their conversation earlier hadn’t been the end of it. He’d seen her looking at the register, and he wanted to know why. She stiffened to resist him.
He strolled into the living room, glancing around as if to notice any changes. Then he focused on her.
“Did you enjoy your visit to downtown Lakemont today?”
That certainly wasn’t the question she’d expected. He still wore the uniform, and its official aura seemed alien in the cozy room.
She pulled her sweater around her like a protective barrier. “It’s charming.”
Actually, the village was attractive, although that hadn’t been on her mind when she’d walked down the small main street. Instead she’d looked at one shop or restaurant after another.
Were you here, Trevor? Or here? What brought you to Lakemont?
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
He seemed to be reading her mind.
“I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I just wanted to see the town.”
She started to turn away from him, but his touch on her arm halted her. Nathan’s dark eyes were grave, his mouth firm. Her heart gave an awkward thud.
“Why didn’t you tell us the truth about who you are, Mrs. Laine?”
He knew.
She took a breath, trying to think, trying to organize some sort of response. What could she possibly say that would make sense of her actions?
“How did you find out who I am?” Stall. Think of some logical reason for being here other than the real one.
His broad shoulders moved under the uniform shirt. “It wasn’t hard.”
“Not for a police chief, you mean.” She felt a little spurt of anger. Nathan had used his position to find out who she was.
“I suppose so.” His eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry about your husband’s death. The accident was a terrible thing.”
Her throat tightened, the anger that had warmed her briefly seeping away. “Yes. It—it was hard to believe.”
“I can understand that.” Some darkening of his eyes suggested he knew what loss was. “But it wasn’t necessary to hide your identity from us. We wouldn’t intrude on your grief.”
Her mind took a moment to process that, and then she understood. Nathan wasn’t wondering what had brought her here. He thought he knew. He thought she had come to assuage her grief, the way people made pilgrimages to the sites of plane crashes.
In a way, perhaps she had, but he couldn’t know how complicated it was. And she certainly wouldn’t tell him.
“I appreciate that. I just thought it would be simpler if people didn’t know who I am. I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
He nodded as if he understood. “Is your mother-in-law planning to come, as well?”
A little flutter of panic went through her. She’d forgotten that Nathan and his family would have known Enid when she’d vacationed at the lake house.
“No, she’s not.” She had to tell him more than that. She couldn’t risk his deciding for some reason to contact Enid. “Enid has been having a very difficult time adjusting to Trevor’s death. She didn’t understand why I wanted to come here. In fact, the idea upset her so much that—well, I didn’t tell her.”
A guarded expression took over from the sympathy in his face. “She doesn’t know you’re here.”
“No. And I’d certainly appreciate it if you’d honor my wishes in this.”
For a long moment he just looked at her, eyes grave and assessing. A sudden crazy longing to tell him everything swept over her.
She couldn’t. She tamped down the feeling. She hadn’t told anyone except Enid, and that only because it had come out in the suddenness of her confusion and grief.
Determination hardened. She owed Trevor her loyalty. Whatever he’d been doing in Lakemont, he’d wanted it kept secret.
Nathan nodded slowly. “All right. I certainly won’t say anything, if that’s what you want. I’m afraid I’ve already told my father, though.”
“That’s fine. I don’t really mind who knows here in Lakemont, as long as Enid doesn’t find out. She doesn’t understand that I—”
Her voice seemed to give out, and hot tears stung her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Nathan’s deep voice had gone very soft. He put his hand on her shoulder.
Warmth. Comfort. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to step forward, lean against his strong shoulder and let her tears soak into his shirt.
She took a deep breath and nodded, trying to swallow the tears.
She couldn’t give in to that longing to lean on him. She couldn’t.
Nathan could feel Susannah’s tension and grief through his hand on her shoulder. It seemed to demand a response from him.
He let go abruptly, taking a step away from her. How could he not understand her grief, with the reminders of Linda and everything he had lost all around him?
He gave her a meaningless smile. “We want to do anything we can to make this easier for you.”
Something pained and vulnerable crossed her face. She’d reached out to him, and he’d responded with platitudes. That just added to his guilt.
“I appreciate that.” Her formal response showed that she’d gotten his message—he didn’t want to be involved.
It wasn’t Susannah’s fault that he resented her presence. She wasn’t to blame for the fact that she was the one person in the world whose situation released all the painful memories he’d tried so hard to repress.
Okay. He forced himself to think this situation through rationally. The truth was, he was stuck with the woman. If you were a police chief, part of your responsibility was dealing with people in grief. He’d handled that before. He could handle it now.
And then Susannah would go away and take her reminders with her.
“Do you want to ask me about the accident?” Survivors did, sometimes, as if understanding how a tragedy had occurred would make it easier to bear.
She shook her head, then cradled her hands across her stomach, seeming to take comfort from the child she was carrying.
“No, I don’t have any questions about that. When the police came to tell us, they explained that he’d apparently swerved to avoid a deer and lost control.”
“That’s right. Several passersby stopped right away to help, but there was nothing they could do.”
He
