She looked at Shane.
His eyes were narrowed, and a wary mixture of anger and concern played across green depths.
“I’m Angela Burton.”
He curved a hand around her wrist. “So it says.”
A pain ripped through her and she reached her free hand toward him, tracing her finger down his familiar, yet so different, shadowed cheek.
A thousand questions swamped her mind. Why was she in Colorado? Why was she at his house? Why did she think they were still in love? How could she have left him?
She’d never met anyone like him. Tender, protective, arrogant, maddening, passionate, they’d shared dozens of emotions, each time growing a little closer.
Grief, a sharp, stabbing pain, shot through her. She’d left him, walked out on him in the coldest, most callous way possible. She’d done what his mother and Delilah had done, after swearing she wouldn’t. Angie had betrayed their love, and she didn’t know why.
No wonder he didn’t like her, didn’t want her. “I’m sorry, Shane, so, so sorry.”
“For leaving or coming back?”
“Both.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
He released her wrist, and she dropped her license. “I’m not married to him.”
“No?”
“I’d know it if I were.”
“Would you? How? How do you know anything, Angie?”
She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence, something he no longer believed in.
Protectively, she curled her fingers around the dulled aspen leaf. “If I hadn’t loved you, why would I have kept the only gift you ever gave me?”
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