had a job to do. She had to support herself and Sara. She wouldn’t depend on anyone else. She couldn’t go back.

Bending her head over her notes, she began the task of checking actual library inventory against what the files said they were supposed to have. The inventory and updating of the files for the whole county library system had provided a much needed job and distraction from Kyle’s disappearance when she had first arrived in Whitehorn. She worked twenty hours a week on a schedule that suited her.

She was building a life here. She didn’t need anything else, or anyone other than her child.

A short while later Kyle appeared in the doorway. His face was devoid of expression other than the sternly disciplined remoteness he assumed when working on a case. “Rafe Rawlings and Shane McBride are here. You want to join us?”

She nodded, saved her data on the computer and followed him out to the kitchen. The two men were at the table, coffee mugs in hand. Kyle had made a fresh pot.

Make yourself at home. She sent the thought to her errant husband and couldn’t decide if she was angry or not, or if she should be or not. A husband who wasn’t a husband was a very confusing proposition. She avoided meeting his eyes. Therein lay danger, but she couldn’t say what kind.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Please, keep your seats,” she said, putting on her best hostess smile.

She flicked on the oven and prepared a pan of frozen cinnamon rolls, which would bake in ten minutes. She joined the men at the table in the meantime.

“Start at the beginning,” Kyle requested of the men.

Shane McBride told Kyle about the day Angela had come to interview for a teacher’s position and had been roughed up in the parking lot outside the school. Sara and Jenny had taken a shortcut through there on their way to rehearsal for the Christmas pageant and had witnessed the incident and started screaming. One of the men had chased after them and grabbed Sara, who, as the girls often did, had exchanged coats with Jenny McCallum. Jenny’s name was sewn into her jacket and the two men believed they had the heiress to the Kincaid fortune.

“That’s why they thought they could get a million dollars in ransom,” Shane added.

“The McCallums got the money together to pay the ransom even though it wasn’t their daughter,” Danielle said. “I’ll never forget that.”

“No,” Kyle agreed.

Their eyes met. They shared a second of complete accord that warmed some part of Danielle that had been cold for a long time. She looked away, remembering that her friends had been there for her while her husband had been working on the case that had demanded all his time and attention.

“Why were the kidnappers after the woman in the parking lot?” Kyle asked the detective.

“Well, it could have something to do with Angela’s first husband. He was killed in an auto accident, but there were bad feelings between him and his partner, who disappeared after that. The business went bankrupt and Angela was left nearly penniless. And pregnant.”

“Angela and Shane were recently wed,” Danielle told Kyle. “Just before Christmas.”

One dark eyebrow rose, but Kyle said nothing other than a congratulatory murmur to Shane, who nodded, a red tinge coming into his cheeks. Shane apparently had fallen hard and fast for the widow. Angela had had amnesia after the thugs had knocked her out. Upon recovering, she still hadn’t been able to give the police any information. But Shane had taken her under his protection—and into his heart.

Danielle’s eyes stung. Shane was gentle and protective with his wife. There had been a rash of marriages in Whitehorn recently. Dr. Winters, who had found Sara running down the road when she escaped, had married Leah Nighthawk shortly after the holidays. Lynn, Sara’s kindergarten teacher and Danielle’s good friend, had eloped with local attorney Ross Garrison after a whirlwind courtship.

Danielle brought her attention back to the discussion at hand. Kyle asked about the holly berries discovered in Sara’s hair when she was found.

“We tried to trace her tracks but couldn’t. The problem is, the hills where that particular holly grows are full of caves and old mining sites,” Shane continued. “We looked over the general area.”

“Did you take Sara there?” Kyle glanced at Danielle.

She shook her head. “Carey—she’s Sara’s pediatrician—didn’t think we should. The trauma was too recent.”

Kyle nodded, a dangerous expression in his eyes.

She realized he hated the men who had frightened their daughter as much as she did. If he ever got his hands on their hides, well, she could almost feel sorry for them.

Kyle sipped the coffee while he thought. “I’d like to explore the area myself. If you wouldn’t mind.” He glanced at Rafe, the senior lawman on the case.

Rafe nodded his agreement.

Shane spoke up. “You know who might be able to help? Homer Gilmore. He knows these hills better than anyone. He’s prospected them for years.”

“Where do I find him?” Kyle asked, sitting forward.

“That’s hard to say. His daughter is married to a doctor here in town and manages his office. You could stop by and ask if she’s seen Homer lately.”

“I’ll do that. What’s the doctor’s name?”

By the time the meeting broke up, Danielle felt they might be getting somewhere. Today was the first time anyone had mentioned the Gilmore person. After the two lawmen left, she turned to Kyle, excitement stirring inside so that she kept getting little odd pangs in her chest. “I want to go with you.”

He gave her a puzzled stare. “Where?”

“To search the woods. Sara’s pediatrician is married to Wayne Kincaid. They own part of the old Baxter ranch—”

Kyle held up a hand. “Slow down. What does the Baxter ranch have to do with anything?”

“It joins the Kincaid spread. That’s where Sara was held, where the holly berries came from. She’d stuck twigs in her hair like she does when she played dress-up with her dolls. I want to help you look for clues.”

“You used to do that,” he said slowly.

“What?” She tried to think what she had done.

“Get excited about planning activities together. Your words would rush all over each other and your cheeks would glow. Like now.”

He reached out and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. Heat rushed to the spot. His eyes darkened.

Memory and passion reawakened in her in an instant explosion of hunger and need. She had been alone so long, had been frightened and uncertain and helpless all the days Sara was gone. At times, while comforting Sara, she had longed for comforting, too.

She folded her arms and pulled herself inward where nothing could hurt her. “I needed you,” she whispered. “I was so afraid. Our baby…our little girl. I didn’t know if she was dead or alive. I didn’t know if they had hurt her…if she was crying in pain….”

Tears filled her throat and she couldn’t speak.

Arms enclosed her. His hands stroked her hair, and he spoke in a low soothing murmur. “I know.”

For a second, she let the warmth flow around her, almost let it reach her heart. But this was fantasy and she had learned, oh, yes, she had learned, to deal with reality. She jerked away.

“You don’t,” she accused, her eyes burning, her chest hurting. “You weren’t there. You didn’t know. You didn’t care—”

In one stride, he was in her face. “I cared,” he uttered in a menacing snarl. “Don’t ever say I didn’t care. Because you don’t know about that. You don’t know what I had to give up—” He stopped abruptly.

She didn’t flinch from the harsh stare. “What? What? Tell me. Did you spend scary nights in a strange town where you didn’t know a soul? Did days go by while you waited for some word, for a call, a postcard, anything, that says the person you love is alive and remembers he has a family? And did worry give way to despair as you tried to answer a little girl’s questions about her father and finally hear the child quit asking God to bless her daddy?”

“Dani,” he whispered hoarsely.

She shook her head, the tears close, so close. “Did you place frantic calls, only to be told nothing, except the person you needed with your whole heart and soul couldn’t be reached, not even for an emergency? Let’s compare notes. We can talk about the loneliness that tears the nights to shreds. We can discuss the fears that eat a person alive from the inside out. Then we’ll consider what was given up and what was lost and what was thrown away—”

She choked on the words, unable to go on.

Not a muscle moved as he stared into her eyes. They stood as if frozen for all time.

Finally, a ripple passed over his face. “I can’t,” he said softly, sadly. “Talk is pointless. There’s no going back, is there?” He walked out of the kitchen, put on his coat and boots in the mudroom and left the house.

Part of her wanted to apologize. She wanted to wipe out the blackness that had permeated his gaze while he listened to the torrent of accusations. She wanted him to explain the sadness she had seen for a terrible second before he turned from her. She wanted to know if he really had suffered or if he’d just forgotten about them until it was convenient to come back.

She placed a hand against her chest and wondered if she was having a heart attack and if she wasn’t, then how could the pain be so great. She thought again of the sad expression in his eyes. She sniffed twice and pulled herself together with an effort.

Maybe someone needed to invent a Richter scale to measure who suffered the most in marriage.

She couldn’t find a laugh, not even a cynical one, anywhere inside her at the thought. Sighing shakily, she wondered why he hadn’t explained or at least tried to defend himself during her tirade.

Because there was no defense for abandoning your family. It was a thing beyond understanding, beyond forgiving. But there was an answer: Because he hadn’t cared enough to stay. If he had loved her…

She pressed both hands to her chest and waited for the ache to subside.

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