Anne Winston - Lovers' Reunion

The impact slammed into his gut so hard he had to take a deep breath. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to carry over the fence between them. “Hello, Sophie.”

She simply stared at him for a long moment. Then she smiled gently. “Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.”

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, even for a minute, but he wanted less to humiliate himself with a tumble down his parents’ porch steps, so he tore his gaze away and concentrated on getting down the steps and over to the white picket fence as fast as possible. The whole time, he was conscious of her watching his labored progress, and the slow burn of helpless rage at his uncooperative limb gnawed at the lining of his masculine pride. If only—

No, he wasn’t going to go there. He had a burn leg, a knee that had forgotten it was supposed to bend, flex and bear weight. That was reality.

It would get better than it was right now, he’d been assured, but he could never join his former colleagues in the field again because he couldn’t hike over rough terrain and he couldn’t carry a heavy pack of equipment for more than a hundred yards. He knew, because he’d tried.

That was reality. And thinking about the way his life should be would destroy him as surely as that damned plane crash had destroyed his leg.

He stopped when he reached the fence and leaned one arm casually atop one of the posts, forcing his inner turmoil back into submission as his gaze took in the woman he’d never forgotten. He hadn’t asked about her once in the years since he’d held her last, because he didn’t want anyone to think she was anything more to him than a good family friend.

It was for her own good. If she’d thought there was hope, he knew she’d have waited for him forever.

Still, he’d listened avidly whenever his sisters got to talking about the neighbors on his infrequent visits home. For a while, Liz and Luisa had gleefully brought up her name, rubbing his nose in the dates she’d had, but after the first year had passed, they’d stopped mentioning Sophie at all. He’d nearly broken down and asked them about her several times, and only the knowledge that he’d be leaving again in another day had kept him from inquiring.

Now, he wouldn’t be leaving anymore. There was no reason to deny himself the pleasure that once had been his for the taking.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, his eyes wandering over her slender body with intense interest. “You look... fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She slowly stepped down from the stoop and came across the small lawn to her side of the fence. “It’s nice to see you again. Are you home for the you-know-what?” Her voice was hushed, in case his mother was close enough to overhear any discussion of the anniversary party.

“Yes, that and some other things.” What was different about her? She seemed reserved and wary, not simply shy as she’d been before, and though her words were pleasant, they were impersonally uttered as if she were speaking to an acquaintance. It was probably simply that she was remembering how they’d parted.

He couldn’t blame her for being mad. But still, here she was, and he was pretty sure he could charm her into forgiving him. After all, she’d said she loved him.

“I just heard about your accident.” Her voice was still subdued. “It must be frustrating for you.”

“It has its moments.” He gave her his best unconcerned shrug. “How have you been?”

She appeared to consider the question. “I’m doing well.”

“Sophie...” He hesitated. “About the way things ended between us—”

She passed a hand in front of her in a gesture intended to erase his words. “That was a long time ago, Marco, and I’ve forgotten it. I still consider you a friend.”

He frowned. That wasn’t the response he’d expected—or hoped for. This quiet, reserved woman was a marked contrast to the girl who once had hung on his every word. “I’d like to take you out for dinner, get to know you again. Are you free tonight?”

Her eyes widened, the brown completely eclipsed by a blank look of shock, and he realized it was the first time he’d been able to discern any emotion other than generic friendliness in her eyes. “That’s very nice of you, but—”

The back door opened behind her and they both stopped and looked at her mother, framed in the doorway. She was holding a very young infant cradled in one arm. “Sophie, this baby’s starting to fuss. Shall I warm a bottle?”

She nodded her head, shoving away the hair that flew around her shoulders. “Thanks, Mama, that would be great. She ate almost four hours ago and she’s probably starved.”

Shock rolled through him like a fireball ripping through a munitions plant. Sophie had a baby? As he gaped, she swung back to face him.

“Thank you for the invitation.” She shook her head. “But I have to get that wailing little one to bed. I was up half the night last night, and I’m hoping she’ll sleep soundly.” She smiled wryly. “So I can.”

He nodded, unable to trust his voice. He was paralyzed by a fierce wave of rage that made his reaction to his injury seem mild in comparison. Who had dared to touch her? She was his!

“Have a nice visit,” she said. “See you in a few weeks.”

Her voice brought reality crashing down on his head. She had been his once, and she’d wanted to keep it that way. But he’d left her. Hell, he’d even told her to go find somebody else! He continued to stand, gripping the fence so hard his fingers hurt, and he could see her dismiss him from her mind as she hurried back across the yard and disappeared into her parents’ house.

Slowly he made his way back to his own house, cursing the uneven ground. His mother came to the door as he mounted the steps, and she held the door wide. “Come inside and I’ll fix you some lemonade. Is your leg bothering you?”

He wanted to snarl. Not at all. Just Because I hobble around like an old man, why should you think that bothers me? But instead, he made his voice light and amused. “Knock it off, Ma. I promise I’ll tell you if it needs a kiss.”

She swatted his shoulder as he sat down at the table. “I see you talked to Sophie. She’s still a sweet girl, isn’t she?”

“Who’s a sweet girl?” His sister Elisabetta came into the kitchen with a half-eaten banana in one hand and her toddler son sleeping on her shoulder. “Hi, Ma. Thanks for watching him today.”

“Sophie is. And you’re welcome.” Dora plunked a glass of lemonade in front of Marco and picked up some more lemons for a second glass.

“Ah-h-h.” Liz drew the sound out knowingly. “Still drooling over our Sophie, big brother?”

“A man can look,” he said, forcing the turmoil that scrambled through him into hiding. But he couldn’t resist probing. “Although I guess looking’s all that’s allowed now. I don’t hit on married women.”

Liz threw him a surprised glance. “Sophie isn’t married anymore. Didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t know she’d gotten married at all. Who’d she marry?” He worked to project a mild neighborly interest. He was still reeling from the sight of that baby, and the implications at which its existence hinted. The thought of another man touching Sophie, kissing her, receiving the full pleasure of the hot, sweet response that always had been his threw a dark shadow over his thoughts, though he knew he had no right, no reason, to object He’d been the one to walk away.

So why didn’t that matter?

“His name was Kirk Morrell. They met in college,” his sister said.

“It must not have lasted long,” he commented. “Is Sophie the only one of the kids to have been divorced?”

“She’s not divorced,” Liz corrected. She threw a troubled glance at her mother, and Marco looked at his mother, too.