in her absence. The strain showed in the deepening of the lines at the corners of his pale green eyes. His usually ruddy complexion had paled. “This was hard on you.”
“I kept thinking I’d never see you again, never hear your voice, never…” He choked off his words before getting emotional. Dylan wasn’t the sort of man who put his feelings on display. “I’ll be glad when things get back to normal.”
There was a knock at their bedroom door, and he went to answer. She heard Carolyn’s voice and Dylan’s response as he said they wanted to be alone.
Nicole appreciated his concern for her privacy. Though she didn’t feel completely wiped out, she needed some time to pull herself together and to heal. She heard Carolyn mention Dylan’s mother, Andrea. Was she here? Had Andrea come to the ranch? If so, Nicole would be surprised. Dylan and his mother had been estranged for years.
He closed the bedroom door and carried a tray laden with three energy bars, a ham-and-cheese sandwich and a mug of milk. To her eye, the simple repast looked like a feast. As soon as he set the tray down on the table by the window, she pounced on an energy bar, tore off the wrapper and took a bite. Never had anything tasted so fabulous. She chased the granola with a sip of milk. “Omigod. Omigod.”
Dylan laughed. “Hungry?”
“I guess so.” She lowered herself into the padded rocking chair beside the table, glad that the cushion was forest-green and wouldn’t show the dirt from her jeans. “My bath is going to wait until I have some food.”
Another bite of granola. Another swig of milk. She picked up the sandwich. The homemade bread felt heavy and healthy. The ham, the yellow American cheese and the crisp lettuce had her taste buds exploding in ecstasy. Though she fully intended to devour the whole thing, she was full after only three or four bites.
Leaning back in the rocking chair, she sipped the milk. “Did Carolyn say something about your mom?”
“Andrea’s here,” he said coldly. His mother had divorced Dylan’s father and moved to Manhattan when Dylan was only five years old. “I didn’t invite her.”
No surprise. He’d never forgiven his mother for leaving, despite the obvious fact that Andrea was a city woman. And she was happy in New York. Years ago she’d remarried and had another child—a half sister that Dylan had never met. “Why is she here?”
“Carolyn called and told her you’d been kidnapped. Andrea took it upon herself to come out here. A waste of time.”
“Don’t be hard on her. She wanted to offer support.”
“Too late for that.”
Nicole recognized certain unfortunate parallels between Dylan’s mother and herself. They both had married strong-willed ranchers. Dylan’s father, Sterling Carlisle, had a reputation for being tough, demanding and ambitious. In the late 1980s he’d changed his ranching methods to organic before that became the thing to do. Sterling had established a family empire that had grown into a multimillion-dollar business. But there had been a personal cost. He’d made a lot of enemies. And his intense focus on the ranch might have left Andrea feeling isolated and abandoned. Nicole knew how it felt to be ignored while Dylan tended to business.
“I’m glad your mother is here,” she said. “The only other time I’ve seen her was at our wedding, but I’ve kept in touch. You know, with Christmas cards and e-mails. Family is important, Dylan.”
“I know.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she guessed that he was holding back a hostile comment about his mother.
“I still miss my parents.” She’d been an only child, adopted by parents who were older, both in their late forties when she was an infant. Both had passed away before her twenty-first birthday. “I never had any other relatives.”
“You’ve got me.” He stood by the rocking chair and took her hand. “You’re everything to me. My family. My partner. My friend. My lover.”
In spite of her aches and pains, she wanted to be in his arms, to replace her memories of captivity with sweet intimacy. She wanted his kisses, wanted to feel…wanted. Yet, when he leaned closer, she pushed him away. “Not yet. I’m too gross. I need to take my bath.”
“I can wait.”
She rose from the rocking chair, grabbed another energy bar and moved toward the bathroom. “This might take a long time.”
“Need any help?”
His offer was tempting, but she refused. Her plan was to shower first and wash her hair, four or five times. Then she’d soak until every pore of her body was clean.
He stood in the bathroom doorway. “I’ll be waiting out here until you’re done.”
She started the shower. After she stripped off the clothes she’d worn for so many days, she opened the door and tossed them out. “I never want to see these again.”
“They’re gone,” Dylan said.
She closed the door again, grateful to be home and in control of her life. Naked, she stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced down her body, washing away the top layer of grime. With a washcloth she scrubbed hard, hoping to erase the horror and humiliation. Will I ever be clean again?
Nate had forced her to do things she never wanted to do—to look at her husband in the eye and tell him she wanted a divorce. She’d had no choice. If she’d disobeyed, they would both be dead.
Dylan understood. He didn’t blame her for what she’d done. Her tears mingled with the pelting water of the shower. She needed more time to forgive herself.
A FEW HOURS LATER, Dylan woke from the best sleep he’d had in seven days with Nicole snuggled up beside him on the bed. After her soak in the tub, her skin smelled like spring flowers. Her blond hair was still damp. When he nestled her small body against him, his heart swelled. She’d come back to him, back to where she belonged.
He hadn’t planned to fall asleep on their bed while she was in the bathroom, but once he’d stretched out on top of the covers, he faded fast. During the whole time she’d been kidnapped, he hadn’t once slept in their bed. He couldn’t. Not until she was beside him.
“Nicole,” he whispered. “Darlin’, are you awake?”
Her breathing was slow and steady, indicating the kind of deep sleep that came from sheer exhaustion.
He noticed that she’d left the bedside lamp burning, which was odd. Usually she blocked out every glimmer of light before going to bed. Being held in that dank root cellar must have made her think differently about the darkness.
Her fingers curled loosely below her chin. He noticed the bruises at her wrists where the handcuffs had been. Seeing those marks infuriated him. He eased the sleeve of her nightgown higher up her arm, revealing more black and blue skin. Damn Nate Miller. The son of a bitch had escaped.
Dylan glanced at the bedside clock. It was only a few minutes past eleven o’clock. While Nicole was sleeping, he could slip downstairs and find out what was happening with the ongoing investigation into Nate’s whereabouts.
Leaving the
