His thoughts swept back, and when the memory came he played it over in his mind a few times, something he’d forbidden himself to do in years past. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t hurt so bad. Not now, not this morning.
Not with Mattie in the bed behind him.
In that instant, it all seemed surreal. Jared didn’t move, didn’t stir on the mattress, didn’t roll over to curl against her. If he did, would it all shatter? Would last night and this moment prove to be a dream? The dream that had crept into his sleep so often lately?
He remained where he was for a while longer, on the linens that smelled like Mattie, gazing at as much of her room as he could see—the lace, the figurines, the pictures on the walls. Their clothes scattered across the floor.
No, it hadn’t been a dream, he decided. None of it. Jared rolled over, anxious to have her in his arms again.
But the sheets were cold and the bed was empty.
Mattie was gone.
A dozen things needed doing—no, a hundred things.
Mattie darted to the cupboard in the kitchen of the restaurant she owned on Main Street and pulled down a serving platter. The room was silent except for the crackling fire she’d just laid in the cookstove, struggling now to take the morning chill out of the air.
No one else was in the restaurant—not Mrs. Nance, who did the cooking, or the Spencer girls, who served the guests, or Billy, who washed the dishes. None of them had probably even considered that Mattie would open for business today.
She gripped the platter tightly. None of them knew how desperately she needed to open the restaurant today.
And no one would ever know.
Another wave of humiliation washed over Mattie, bearing down on her painfully, bringing the memory of her husband into her mind. How could she have been so stupid?
When Del Ingram had arrived in Stanford a year ago, he’d taken one look at her and sworn he’d fallen desperately in love. And Mattie had believed him. He’d been so convincing, how could she not? He’d been kind and thoughtful. He’d brought her gifts, praised her every move. He’d been mannerly, well dressed, wise and worldly. He seemed like a godsend.
Mattie had been lonely since both her parents had died the year before Del’s arrival. She’d stayed in the house they built and taken over the restaurant they started, and she’d done well for herself. In fact, the restaurant had improved considerably under her ownership.
It helped that her mother was no longer around to do the cooking. Mama, bless her heart, wasn’t the best of cooks. Mattie had hired Mrs. Nance and business really picked up.
With pride, Mattie gazed around the kitchen, through the door to the dining room. She’d made other changes as well. Blue checkered linens on the tables, vases with fresh flowers from Mrs. Donovan’s garden. She improved the menu to offer heartier meals.
As a result, the restaurant looked so inviting and the food tasted so delicious diners appeared often and regularly, including the mayor and the reverend with their wives and children, out-of-town guests and dignitaries. The town’s businessmen had made the Cottonwood Café their spot for breakfast almost every morning. She sent a wagon over to the train depot to bring in diners during their layover. Almost no one commented on the modest price increase she’d made.
All of her changes had paid off handsomely. Everything was going wonderfully. And still seemed to be when Del arrived in town.
Mattie sighed in the empty kitchen remembering how lonely she’d been back then. Even with the restaurant keeping her busy day and night, she’d led a solitary life.
She’d longed for family, wished for her house to come alive with voices and laughter as it had when her parents were alive. She’d caught herself watching enviously as women in town strolled the streets with new babies in their arms. After all, she was twenty-one years old, certainly of sufficient age to have a family of her own.
Del had come along, seemingly just the sort of man she’d prayed for. Then, everything had changed.
After their marriage, which many in town had cautioned her against simply because no one really knew him at the time, another side of her husband emerged. Lazy, shiftless, domineering. He’d insisted on taking over her finances. He’d shouted at her when she questioned what he was doing with her money. He began to spend more and more time away from home. Some nights he hadn’t come home at all.
Mattie sagged against the worktable, holding the serving platter against her stomach. She’d never known where she’d gone wrong as a wife. She’d lain awake nights wondering what to do. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know the state of her marriage, or how she was treated by her husband—a man the town admired because he was so good at deceiving everyone, as he’d deceived her. She couldn’t admit how wrong she’d been in marrying him.
Mattie pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind spinning. It seemed that now, this morning, she could hardly stand up under the weight of it.
If only she could forget.
She bolted upright. Oh, heavens. Last night.
The kitchen door burst open with a gust of cold wind, and a man filled the doorway, his hat pulled low, his long coat whipping around him.
The serving platter slipped from Mattie’s hand and shattered on the floor.
Oh, heavens. Last night.
He slammed the door and crossed the kitchen, his gaze sharp and penetrating beneath the brim of his hat. Mattie gulped and backed up a step.
Stopping in front of her, the shattered platter on the floor between them, he gave her a long, grim look.
“I woke up and you were gone,” he said, and his tone told her he was none too happy about it.
“I had to leave,” she said.
“Why?” His gaze hardened. “Because you were done with me?”
Heat bloomed across Mattie’s face, reddening her cheeks as a deeper wave of humiliation swept through her. She’d thrown herself at him—a perfect stranger. She’d asked him to make love to her—practically begged him to do it.
How could she have done such a thing? Never in her life had she even imagined doing such a reckless thing.
Mattie turned away, unable to look him in the eye. “Last night…last night was a mistake, Mr….” She glanced back at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“McQuaid,” he growled. “Jared McQuaid.”
Mattie gulped, trying to force down her embarrassment. “Oh, well, yes of course. I remember.” She cleared her throat. “As I said, Mr. McQuaid, last night was a mistake.”
“You didn’t seem to think so just before dawn.”
She winced, remembering what they’d been doing at that particular moment, and her cheeks burned anew. “Well, no, I suppose I didn’t. But still, it shouldn’t have happened.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Seemed to me you needed
