Kitabı oku: «Snow Baby», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS THE SILENCE that woke him.

Dillon blinked and raised his head to listen. The wind had died. What time was it? Difficult to tell. The snow piled on top of the truck kept the inside dark, but he’d bet it was morning.

He shifted slightly, trying not to wake Chantel as he let some of the blood flow back into the arm she was sleeping on. It had been quite a night! He grinned, remembering Chantel’s first warm willing response and the times he’d made love to her since. Sometimes she was a little shy and reserved, sometimes she played the temptress. But the crazy thing was that he couldn’t get enough of her. Even now, just looking at her face, sweet and passive in sleep, he wanted to wake her and lose himself in her arms again.

“Is the storm over yet?” she asked, her eyelids fluttering open, despite Dillon’s decision to let her sleep.

“I think so.”

“Darn.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “What does that mean?”

“They’ll be coming for us.”

“Isn’t that what we want?”

Her large eyes gazed up at him, and he caught his breath. Was it possible to fall in love in only one night?

“I don’t want reality to intrude,” she complained. Then she sighed. “I have to go see my sister. You have your friends waiting for you.” Her silky limbs wrapped around him again, and she kissed his neck. “Mmm, I guess we got a little sweaty last night. You taste salty.”

He laughed. “We got a lot sweaty, among other things.”

“It was incredible, wasn’t it?”

“Good enough that you won’t forget me before we get home?”

“How could I forget the man who saved my life?”

“Hey, that’s right! Doesn’t that make you my slave or something?”

“No!” She tried to wriggle away, but he restrained her.

“Come on, slave, I’m getting hungry for more of you…”

She groaned. “You’re insatiable! Not again! I’m tired.” Running her fingers up and down his spine, she massaged the stiff muscles in his back, then pulled him down for a long searching kiss.

Dillon savored the taste of her, wishing they were at his place so they could get up and take a hot shower together and eat something. “If we were home, I’d make you breakfast in bed,” he told her.

“Where’s home?”

“Lafayette.”

“We live that close to each other?”

He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Yep. And then, after breakfast, I’d get you in the tub and lather your hair and massage your scalp and lick water off the tips of your breasts…”

“Hmm…maybe I’m not as tired as I thought,” she said, but before Dillon could take her up on the invitation, they heard some kind of heavy machinery moving toward them.

Chantel groaned. “A snowplow. They’re here, aren’t they?”

Dillon listened to the noise get louder and louder as the plow made its way through the heavy snow. “That’s my guess.”

She sighed and studied him, looking somber for the first time that morning. “I haven’t thanked you for coming back for me, Dillon. Who knows how long I would’ve had to wait before the police found me? I couldn’t even give them good directions. What you did was so brave.”

He wiggled his brows to make her laugh again. “And I’ve been handsomely rewarded.”

“Roll over and let me hold you,” she said. “Just until they get here.”

He obeyed, and she curved her body, spoon-fashion, along the back of his.

“What are we going to do about clothes?” she asked, the noise of the plow nearly drowning out her voice. “I don’t like the idea of being caught in such a vulnerable position.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get out and take care of everything. You can stay modestly covered back here.”

“Thanks, Dillon.”

“Chantel?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Can I call you when we get home?” he asked, half-afraid she’d refuse him for some reason only she knew.

But a yes sounded in his ear, and he smiled and pulled her arms more tightly around him.

CHANTEL DREW a deep breath and stared up at the A-frame log cabin that corresponded to the address on the directions Stacy had given her—and wished she was still with Dillon. After all the highs and lows of the past night, she felt physically and emotionally spent. The last thing she wanted to do right now was face her sister.

If only she hadn’t given her word and could simply head back home—

“Omigosh, Chantel, what happened to you?” Stacy appeared in the doorway and frowned at the damaged Jaguar. “Now your car doesn’t look any better than my Honda.”

Chantel gave her a tired grin, feeling awkward and unsure of how to greet her sister. Should she rush over and hug Stacy as though they hadn’t been estranged for ten years? Just smile and wave “hello”?

Remembering her sister’s cold response the first time Chantel had contacted her—when she’d just returned from New York and had blubbered her way through a painful apology—she opted for the smile and jammed her hands in her pockets. “Would you believe I got stuck in the storm last night and had to wait for the police to bring a tow and get me out?”

“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you call me?”

I’ve been worried. For a split second, Chantel hoped to hear those words, but Stacy didn’t add them. “I drove off without the phone number.” She chuckled, feeling her palms start to sweat and wishing, more than ever, that she could climb back in her car and drive away.

“Are you okay?”

I’ve been worried.

Again the words didn’t come. Chantel clenched her fists in the pockets of her baggy jeans. Her sister would never say anything that indicated that she still cared. Why hope?

“I think I’ll be better after I shower and have something to eat. Tell me this place has hot water.”

“It does. Everyone else left to go skiing, so the bathrooms are free.”

“Oh! I’m sorry if waiting for me made you miss the fun.”

Stacy paused halfway between the door and the Jaguar. “No, actually I’m expecting someone else. He’ll be here anytime.”

Chantel felt a blush heat her cheeks. What had she been thinking? She forced a smile. “So you’ve met a guy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You never mentioned him on the phone.”

“There wasn’t any reason to go into it. I told you I was inviting a few friends, and I did.”

“Well, tell me about him,” Chantel said, trying to act like any normal sister would. Besides Stacy’s father, who lived a hermit’s life somewhere in New Mexico, they had no family left. Whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, they needed each other.

Stacy shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“Where did you meet?”

“At the hospital. We’ve known each other for a couple of years.”

“He’s a doctor?”

“No, he was there for a meeting with one of the doctors. He was handling the majority of the tenant improvements for the medical building next door.”

“And you really like him?”

For a moment Stacy’s hard shell cracked and she gave Chantel a genuine smile. “Like him! You should see him! I’ve never been so head over heels in love. I’m going to marry this one or die trying.”

Chantel laughed. “Wow. He must be something. I can’t wait to meet him.”

The shadow of old pain fell across Stacy’s face, making Chantel regret the simple offhand remark. “Stacy—”

“I know. You’d better have that shower,” she said briskly. “Let’s take your stuff inside.”

Trying to remember the warmth and approval she’d felt with Dillon, Chantel focused on his parting kiss and his promise to call her as soon as she arrived home.

She could do this. She was only staying in Tahoe till Sunday, and thinking of Dillon would get her through the weekend.

Thinking of Dillon could get her through anything.

HAD STACY’S BOYFRIEND arrived? Chantel stepped out of the shower and listened for voices in the living room as she pulled on the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she’d had her sister toss in the dryer, but heard nothing beyond the distant drone of the television.

“Stace?” she called out.

A light step sounded in the hall, and her sister poked her head into the bedroom just as Chantel began to work the snarls out of her long hair. “You done?”

“Yeah. It felt great. Is your friend here?”

“Not yet. He called to say he stopped off for a late breakfast. He’ll be here any minute.”

Chantel smiled at her sister’s barely concealed excitement. “You still want to get married, Stace?”

“If I want kids, I don’t have a lot of time to waste. I’m already thirty-two.” She fingered Chantel’s expensive leather luggage.

“That’s only three years older than me.” Only, I don’t have to worry about getting married…or having kids. Instinctively Chantel pressed a hand to her stomach. The ultimate price. She wondered if Stacy would more easily forgive her if she knew, then rejected the idea. She wouldn’t play on her sister’s sympathy. That was cowardly. She’d gotten what she deserved. Wasn’t that what Wade had said the last time she’d seen him?

For once in his life he’d been right.

“After age thirty, three years counts for a lot,” Stacy said, plopping down on the bed while Chantel applied lotion to her face.

“While the rest of us were dreaming of having careers, you always wanted to marry and settle down,” Chantel murmured.

“Ever since I graduated from high school, but all too often I made the mistake of bringing them home. Then they’d see you.”

And what had stopped her from finding a husband during the past ten years, while Chantel was in New York?

Chantel stifled the defensive retort. She didn’t want to start a fight. She was here to rebuild her relationship with Stacy, not destroy it. “I’m sorry, Stace. I can’t understand why anyone would rather be with me than you.”

Her sister sighed. “Look in the mirror, Chantel. That explains everything.”

Chantel gazed into the mirror that contrasted her tall lean form with her sister’s short slightly stocky build, her light eyes with her sister’s chocolate-colored irises.

“We’re as opposite as night and day, aren’t we?” Stacy said.

“My father was tall and blond, yours short and dark. Mother loved them both. We didn’t get to place an order. I certainly never asked to be six feet tall.”

“And I never asked for saddlebags. Them’s the breaks, I guess.”

Chantel glanced at her sister’s curvy figure. “You don’t have saddlebags. I’ve always wanted to be petite, like you.”

A knock from the front of the cabin interrupted them, and Stacy jumped to her feet. “He’s here!”

Waving her out of the room, Chantel said, “You go enjoy him. I’m pretty tired after last night. I think I’ll lie down for a while. Which bunk is mine?”

There were two unmade beds and two that hadn’t been touched. “Take your pick of those,” Stacy said, already on her way out. At the door she turned back. “On second thought, why don’t you meet him before your nap? We may as well get it over with.”

Chantel cringed at the tone of Stacy’s voice. She sounded as if she’d rather have root-canal work than introduce her sister to her boyfriend, but Chantel threw her shoulders back and took a deep breath.

Stacy was in love. It was time to meet her sister’s Mr. Right—and to let him know he’d better not so much as throw a friendly smile in her direction.

Following her sister, she headed into the small cluttered living room, filled with a half-dozen pieces of mismatched furniture surrounding a black fireplace insert. Through the front window overlooking the drive, she caught a glimpse of a white sports utility vehicle. But the sight struck no chord in her until Stacy opened the door, and she saw Dillon Broderick standing on the front porch.

CHAPTER FIVE

“CHANTEL! WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Dillon looked from Stacy to Chantel and back again. There were hundreds of cabins in the Tahoe area, and thousands of people came up on any given weekend to ski. What were the chances of running into her again? Not that he was unhappy about it. He’d been thinking about the new woman in his life ever since they’d parted, missing her, already looking forward to calling her. It just wasn’t a pleasant surprise to find Chantel in company with the woman he’d been dating for the past few weeks.

Stacy’s brows knitted together. “You two know each other?”

Dillon smiled uncomfortably. “Actually we—”

“Got in a car accident coming up here,” Chantel cut in, her voice brisk. “We don’t really know each other, just met briefly out in the storm to exchange insurance information.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry about our little fender bender, by the way.”

Just met briefly out in the storm? After what happened last night? Dillon wasn’t sure how to react. The time he’d spent with Chantel meant something to him. She meant something to him. At the same time, he’d been dating Stacy for the past few weeks, and while they hadn’t become serious or exclusive or anything, he wasn’t sure exactly what she expected of him.

“I’m sure the insurance will take care of the Landcruiser,” he said shortly. “How do you two know each other?”

“Chantel’s my sister,” Stacy replied.

Dillon wished he could step back into his truck until his head stopped reeling and he could catch his breath. Stacy’s sister? He’d just slept with Stacy’s sister? His gaze flew from Chantel’s elegant fine-boned face, now devoid of color, to Stacy’s pixie cuteness, and he wondered where the family resemblance was. He and Stacy had been friends for two years, but he couldn’t remember her ever having mentioned a sister.

“It’s cold outside. Come on in and tell me about last night,” Stacy said with a quick welcoming hug.

Dillon glanced helplessly over Stacy’s head to Chantel, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Jamming her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she stared at the carpet.

Stacy hooked an arm through his and pulled him inside. “When Veronica said you’d called and weren’t going to make it, I thought you’d turned back. What’s this accident all about?”

Normally Dillon didn’t mind Stacy’s demonstrative nature, but today it grated on his nerves. Her touch seemed more familiar, more possessive than he’d noticed before. “It wasn’t a bad one,” he said simply, setting down his large duffel bag. “Is everyone else already on the slopes?”

“It took them a while to dig out from under the snow, but they’re at Squaw Valley now. I told them we’d meet them after lunch.”

“Great.” His eyes darted to Chantel again. Her hands were still in her pockets, and she was sidling toward the hallway.

“I’m going to go blow-dry my hair,” she said before ducking out of the room.

Dillon tried to keep his gaze from following her, but it was virtually impossible. He was too taken with her after last night. He was too concerned about the revelations of the morning.

“I gather the accident was my sister’s fault,” Stacy said, studying him.

Dillon rubbed his neck. “Not really. It was the storm more than anything. Where should I put my stuff?”

“You can room with Bill and Tony, if that’s okay. There’re four bunks in the back.”

“Fine.” Dillon let Stacy lead him down the hall. The high-pitched whir of a blow-dryer came from behind one of the doors they passed, tempting him to barge in and try to explain his relationship with Stacy to Chantel. But he told himself there’d be a better time and kept moving until they came to a small square room with two sets of bunk beds pushed against the walls. Cheap comic-strip curtains hung over one window, and a few well-worn rugs covered the wooden floor—standard furnishings for a rental cabin.

“How come you never mentioned having a sister?” he asked Stacy as he dropped his duffel on a wrinkle-free bed.

“Because, for a long time, I didn’t,” she replied.

WAS SHE IMAGINING IT or had Dillon’s eyes really lit up the moment he saw Chantel? Stacy stood in the hall outside Dillon’s room, chewing her upper lip. He was just surprised, she told herself. Not every man she met was going to throw her over for her sister. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that had shot through her veins when she’d introduced the two of them a few minutes ago.

Maybe she shouldn’t have invited Chantel to join her this weekend. She simply wasn’t up to living in her sister’s shadow again.

Closing her eyes, Stacy took a deep breath, remembering Chantel’s apology when she’d returned to California. The way she’d offered it, humbly and without hope, had melted Stacy’s heart, reminding her how much Chantel had meant to her while they were growing up. Life was okay back then, better than okay, until one incredible year—when the tall gangly Chantel had suddenly become a stunningly beautiful woman.

Then things began to change. Stacy and her sister couldn’t go to the mall anymore without boys falling all over themselves in their eagerness to get close to Chantel. They couldn’t go dancing together without Stacy playing the wallflower while Chantel was swept onto the floor by one boy after another.

And now Chantel was back, and Stacy feared she’d find herself right where she used to be, playing second fiddle to the golden girl of the family. Life was almost easier when she and Chantel weren’t speaking. If not for seeing Chantel’s face plastered on the front of countless magazines, Stacy could almost convince herself that she didn’t have a sister. And after what Chantel had done, she felt perfectly justified in doing so.

And yet…sometimes Stacy longed for the old days. The Christmas Eves they’d whispered together in one big bed, too excited to sleep. The Halloweens they’d poured all their candy into one common pot. The summers they’d spent together—the trees they’d climbed, the lemonade stands they’d run, the games they’d played.

They’d lost so much since then. Where had it gone?

Pushing away from the wall, Stacy crossed to her sister’s door. The blow-dryer was quiet now, but she could hear Chantel moving around the room. She knocked softly. “It’s me.”

At her sister’s invitation, Stacy slipped inside and sank onto the bed. “So what do you think?” she asked.

Chantel stood in front of the dresser, brushing her hair. “About Dillon?”

“No, about the price of eggs in China. Of course about Dillon.”

Her sister smiled at her in the mirror. “He seems pretty special. I think you’ve chosen a great guy this time.”

Stacy waited, sensing something more in her sister’s voice, but Chantel didn’t elaborate. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night? About the accident?”

“Oh, that.” Chantel set the brush down and turned to face her. “Unfortunately I rear-ended him. It was so snowy and slick, I just couldn’t stop in time.”

“And then?”

Chantel cleared her throat. “And then I gave him my insurance information.”

“But you said you got stuck.”

“That was after the accident.”

“What happened to Dillon?”

“I don’t know.”

Chantel had spoken so quietly, Stacy could barely hear her. “What?”

“I said I don’t know. Maybe the Highway Patrol closed the freeway. I’ve heard they do that sometimes.

“Yeah, they do.” Stacy toyed with the fringe on one of the throw pillows that decorated the bed. “So, do you want to go skiing with us today?”

“Actually I think I’ll stay here and read, or just take it easy. Last night was pretty traumatic.”

“Okay.” Stacy tossed the pillow aside and stood to go, feeling instantly relieved—and hating herself for it.

CHANTEL COULDN’T STOP shaking. Long after Dillon and Stacy had left, she sat in the living room, staring out the window at the crumpled fender of her car and wondering how much more could go wrong before something finally went right. She’d almost died last night. If not for Dillon, she would have fallen asleep and never awoken. But he’d come for her, risked his own life to save hers, and his sacrifice and all they’d shared afterward had forged a bond so quick and sure Chantel wasn’t sure how to sever it. She only knew that she had to. For Stacy.

How ironic that it would come to this, she thought. Or maybe it was simply justice.

The telephone rang, and Chantel glanced at the Formica counter where it sat on top of a narrow phone book. She had no desire to talk to anyone. She had even less energy. But the ringing wouldn’t stop.

After several minutes she climbed to her feet and walked slowly across the room to answer it. “Hello?”

“Chantel?”

It was Dillon. Chantel’s breath caught at the sound of his voice, and the memories of last night crowded closer. Memories of a rough jaw against her temple, words of passion in her ear. “I thought you were skiing.”

“I’m in the lodge. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Where’s Stacy?”

“She took the lift up with the others.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Listen, Chantel, I just want to say that I was sincere last night, that it was real. I didn’t mention Stacy because she and I have only dated a few times. And nothing’s ever happened. I mean, we haven’t had sex or anything, in case you’re worried about that.”

Part of Chantel was relieved to think he hadn’t slept with Stacy. A bigger part of her cringed to imagine what her sister would do if she found out about the two of them. “She cares about you, Dillon.”

“I care about her, too. We’ve been friends for almost two years.”

“So you wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

“Of course not.”

Chantel took a deep breath. “Then you understand why this—whatever it is that sprang up between us—can’t go on.”

Silence. Then, “I’m not sure I understand at all.”

“Stacy’s my sister, Dillon.”

“A fact I’m not likely to forget and one I wasn’t very happy to discover. But I’m not sure I’m willing to give up a relationship that could work for one that wasn’t going anywhere to begin with.”

Chantel blinked against the tears welling in her eyes. She thought they’d shared something special; it was gratifying that Dillon felt the same way. But it made no difference in the end. Because nothing mattered except regaining Stacy’s trust and proving herself a true friend and sister at last. She needed to do that for herself as much as her sister. “I just…can’t.”

“Why? I’m not saying we have to do anything right now. We can give it some time, let things cool off—”

“No. I don’t want to be responsible for you backing away from Stacy. Last night was a mistake. I’m sorry, Dillon.”

Chantel hung up while she still had the mental fortitude to do so. She didn’t want him aware of the turmoil inside her. If he sensed her doubt, he’d push, and she couldn’t afford that. Couldn’t afford to be tempted into forgetting all her new goals and desires. Especially her desire to be the type of sister she should have been in the first place.

The phone rang again, but Chantel refused to answer it. She wouldn’t open the door between her and Dillon, not even a crack. She was going to be bigger than she’d been before. Stronger and better. Safer.

“It’s too complicated, Dillon,” she whispered, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

The phone kept ringing, on and on. Finally she covered her ears and wept.

HOW SHE MADE IT through the weekend, Chantel didn’t know. They were some of the hardest days she’d ever spent, and she’d had her share of hard days in the past year. But she’d managed to keep Dillon at arm’s length. He’d tried to talk to her several times and had watched her closely, his confusion and desire showing clearly in his eyes.

She’d turned a cold shoulder to him, refusing to entertain memories of their time together or to consider any contact in the future. He was Stacy’s. Off-limits. Period. There was no margin for error in that.

Kicking off her shoes in the middle of her own living room on Monday evening, Chantel turned on the television before going into the kitchen to root through the refrigerator. At least work was getting easier. Today she’d forwarded several letters to Congressman Brown from constituents who needed help on federal issues. There wasn’t much a state senator could do to assist someone with the IRS, except to pass on the request. She’d responded to myriad letters on child-support reform, somehow managing to figure out how to do a mail merge on her computer. And she’d learned how to handle the scheduling for the congressman so she could fill in if Nan, in the capitol office, was ever away.

She was beginning to think there was life after modeling. But she still regretted that she had no education. Stacy was a nurse, with a good job in the maternity ward at the hospital. Chantel envied her the pay but knew she could never work so closely with newborns. Always seeing someone else go home with what she wanted most would cause her constant pain.

A knock at the door interrupted her consideration of a frozen burrito. “Who is it?”

No answer.

Frowning, Chantel shut the freezer door and went to peek through the peephole. Whoever it was was standing too far to the right. She could make out nothing more than part of one denim-clad leg. Another solicitor for some worthy cause? They always seemed to come at dinnertime.

Chantel opened the door as far as the chain would allow. “Who is it?”

Wade shifted so she could see him. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Chantel’s stomach dropped. Oh, no. Not now. It had only been six months since she’d left him in New York, but already he looked different. His hair was bleached blond, an earring dangled from his left ear, and he’d obviously been hitting the weights again. “No. How’d you find me?”

He gave her the grin that had won her heart when she was only nineteen. “We’re both from this town. Where else would you be?”

“So what do you want?” she asked warily.

“Just to see you. We didn’t part on the best of terms, and…” He ran a hand through his short thickly gelled hair. “I owe you an apology for not being there for you when you were in the hospital.”

“I didn’t want you with me in the hospital. I told you that.”

“I know. You said it was something you had to do for yourself, but that’s crazy. For all intents and purposes, you’re still my wife, Chantel.”

“I was never your wife, Wade.”

He jammed one hand into the pocket of his Tommy Hilfiger jeans. “My folks would like to see you.”

“I’ll try and stop by,” she replied, but she said it only to placate him. Visiting the people she’d once considered her in-laws would prove too awkward. She liked them, but they’d never spent much time together, and she needed her break with Wade to be as clean as possible.

“Steve wants to know if you’re coming back. He says he could put you to work right away.”

Steve Morgan had been her agent, was still Wade’s, evidently, and one of the few people Chantel actually missed. “Tell him I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want to model anymore. You both know that.”

“Well, I’ve gotten a few covers. Have you seen them?”

Chantel shook her head. She purposely stayed well away from the magazine racks at the grocery store. The allure of New York was strong enough without reminding herself of the life she’d led there. The easy money. The glamour and the parties. The attention. In those respects, the Big Apple had more than its share of appeal, but that kind of life was lethal to her. She couldn’t keep herself well when everything depended on her looks. And when she was there, she couldn’t stay away from Wade. He was an addiction as dangerous as any drug, because he thrived on her destruction.

“Are you going to keep me standing outside all day?” he asked. “Can’t we at least be civil about this?”

A voice in Chantel’s head urged her to refuse him. She supposed that was the voice of wisdom. Instead, she listened to her heart, which told her they’d been together for ten years and should be able to speak kindly to each other now. Closing the door just long enough to slide back the chain, she opened it again, and Wade stepped in.

“I thought you liked contemporary decor,” he said, studying her living room, which could have been featured in the magazine Country Living.

“You like contemporary,” she said simply, which pretty much summed up their problems. Wade had to have everything his way. No one else mattered.

“Well, what you’ve done here is nice. You look great, by the way.”

Chantel had no intention of returning the compliment, even though he did look good. He’d always looked good. And he smelled even better. The Givenchy that was his favorite cologne invaded her senses, bringing back memories she would rather forget.

“Where are you working now?” he asked.

She perched on the edge of a plaid wing-back chair, wishing he’d say whatever he’d come to say and then just go. “I work for a state senator.”

“Wow. How’d you get that?”

He thought she wasn’t smart enough to do a real job. That hurt her, as always, but she kept her shoulders straight and her head high. “I applied.”

“Good for you.”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“You don’t know?”

“If it’s to talk me into coming back, you can save your breath.” Chantel knew she sounded much tougher than she felt and hoped he couldn’t see through her.

“How come you never answered any of my letters?”

“Because I never even opened them.” She didn’t add that she’d saved them, though. They were all lurking in a drawer in her bedroom.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“You think this whole thing is my fault, don’t you?” He propped his hands on his narrow hips. “What did I ever do but love you and take care of you?”

And criticize and punish me. “I don’t want to go into it anymore.”

A fleeting look of fear crossed his face, but he quickly masked it. He’d probably thought she’d come crawling back to him eventually, unable to function without him. Well, she was functioning, perhaps not well but adequately, and she was going to continue to stand on her own two feet if it killed her. Even though, after what had happened with Dillon, she felt weaker now than ever. More alone…