baths; she’d be a little longer yet. He’d thought about jumping back on his laptop and sorting out a few budget discrepancies but had opted for checking around the house instead, seeing if the outdoor pool and gutters were free for starters.
After finding the net in the pool house, he’d skimmed the outside pool assured in knowing that Laura would have someone coming out once a fortnight or so to keep an eye on its upkeep. Money wasn’t a problem. After their parents’ deaths, both Laura and Grace had received a good inheritance, and after the split he’d also passed on a generous monthly allowance. Lawyers had advised him to wait until after the divorce when a settlement could be drawn up, but he wanted to contribute. Last month, however, the divorce became final and the settlement was, well, settled. He’d given her this house and land. Knowing that he’d see ghosts in every corner, he would only have sold it anyway no matter how much he loved the area. Neither of them had been overly concerned about snakes or spiders, poisonous though many of them might be. After hearing Laura’s cry now, Bishop wondered if he needed to reconsider.
Had a deadly Brown crowded her into a corner? Had she fallen somehow again? Of course there was also the chance she’d gotten her memory back and, realizing she wanted to kill him for letting her make a fool of herself yesterday, had screamed out in blind rage.
Outside his home office, they collided. Her face was flushed, her legs temptingly long and tanned in a pair of white tennis shorts. She waved her hand in front of his face and squealed again. Not scared, not angry but rather … excited.
“They’re here!” She bounced on her toes. “They were here all along.”
He held her arms to steady her. “Hey, slow down. What’s here?”
“These.”
She wiggled a set of fingers. The gold and diamonds he’d slid onto her third finger two years ago sparkled in ribbons of morning light that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling eastern arch window.
“I must have taken them off before going to the hospital,” she told him. “I’m not sure why. I can’t remember any of it.”
He eased out the breath he’d been holding. No falls. No bites. Thank God. If she couldn’t remember taking her wedding rings off …
“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.
But, of course, it did. The doctor had said that with gentle prodding her memory should return. To his mind, bringing her back here to the scene of the crime ought to have been prodding enough. After a final argument, they’d barely exchanged a word for over a week until they’d run into each other on this very spot. After an awkward moment, he’d said he had work to do and pushed by. She’d told him he might as well live in the office—his office in town. Then she’d hiccupped back a sob and said that she meant it. That he could pack his things and leave. Leave now. She couldn’t take this anymore and neither could he.
“Now it’s the weekend you can wear yours, too,” she was saying.
He came back to the present and his frown deepened. She was talking about his wedding ring?
“I understand you can’t wear it during the week,” she went on. “I know how you like to keep your hand in at the factory and accidents can happen. Rings can get caught. But on the weekends …” She bounced up and snatched a kiss from his cheek. “It’s only you and me.”
Over a year ago, he’d left his wedding band here. Actually, he’d thrown it in the fireplace before he’d stomped off. He’d always imagined that she’d built a roaring fire and had happily watched the gold circle melt into a shapeless blob. So how was he supposed to assure her that he’d wear it now?
But then her other hand came out, fist closed, palm up. When her fingers peeled back, the gold band he’d tossed into the fireplace a year ago gleamed up.
His heart lurched up the back of his throat. Dumbfounded, he shook his head. It couldn’t be.
Carefully, he collected the ring and inspected the inscription inside. Always and Forever.
His voice sounded as if it’d been dragged through molasses. “Where did you find them?”
“Where I always put them,” she said, studying both her rings and the gold band lying in the centre of her palm. “In my jewelry box.”
His stunned gaze went from the ring to his wife’s—his ex-wife’s face. Her jewelry box? Had she dug the ring out of the fireplace after he’d gone? There was no other explanation. And yet whenever he thought about the hurt and frustration, how he’d believed every loaded word that she’d said—
“Aren’t you going to put it on?” she asked.
Bishop opened his mouth, ready to say no way. The divorce was done and dusted, no matter what she might think. But for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a way out. He could hedge but what would that accomplish? Only suspicion on her part. Agitation on his.
She’d remember soon enough. Until then …
He gave a stilted nod, lifted his left hand and Laura held the band over his fingertip, ready to push it on. For a moment his thoughts wavered. What does it matter? Then, This has gone far enough. But then the ring pushed up over his knuckle and Laura’s eyes were sparkling all the more.
Grace had implied this might be a second chance. The idea had seemed absurd yesterday, particularly coming from his arch nemesis. And yet this morning, being back in this house, spending the night in that bed, having this ring on his finger …
Bishop shook himself.
No. It was crazy. Not possible.
Not happening.
“What would you like to do today?”
His gaze jumped from his finger to her beautiful animated face. The lilac-colored top she wore was cut tastefully but, to his current way of thinking, provocatively low.
He swallowed deeply. “What did you have in mind?”
“Want to teach me to play chess? You said you would.”
He’d already taught her and she’d proven a quick study. He’d thought about letting her win a couple of times, but she was too clever to fool that way. She’d vowed that she’d beat him fair and square one day. If they sat down at that chessboard now, would she remember the moves he’d taught her, or had that part of her memory been wiped clean, too?
He ushered her into his office, to the chess set he’d left behind. “What do you know about the game?”
“There are bishops.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Right.”
“White moves first.”
“Right again.”
Maybe she did subconsciously remember their lessons, which, most likely, meant she would remember more. And that was good, right?
He twirled that band around his finger—still a perfect fit—and sat behind the black. She took the chair behind the white.
He
