a bar. The only alcohol Tom had consumed in the past year was a glass of champagne at their wedding. “The hour-and-a-half drive to the mountains was too long. And I lost twenty-seven bucks at pool. But you could make me feel a whole lot better, baby. What are you wearing?”
“Flannel pajamas.” She laughed. “Are you fixing that tire or what?”
“Give me some incentive,” he murmured. “Tell me about your sexy nightgown.”
This was a game they’d played for years, and she was good at it. Her voice lowered to a purr. “I’m standing in front of the fireplace, and I’m warm all over. I have on a black, see-through nightie. It’s short—so short that it doesn’t even cover my bum if I bend over.”
He closed his eyes, relishing a mental picture of Angela’s slender waist and round butt. “Your hair?”
“Loose and tangled all the way down my back. Oh, and I have those highlights I’ve been wanting to get to perk up the brown.”
“What kind of shoes?”
“High heels, of course. And silky black stockings. And a lacy garter belt.”
“Baby, I can’t wait to get home.”
“Can’t wait for you to be here.” Her voice returned to a normal tone. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“It’s after ten now. I’d say eleven-thirty.” He set down the jack beside the flat.
“How’s your buddy Max doing?” she asked. “Does he like being a daddy? “
“Looking at pictures of his baby was the best part of the night. I’m ready to start a family of our own.” He looked up and saw headlights approaching. “Hey, there’s somebody else on this godforsaken road.”
“Maybe they can help you,” she said.
“It’s just a flat tire. I don’t need help.”
The other vehicle—a truck—jostled around a curve at an unsafe speed. He was an accident waiting to happen. Luckily, Tom had managed to pull onto the shoulder and had left his lights on. The other driver should be able to see him.
“When you get home,” Angela said, “I’ll make you some hot chocolate with whipped cream.”
“Sounds nice.” Damn, that truck was moving fast.
“I love you, honey.”
The headlights blinded him. The truck was headed directly at him. What the hell?
The impact crushed him against the side of his SUV. His legs collapsed and he hit the gravel. The truck backed up. The engine revved. He was coming again. This was no accident.
Tom was a dead man. He knew it. He spoke his last words, “Love you, too.”
ANGELA HAWTHORNE lay on her comforter, fully dressed, staring at the digital bedside clock as it clicked to that fateful time: 10:23.
A little over five years ago, her husband had been killed by a hit-and-run driver at exactly that moment. She’d heard the crash, heard his last words and then her phone went dead.
One-zero-two-three.
Her world stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, Tom. I miss you so much. She was poised at the edge of an abyss, wishing she could leap into ultimate forgetfulness and knowing that she never would lose her memories.
The moment passed.
A gust of wind splashed rain against the windowpanes. This was one of those summer electrical storms that started in the mountains and swept down to attack Denver with a fury. The distant thunder even sounded like artillery.
When she rose from the bed, she felt light-headed. She shook herself. Her eyes took a moment to focus as though she’d had too much to drink.
She slipped her feet into a pair of well-worn loafers and shuffled down the hall to her son’s room. Benjamin Thomas Hawthorne, almost four years old, was her miracle baby.
After Tom’s first tour of duty, he’d insisted that they create a stockpile of frozen embryos in case anything happened to him. She’d objected, mostly because she didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of her husband being wounded or, God forbid, killed. He’d soothed her fears and promised to come back to her, but his work as a medic meant he came into contact with a lot of disease. He hadn’t wanted to take a chance on having his DNA damaged or becoming sterile.
Every single day, she was grateful for Tom’s foresight. Less than a year after his death, she’d undergone the in vitro fertilization process. Nine months later, she gave birth to Tom’s son.
As she opened the door to Benjy’s room, the light from the hallway slanted across the foot of the big boy bed that had replaced his crib. He’d kicked off his covers and sprawled on his back on top of his dinosaur-patterned sheets. His honey-brown hair, a bit lighter than hers, curled around his ears.
His curtains—also dinosaurs—fluttered. His window was partially open, and the rain spattered across the sill. She thought she’d closed all the windows when the rain started but she must have missed this one. As she pulled the window down and locked it, she noticed that the screen was loose. Something she’d have to repair in the morning.
After she tucked the comforter up to Benjy’s chin, she kissed his forehead. He was an amazing kid, full of energy and incredibly bright. Everyone told her that she should start looking into preschools for gifted children.
Her fiancé was especially adamant on the subject of Benjy’s education. She exhaled a sigh, wondering for the hundredth time if she was making a mistake by remarrying. No doubt, Dr. Neil Revere was a catch. At age thirty-six, he was ten years older than she was and well-established in his career as a virologist and professor at University Medical. He was wealthy, handsome, kindhearted and he loved Benjy. What more could she possibly want?
As she left Benjy’s room and stepped into the hall, another bout of dizziness sapped her strength. She leaned against the wall. These nervous jitters had to stop. It was far too late for her to be having second thoughts about Neil. The wedding was Saturday. Three days from now.
When the phone rang, she jumped. Was she imagining this call in the night? Reliving the past?
She dashed into the front room and grabbed the phone, half expecting to hear Tom’s voice. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Shane. I wanted you to know that I’m running late.”
Please don’t tell me that you have a flat tire. “That’s okay. I’m awake.”
“No need for you to stay up. I’ll get a motel room tonight and come over in the morning.”
“You’re staying here,” she said firmly. Shane Gibson was Tom’s cousin—the only family member who’d be attending her wedding. “I have the extra bedroom ready, and I made some of those macadamia nut cookies you like so much.”
“You talked me into it,” he said. “I won’t be much longer. I can already see the lights of Denver.”
When
