Tara Quinn - Born in the Valley

“What’s wrong, Bonnie?”

She piled a few more pieces of unidentifiable trash on her outstretched arm.

“I don’t know,” she said, sighing as she dumped it into the rapidly filling can. “I love this place. It just…doesn’t excite me like it used to. I’m feeling differently about a lot of things lately, and that kind of scares me.”

“Different about what things?”

She dumped and gathered more mostly unrecognizable residue. What the fire hadn’t destroyed, the sprinkler system had. “My life, my work, my marriage, Shelter Valley.” She rattled on as she worked. “It used to be that those things filled my every waking thought. They gave me strength and incentive.” Now it almost felt as if they were holding her back.

“I think you wanted to be married and stay in Shelter Valley and take care of people.”

His words were slow, deliberate. His work, focused on one task—cleaning everything out of the closet—with no decisions to be made, was quick and efficient.

“I think I did, too.”

“Do you like being married?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Do you like your husband?” His back was turned as he asked the question.

Staring at those broad shoulders, Bonnie thought of the hundreds of times she’d wanted to tell Shane Bellows what a great man she’d found after he’d left her.

Like the realization of her lifelong dreams, the fulfillment of that wish was hollow.

“I adore him.”

Which was why she was finding all this so hard. How could she possibly need more than Keith and the life they’d built together?

Pulling a rag from his back pocket, Shane wrapped it around the sharp edge of a broken jar of buttons she’d forgotten was in there.

“You love the kids,” he said after disposing of the jar. “I see you laugh with them a lot.”

Those big hands picking up tiny little buttons gave her pause.

“You’re right. I do.”

“Then are you okay now?”

“I think I’m just tired.” Shaking her head, Bonnie tossed some spare floor tile she’d found behind the shelves they’d removed. “I never thought I’d start to resent this place.”

“I never thought I’d be a blue-collar worker.” Shane’s tongue dragged around the last word.

He stopped on one side of the closet, facing her as she stood on the other. The space between them was almost empty, but not quite.

These times, when he seemed as clear-minded as she, disconcerted her. She didn’t know how to respond.

“I used to be powerful,” he told her, his voice sounding at that moment as though he were still the man handling fortunes bigger than Bonnie would ever dream of having.

“I know.”

“I remember it,” he said. “I remember Chicago.”

Her heart ached as she listened to him. She couldn’t imagine the hell his life must be. And felt miniscule and petty as she stood there, discontented with her own.

“What do you remember best?” she asked, hoping the question was okay, that it wouldn’t distress or confuse him.

“All of it.”

A more typical nonanswer. Because he couldn’t sift through the memories and make a decision?

“I remember going to work,” he said, his words slow again. “I remember my office, how I could understand and fix anything that came in. I was really good,” he told her with that strange combination of the intelligent and successful man he used to be and the more childlike creature he’d become.

“I know you were. We used to hear about the great things you were doing.”

“I still look at the stock reports and know what they mean,” he told her. “I even play the market.”

Bonnie frowned. “Is that a good idea, Shane? You don’t want to blow your savings.”

“Now that I can’t earn as much?” he asked. He didn’t sound bitter. Instead, he sounded like a little boy who’d just been told he couldn’t go on the big camp-out. Disappointed. Sad.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Bonnie broke off.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice switching back to that of the man he’d once been. These sudden changes were disturbing, even after months of getting used to them. “I got some insurance money from my accident.” The voice was still deep, but with the tenor of a little boy again. “I just kept some of it for me and most of it my friend in Chicago is handling for me.”

Bonnie hoped to God his friend was honest and taking good care of Shane.

“So how’ve you done with the money you kept yourself?” she asked, smiling at him.

Bonnie’s heart lightened when Shane grinned back. “Good,” he told her. “I’ve tripled it so far.”

“No kidding!” She stepped closer, laying a hand on his forearm. “I’m proud of you.”

“That makes me happy, Bonnie.”

“I’m glad.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You know I’m here if you need anything, right?”

“Yeah.” Bowing his head, he almost mumbled. “You talk to me, Bonnie. Like I’m a real guy…”

Bonnie replayed their conversation over and over as she drove home more than an hour later. She’d helped Shane, made a difference. And that felt damn good.

HE’D NEVER WORN pajamas to bed. Just boxers. It was one thing that hadn’t changed.

Keith was hard inside his shorts as he climbed in beside his wife almost a week after the fire. It amazed him, that ready reaction, which happened much more often than he would’ve expected after more than six years of sharing the same bed with Bonnie.

She hadn’t been there long. The sheets were still cool.

“’Night,” she said softly before he’d even settled in.

The next day was Tuesday. Keith had a governing-board breakfast meeting. And Bonnie was always up at the crack of dawn taking care of Katie and getting to work earlier than the rest of the eight-to-five world.

Still…

He opened his mouth to reply in kind, but then didn’t. With every casual good-night, he could feel her slipping farther away.

He lay down. Fought with himself for all of two seconds. Nudged her backside with his hips. The low, welcoming moan that came quietly from deep in her throat righted his world.

“You make me crazy, woman,” he growled against the side of her throat, kissing along her neck and collarbone. His hand slid beneath the short cotton top of her pajamas.

And the pressure of her butt against him increased perceptibly.

“What do you want?” he whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver. “Top or bottom?”

Wrapping her arms around his middle, she pulled him on top of her. A silent reply. There’d been too many of those in these last confusing months.

“I love looking at your eyes in the moonlight,” he told her. He loved how they glistened with the intensity of her passion.

Tonight she closed them.

Moving past the disappointment, he bent to kiss her, long lingering openmouthed kisses they’d perfected over the years.

Her mouth opened. But her tongue didn’t dance.

“Something wrong?” he asked, raising his head only far enough to see her face.

Bonnie lifted her hips against his groin, inviting him. As badly as he needed her, Keith was hesitant.

“Talk to me.” He couldn’t make out her expression. “Please?”

“I…”

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, her gaze settling at about his nose. “I’m just tired.”

In almost seven years, tired had never made their lovemaking a silent affair. Not even in those first months after Katie was born and they were both doing double duty with full-time jobs and night feeding. Their conversation during sex was what made sleeping with Bonnie different from the few other women he’d been with.