Crystal Green - The Stranger She Married

Here she took a deep breath, and Matt’s heart clenched when he realized that she was on the edge of tears.

But she continued. “You have no idea what it’s been like without you, Matthew. And your coming home hasn’t made things much better so far.”

Her words stung, but he deserved it. For being cheeky, for being two years late for dinner, for being her husband.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ll say it a million times if I need to.”

A sharp laugh was her prelude to an answer. “Then start now. But a million apologies won’t even begin to cover the damage you’ve done to your daughter.”

Part of him wanted to remind her that he—this man he was right now—had no idea what he’d done to wrong his wife and child. Yet he had the feeling she already knew that. So he decided to stand there, to take the brunt of her pain, to suffer for the other Matthew’s sins. There was no other way around it.

She watched him, arms akimbo, eyes flashing. Her chest heaved with the aftermath of her tirade, and her lips were still red and swollen from his kiss.

Damn, he wanted her.

But he backed away to a safe distance, creating a polite buffer. “You might want to take a seat while I complete those I’m-sorries. It could take years.”

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as she flung up her arms. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

He was definitely full of suggestions, but he chose to keep them at bay. Instead, he sat on the couch.

Rachel followed him, honoring that physical safety zone between their bodies. She sighed, then softly said, “What makes me angrier than anything is that I need your help.”

Matt almost fell off the couch. Was he about to get a reprieve?

Rachel shook her head, and it took Matt a moment to realize that she wasn’t answering his silent question, but that she was going to tell him the reason she needed him.

Needed him. He grinned just thinking about it. Then he sobered when he realized that he didn’t want to be needed. Couldn’t be needed in his current state of nobodiness.

“Do you remember Peter Tarkin?” she asked.

Matt shrugged, trying to counteract his still-thumping, kiss-aftermath heartbeat. “All I get are feelings, and they’re not good ones.”

“All right. Trust your instincts, because they just might help.” She sighed. “Your father left you this farm in his will, along with the feed business in Louisville. You used to spend a lot of time up there, working. You loved the challenge. In fact, it took more of your attention than Green Oaks did. Anyway, one thing you inherited right along with this farm was Peter Tarkin, your father’s partner, a sixty/forty relationship. Tarkin is a real businessman, a bottom-line kind of guy. If a mare is sickly, if she takes away any profit whatsoever, Tarkin goes for the insurance money, has the horse put down.”

Anger ripped through Matt. “This man is a partner? Why didn’t we buy him out?”

Rachel seemed to brighten a little at the word we. Maybe she felt that Matt considered her a partner, too.

“We tried buying him out, but that’s when you disappeared with all our savings. I couldn’t afford it anymore. Now Tarkin wants the whole farm, and I’ve been under such financial pressure with the loss of a miscarried foal that I’ve been thinking about selling. But I’ll be damned if I lose to a greedy jerk like Tarkin.”

Matt tried to meet Rachel’s eyes, to connect like they had during that kiss. But she averted her gaze, biting her lip. Her withdrawal felt like a physical blow.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

He thought she’d shoot right back at him with “I’m not your girl.” But she didn’t say anything.

As they stayed silent, he could hear her breathing becoming more uneven every moment. His own heartbeat was even speeding up, matching his breaths to hers.

It was an erotic pause, making him think of the quiet of night, his palm sliding over her belly, up her rib cage, cupping a breast.

His gaze fell to her shirt, the gape of it revealing a tanned patch of skin, the swell of her breasts. Her nipples hardened under that shirt, telling Matt that she was aware of his thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest.

He girded himself for the truth. “What kind of husband was I?”

Rachel’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening with the lack of words.

“Mommy?”

Tamela. And she’d called for Rachel, not him.

Rachel backed away. Matt’s rib scar began to heat up again, blazing with memories he should’ve been able to grasp.

“I’ll be right there, Tam.” Without another glance, Rachel left the room.

Left him with a wilting sense of discomfort, of knowing that he didn’t belong here at all.

H ours later, under the dark canopy of a June night, Rachel was still distracted by the thought of Matthew’s kiss.

As she peered out the kitchen window at the covered, candle-lit dining terrace where her dinner guests were seated, her gaze fell directly on him. In order to greet his siblings during dinner, he’d showered and changed into a fresh set of jeans and a plaid shirt. She’d even convinced him to take off the hat. It’d been a battle, but well worth it, she thought, as the breeze ruffled his dark hair, making his cowlick stand at attention.

A flush burned down her body. He looked like a kid, as gosh-golly full of humor as he’d been during college, when they’d first met with all the bang of a starry-eyed first love. She’d been three years younger than he was, a freshman, light-years more naive, thinking he was the moon and sun all wrapped into one.

Even though they’d gotten married shortly after her graduation, Rachel’s adoration of him had lasted for years. It’d outlived their honeymoon, outlived her usefulness.

Tamela scampered into the kitchen, carrying an empty water pitcher. “Where’d you go, Mommy?”

Rachel straightened, taking the pitcher and setting it on the counter. She glanced away from the window, away from her husband. “I’m going to serve dessert. Strawberries over ladyfingers.”

Rachel waited for the little girl to stop bouncing on her heels before handing her the first dish.

She smiled at her daughter. “Serve the guests before anyone else.”

“Is Daddy a guest?”

Zing. Rachel didn’t even know the answer to this one. “Um, he’s the reason we’re celebrating. Sure, he can have the first one.”

Tamela lingered, now swiveling back and forth, making her maroon jumper flare at the knees, making Rachel nervous about her daughter dropping the crystal, shattering it all over the floor.

Tamela gave a saucy little whistle for attention.

In spite of her angst, Rachel held back an exasperated grin. “Yes, Tam?”

“How long is Daddy staying?”

“Oh. Well. We haven’t discussed that yet.” Rachel nodded to the crowd outside. “Time to serve, honey.”

“Is he going on another vacation? Will he find his memory this time?” Tamela wrinkled her nose. “What does he think with right now if he doesn’t have all of his brain?”

Rachel wondered what her husband had been thinking with when he’d left her for New Orleans, but she didn’t mention it. “It’s complicated. Not much is understood about amnesia. It’s different for different people.”

Tamela nodded. “I sure wish he’d find his memory. He used to bring me those stuffed teddy bears. I’d really like some more of those.”

As if on cue, private detective Chloe Lister and Lacey Vedae, Matthew’s stepsister, entered the kitchen just in time to spare Rachel from Tamela’s inquisition.

Lacey took the dish from the young girl. She was a petite woman in her late twenties, all eyes and lips. When folks around Kane’s Crossing talked about the “strange one” in the Shane family, Lacey’s name always tipped their tongues. She had a propensity to change images at whim—much like Madonna and her sense of chameleon-restless style. Everyone attributed Lacey’s eccentricities to her time in “that home for disturbed girls.” Her life was just one more item on Kane’s Crossing’s gossip list.