looking for my wi— For Caroline.”
“Oh. She’s in back, pay’ in.”
Painting. Matt realized what Jeb had been saying when the boy led him to the backyard where Caroline, her back to him, stood atop a wobbly ladder propped against the house. Her brush swept back and forth over the buckled siding with the care of a master artist adding color to canvas.
He stopped, drinking in the sight of her.
She’d put on weight. Lush curves had replaced the willowy leanness he remembered so intimately. The flare to her hips was a little less subtle. Her cheeks—the ones in back—filled the seat of her ridiculously short cutoffs in two tempting teardrops. The bloom looked good on her. Lord knows she’d been too thin before.
Grief could do that to a person.
Though he’d meant to be silent, enjoying the view more than he had any right, he must have given himself away with some small noise. She turned. White paint dotted her cheeks—the ones in front—and slashed across her wrists and hands, a stark contrast to her bronzed complexion.
For a few seconds they simply stared at each other. Then in lieu of a greeting, she said simply, “You’re late.”
Not exactly the welcome he’d been expecting. But then, he wasn’t sure that he really was welcome here. “Huh?”
“One year, we said. It’s been thirteen months, eight days.”
“Two hours and—” He checked his watch, getting her meaning. “About six minutes.”
She climbed down the ladder. “You remember.”
Three rungs above the ground, she took the hand he offered to balance her. Her fingers were warm and dry and trembled slightly, but her grip was strong.
He turned her to face him and found her warm caramel gaze just as strong. Vibrant. Alive. More alive than he’d felt in months.
He turned loose her hand and took a step back. “A man doesn’t forget the moment his wife walks out on him.”
Caroline set a bowl of water on the floor next to Alf and scratched him under the chin. The dog lapped up a drink, then drooled half of it down her arm, just like old times.
Standing, she looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do with herself next. Matt sat at the table in the breakfast nook. Even in a chair, his long legs and burly body took up most of the room. And what space his oversize frame didn’t fill, his sea green eyes seemed to devour.
He’d aged since she’d seen him last. Hard wear lines creased his face, and the smile that had once perpetually captured his mouth—and her attention—was long gone. Still, with his broad shoulders and barely tamed cap of golden, wavy hair, he looked more suited to the bow of a Viking raider than her antiquated kitchen.
Deciding a strategic retreat was in order, she backed away to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“All the way from Port Kingston?”
The flicker of good humor in his eyes fled too fast. “From the bus stop in town.”
She arched one brow as she handed him a glass of iced tea. “Something wrong with your Blazer?”
He frowned slightly as he wiped the condensation off his glass. “I needed the downtime.”
“Leave the driving to us, huh?”
“I guess.”
There was more to that story, she was sure. It wasn’t like Matt to give up control, to be a passenger, but she didn’t press. His transportation woes weren’t her concern any longer.
She lowered herself into the cane seat of a chair by the window, where she could keep an eye on Jeb outside. “So,” she finally said just because she couldn’t bear another moment of silence. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.” He was lying. She could see it.
“How’ve you been?” he countered.
“Fine.”
The clock on the mantel ticked away fifteen seconds.
“Let’s not—” she started.
“Don’t—” Matt said at the same time.
He held up his hand obligingly. “You first.”
“Let’s not do this, Matt. Sit here like polite old acquaintances with nothing to talk about at the class reunion. We were married for God’s sake.”
“We’re still married.”
The hard edge in his voice caught her like a kick in the chest. “So we are. Is that why you’re here?”
He bent and pulled a thick yellow envelope out of his duffel. It landed on the table with a thud. “It’s time to get on with our lives.”
She didn’t reach out. Wouldn’t touch it. Couldn’t.
“I think you’ll find the settlement fair,” he said.
“I have no doubt.” She bit her lip. This shouldn’t be so hard. She was the one who’d left him. But still, it took the breath from her.
“You don’t have to worry about money. I’ll take care of you.”
Unable to sit another second, she swung out of her chair. “Is that what you think I worry about? Money?” The wood beneath the worn linoleum flooring creaked as she paced. In truth, she did worry about money. She worried about money a lot. The old house she’d inherited from her aunt Ginger needed so many repairs. Busy with her life, she’d nearly let it fall to ruin in the years she’d lived in Port Kingston with Matt. Now all her dreams depended on this house. Her future.
But Matt wouldn’t be interested in her dreams. Or her future.
“Is that why you think I left you? Because of money?”
Matt lowered his head. “I know you wanted…other things. Things I couldn’t give you.”
“‘Things’?” That did it. She squared off in front of him. “You can’t even say the word, can you?”
Slowly he raised his gaze. Penetrated her with that clear, green, dead sea stare. Matt had always been a master at hiding what he was really feeling behind that placid gaze. It was what made him such a good negotiator. Such a lousy husband.
“You wanted a baby,” he said flatly.
“I wanted to be a mother again. To hear a child cry because she didn’t get her way, not because she was in pain. To hear her laugh.” Her fingers curled into fists so tight her fingernails scraped her palms. “Do you remember what a child’s laughter sounds like, Matt? Because I didn’t, not until I came here. I only remembered the wails. The terror.”
