Susan Wiggs - The Borrowed Bride

“Don’t you see? That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“You’re running away, Isabel.”

She crossed to the door and went out onto the porch to stand, glaring at a magnificent view of Mount Adams. “It’s my choice.”

He came out and stood behind her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. She didn’t pull away.

At length, she said, “Take me back to the city, Dan.”

“I’ll take you back this instant,” he said, “if you can say you really mean it when you tell me it’s all over between us.”

He turned her in his arms. He saw the truth written all over her face. She had been just as aroused by the kiss as he had.

But he could see that she was close to breaking. It was time to back off, to give her space, to let it all sink in.

“I have to feed the horses,” he said. “They’ve got internal clocks that tell them exactly when five o’clock rolls around.”

“I can’t believe you have horses. You wouldn’t even keep a goldfish in your apartment in Seattle.”

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