Christy Lockhart - One Snowbound Weekend...

Firelight from the living room flickered on her light brown hair. The strands sifted across the pillow, inviting his touch. “Angie?”

She didn’t respond.

He entered the room, his bare feet silent on the oak floor.

The comforter snuggled her body, tucked around her shoulders, and only her face peeked from beneath the warmth of down. Shane reached to shake her awake, but stopped, captivated by the light playing on her face.

The cut looked obscene against the paleness of her skin, and he’d do anything to take that ache away from her. No one deserved to be hurt like that.

Without thinking, he succumbed to temptation, feathering his fingers into her hair, letting the rumpled strands wind around his knuckles like he used to.

Before he could pull his hand back, her eyes flickered open. A slow smile slipped across her lips, and they parted in silent greeting. “Shane…” Reaching up, she stroked his hand, as if they were lovers. “Are you coming to bed?”

Instinct warned of danger. “No.” He loosened his grip on the silky lock of hair. No matter how tempting she was, no matter how he suddenly wanted to forget her desertion, he wouldn’t get tangled in her web. He’d done that once and it had cost him his heart. “I made you some soup.”

“Soup?”

“Chicken noodle. Figured it’s always good when you’re not feeling well.”

She blinked, as if remembering the last few hours. The welcome in her eyes and on her mouth faded. “Oh. I’d forgotten.” Her hand dropped away from his.

He shouldn’t want her touch, not when he intended to get her back out of his life. “I’ll bring it to you.” He returned to the kitchen, hoping he’d find sanity there.

Slamming drawers and cupboards, he ladled the warmed soup into a bowl, then piled everything on a tray, grabbing a box of Saltine crackers from the counter on the way back to his room.

She wiggled into a sitting position, the comforter peeling back to reveal that she was wearing one of his T-shirts. Old and faded, the white cotton conformed to her, and her breasts pushed against the fabric.

While he’d brought in the firewood, she’d been doing more than drinking a glass of water. She’d been undressing.

An image of their past flashed in his mind. When she’d slept in anything at all, it had been one of his T-shirts and nothing else.

And she would still think it was okay.

That meant that beneath the covers, her long, shapely legs were bare. It felt like a hammer to the gut when he remembered the feel of those legs, wrapped around his naked waist as they sweetly made love.

“I hope you don’t mind me changing,” she said, as if reading his mind. “I was too hot in sweats.”

“Sure,” he lied. Forcing himself to refocus, he slid the tray onto the nightstand and saw her discarded clothes on the floor, the silk and lace of her bra on top of the pile.

His mouth dried.

“Thank you,” she said softly, the words huskily drawn across a sleep-rubbed voice. “You’re too good to me.”

Shane offered her a cup of tea, two sugars stirred in, the way she always drank it.

She wrapped her hands around the mug, sipped from it, then wrinkled her nose. “I drink it black.” She blinked. “Don’t I?”

“You tell me.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Angie frowned, her brows pinched as if in pain. Her hand shook as she slid the tea back onto the tray.

She wrapped her hands across her shoulders again, in the same protective way she had earlier. She hadn’t done that when he’d known her before. Just how much, he wondered, didn’t he know about her?

He’d thought he knew every part of her, how she cried out his name when she teetered on the brink of fulfillment, the way she wiggled next to him, stealing the sheets and seeking his heat after they made love, the way her eyes darkened, like a storm on an alpine lake, when she shyly initiated intimacy.

But he hadn’t known a thing about her, not really. He hadn’t suspected she could run away from him, leaving behind her clothes, a scrawled letter and a diamond ring that winked damningly in the dull autumn light. He hadn’t known that her courage and declarations of love had all been a lie.

“Your soup’s getting cold.” He turned to leave.

“Shane.”

He paused, but he didn’t look back.

“I can’t fix our problem if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice was a low, husky plead.

He told himself it had no effect on him. “It can’t be fixed, Angie.”

Her head roared and blood thundered against her temples, echoing Shane’s words. It can’t be fixed.

She pressed the aspen leaf against her breast, holding on to the feelings she’d had that day when she’d scooped the hair from her neck and he fastened the clasp at her nape.

Closing her eyes, she tried to fill in the blanks, only to come up empty. She remembered meeting him at Aunt Emma’s coffee shop, the way his eyes had narrowed speculatively with distrust when she smiled at him. That hadn’t stopped her, though. She’d smiled even brighter.

He’d returned the next day and asked what her name was. By the third day, he confessed he’d never drunk coffee before that week. On Thursday, their hands had accidentally touched; on Friday, he’d invited her out on a date.

Her pulse had taken flight. He was so tall, so handsome, so enigmatic, so different from any other man she’d ever met. Man and earth combined in Shane. He was everything she’d fantasized about as a young girl.

She’d said yes immediately, thrilled to know he was interested in her as a woman, not as an heiress. She’d had enough of expectations and she’d longed to live her life in her own way. Shane was part of her new life.

She recalled their fourth date. Shane had taken her to the county fair, where he’d given her the aspen leaf, a gift that meant more than all her fancy jewelry simply because he’d wanted her to have it.

She remembered his heart-stoppingly romantic proposal, their midsummer wedding beneath the sun and trees, the thrill and fear of wondering if she was pregnant, then…

Nothing.

Warm air whispered from the floor vents, but that couldn’t stop goose bumps from sliding up and down her arms. It was winter now, meaning she’d lost at least a couple of months. So what had happened that was so bad between then and now?

He said their argument couldn’t be fixed, and yet…

Was it possible her memory loss was a blessing?

She continued to hold the aspen leaf—a promise of forever—close to her heart.

Maybe, with nothing to hold back her true emotions, her honesty could find Shane’s heart.

Angie was nothing if not a strong and determined woman. And now she had a mission, getting her husband back.

After gingerly climbing from bed, she grabbed the post, waiting for the world to right itself.

She slid into her undergarments slowly, then pulled on the sweatpants and shirt, and borrowed a pair of his thick socks from a drawer before moving into the living room, toward her future.

Shane stared out the window and she moved up behind him. Hardhat, the adorable Labrador, cocked his head to one side. One ear flopped over endearingly. She smiled. At least the dog didn’t mind having her here.

Before she reached Shane, he turned, facing her with a formidable frown.

The hand she’d been reaching toward him fell to her side.

“You should be in bed.”

“Only if you’ll join me.”

The frown deepened. “Angie,” he warned.

“I want to know where I stand with you. Do you want a divorce?” Despite her best efforts, emotion ran her words together into a breathless blur. “I don’t think I could bear that.”

“It’s too late for that discussion,” he stated flatly.