on that she wasn’t a raving beauty like her college roommate, Tate Monroe. Nor was she smart enough to graduate with a 4.0 like her other roommate, Molly Shipman. Ah, but she had something neither of them had had. She was rich, the only heir to her father’s wealth.
Laura felt a sob build in her throat and choked it down. What a pitiful thing it was to be not the pretty one, nor the smart one, but the rich one. Her fingers drifted through Max’s soft fur as she let her emotions settle. She’d long ago gotten over all that, hadn’t she?
At least she’d thought she had when someone handsome and clever such as Marc Abbott had sought her out and simply refused to take no for an answer. Overwhelmed, believing herself madly in love and gloriously happy, she’d married him.
And lived to regret that foolishly hopeful indulgence.
He’d hurt her, badly. But she’d moved on, took on more work, opened her own studio, became her own person. And she’d vowed to never ever let herself be a victim again. It wasn’t so bad, being alone, once you got used to it. Oh, she’d been asked out plenty, but other than business lunches and dinner meetings, she’d steered clear of letting anyone get close again. She’d never gone in for one-night stands, and everything else required a commitment she was unwilling to make.
And now she was up here, in the Gray Mountains in a snowstorm, marooned in a cabin with an attractive man who, even in her pitiful state, awakened some dormant desire inside her. But, not to worry. She’d tamp it down as she had with other occasional men who’d wandered into her life. Because she couldn’t trust them, could never know if they paid attention to her for the right reasons. If it wasn’t because she was gorgeous or had a personality that everyone gravitated to the moment she stepped into a room, then it was probably…because of her father’s money.
Lowering her head, she nuzzled Max’s fur. “No more feeling sorry for ourselves, Maxie,” she whispered to the cat. “We’re fine, just the two of us.”
Something caught her eye at the foot of the bed, a pile of clothes. She reached for them, examining each piece. Clean sweatshirt and sweatpants, thick socks, white cotton underwear, a chenille robe and an old-fashioned floor-length flannel nightgown. Well, well. About her size, though a tad roomy. His wife’s clothes? Or ex-wife’s? At any rate, it was very thoughtful of him. A shower and fresh clothes would feel good.
Testing her ankle, Laura stood up. Still swollen, still painful, but bearable. She gazed out the window and saw that the snow wasn’t letting up. There had to be several feet already and with the wind blowing drifts, probably higher in places. She’d never been marooned before, never spent time at a place where no one knew where she was. Saturday morning. She’d had no weekend plans, no luncheon dates or business consultations or shopping sprees with a girlfriend.
Would anyone be looking for her? Maybe, but she doubted if someone would actually worry until possibly Monday. Her father only sought her out when he had a decorating problem that needed solving or a favor he wanted from her. Everyone else would assume she’d gone away for a few days. Which, although she never did without informing someone, was a reasonable explanation.
Holding onto the bedpost, she took a step, then another then had to let go. Only three more steps to the bathroom door. Once inside, she could cling to any number of things. Her ankle felt rubbery, though Sean had said it didn’t appear to be broken.
Hugging the clothes to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched to reach for the doorknob, Laura took a step, then another on her sprained ankle. That’s when it went out on her and she went down with a yelp, crashing into a child’s rocker. A huge purple dinosaur fell onto her, the recorded mechanism triggered by the fall.
“I love you,” Barney sang. “You love me…”
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