Christy Lockhart - One Snowbound Weekend...

He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She fit his cupped palms perfectly, as if they had always been two parts of the same whole.

To distract himself from the unwelcome, impossible thought, he said, “You still need to change out of those wet clothes. As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll clean and bandage the wound on your forehead.”

Snowflakes had melted into her hair, the dampness making the color appear a couple of shades darker than he remembered. And now there was an alluring hint of copper buried between the strands. He struggled to resist the urge to bury his fingers in its thickness and hold her close.

But it was her eyes that really got to him. They were wide, and focused unblinkingly on him.

In the five years since he’d seen her, he’d forgotten how very powerful her eyes were. The color, a blue as vibrant as a sun-drenched sky, was potent, making him think of lovemaking and forever in a single blink. But he didn’t dare forget they were a great shield for deceit.

“Did we have a fight?” she asked softly.

He released her. “A fight?”

“Is that why you’re angry with me?”

“I’m not angry,” he denied, the doctor’s warning to keep her calm echoing in Shane’s mind.

“You always scowl like that when you’re upset.”

He dragged his fingers through his dark hair.

“You do that, too.”

In frustration, he exhaled. Damn it. How was it possible for her to remember so much and forget even more?

As she had done earlier, she stroked the side of his unshaven cheekbone. The gentle abrasion shuddered through him.

“What did I do to upset you?” She paused at the cleft in his chin, as intimately as she had five years ago.

“Shane?”

She still said his name the same way, with a husk of sensuality that skipped across his skin like the slide of silk.

“Did I do something terrible?”

“No,” he lied, cuffing her wrist and moving her hand away.

“Then why don’t you want me touching you?”

“I need to clean that cut.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

Unconsciously he took hold of her again. He didn’t want to care for her, protect her. He’d sworn he never wanted to set eyes on her again. Yet she was injured and alone, dependent on him.

Like it or not, he had an obligation. And Shane took his obligations seriously, had since he was nine years old and his mother deserted the family for a rich man and an easier life. His father had worked two jobs and drowned his sorrows when he was home, leaving Shane to care for his younger sister after school and on weekends. When he was nineteen and his dad died, Shane had naturally taken over raising Sarah.

And now he’d do what was expected of him, even if living Angie’s lie sat on his shoulders like a load of concrete. “You’re hurt,” he said. Then, softly, he added, “And you need to rest. Since we can’t get to town, I get to play doctor.”

“I’d like that.”

Tension fragmented the atmosphere.

Her gaze searched his face, looking, he figured, for anything less than honesty.

“Shane…”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“All of it? Why you’re angry, what I did, why you don’t want me touching you?”

Keep her calm. “Yeah.”

Her eyes darkened with distrust. His promise had been insincere and she’d heard the cop-out in his tone. But hell, short of taking her in his arms and finishing what she was so innocently trying to start, Shane knew there was nothing he could do.

Now, if only he weren’t so damn tempted…

Even though the heartbeat of sensual awareness pulsed between them, she realized Shane was telling her what she wanted to hear, nothing more. Angie studied the pine-green depths of his eyes and saw the shadow of deceit. “Why are you lying to me?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, scattering a lock of dark brown across his forehead. “Can we postpone this until you’re feeling better?”

Angie prided herself on her strength. Without it, she would never have walked away from her father and the marriage he’d been arranging for her.

She’d shown courage in defying expectations, and she wouldn’t stop asking questions now.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Shane said, severing the contact of their gazes. He pushed to his feet and headed into the bathroom.

Restless and confused, she tossed the colorful Navajo blanket back from her shoulders and moved to the fireplace, crouching to ruffle the dog’s fur. Hardhat was adorable, especially with the red bandanna tied around his neck. It was odd that she couldn’t remember their dog. It was even stranger that she couldn’t remember her fight with Shane, no matter how hard she tried.

But their lovemaking…that she remembered….

He returned, freezing when she saw her petting the dog. “The doctor said you need rest.”

“How did we end up getting a dog?”

“Hardhat was a stray on a construction site in town. One day he followed me home and never left.”

“When?”

Carefully, his expression neutral, he said, “Recently.”

“Stop with the half truths, Shane.”

His knuckles whitened against the bottle of peroxide.

“How recently?” she repeated.

“Angie—”

“You told me we’d talk about it,” she reminded him.

“Later. I said we’d talk about it later.”

She stood and squared her shoulders, facing him. “We made an agreement to always be open and honest with each other. Do you remember?”

He put the first aid kit and the peroxide on the coffee table. “I’m not keeping secrets.”

“Then help me understand.” She loved Shane with her whole heart and soul. If something was wrong, she’d do anything, anything to fix it.

Ignoring the thudding ache in her temples she asked, “Why don’t you want me to touch you? You usually encourage me to feel your body, massage the knots out after you’ve worked all day, wash your back when you shower and then dry you before you carry me to bed….

“Do you remember the day we moved in here? You were determined we’d have some kind of honeymoon. Sarah stayed with Kurt Majors’s family and you insisted we make love in nearly every room of our new home in the first twenty-four hours. We tried the kitchen first.”

His nostrils flared, and a corresponding awareness cascaded through her insides. “What happened between us?” she asked quietly.

“Dammit, Angie, the doctor said—”

“Forget the doctor, Shane.” She took a step toward him. His breathing changed, and she took a second step. “This is about you and me. About us.” Stopping only inches from him, she placed her hand on his chest, feeling his strength beneath the soft cotton of his flannel shirt. “I want answers.”

“I don’t think you’re up to it.”

He placed his hand on top of hers, holding her still and not letting her hand wander. That wasn’t like him. Nor was the tension sketched beside his eyes.

“Let me decide that, okay? I need to understand why the man I married is acting like a stranger. I need to know why you’re shutting me out.”

Indecision clouded across the green of his eyes, making them murky. Eventually he sighed. “You asked if we had a fight. We did.”

“We’ve had other fights.”

“Not like this.”

“Worse?”

“Yeah.”

Wind slashed against the large windows, shaking them in their wooden casings.

Why couldn’t she remember? Something so important should fill her mind, shouldn’t it?

“Leave it at that, Angie.”

“But—”

“You’re here, you’re safe. There’s time for the rest later.”

“Was it bad enough to ruin our relationship?”