even an option. Her stomach was as tense as her nerves. Tea was the only thing that ever helped her through these times, and there’d been many cups in the last few years.
The backyard light flicked on, evident through the toile curtains that hung halfway down the picture window, which ran the length of the kitchen.
Despite her nervousness, Melinda walked over to the door. Probably just some wayward raccoon or neighborhood cat, but it never hurt to check. She’d been living in the heart of D.C. for too long to ignore any hint of danger.
The baseball bat she kept at her bedside was upstairs. Her fingers itched for it. As she stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, the teapot started to whistle.
The figure of a large man loomed in the window of the kitchen door. Melinda screamed.
And then her brain registered what her eyes saw.
“Nicholas!” His name was a strange mix of strangled cry and whispered prayer. Before her feet could respond to her brain’s order to move, Nicholas had unlocked the door and it swung open.
He looked as tall and imposing as ever, albeit a bit slimmer than she remembered. He was bundled against the cold in a charcoal overcoat.
He’d always been the most attractive man she’d known, and still was. Her gaze went to his face, and met his blue eyes that, right now, blazed fire at her.
He hadn’t expected her any more than she had him.
“What are you—”
“Why are you screaming at me?”
They both spoke at once. Their eye contact remained steady while the words hung in the frosty air between them.
“It’s freezing in here.” She broke the contact and nodded at the door he’d left wide-open behind him.
“Don’t want that, do we?” He slammed the door shut with his foot, never moving his eyes from her face.
But the motion of his foot distracted her, and she glanced down.
And saw the cane.
She tried to look away before he saw her discovery but wasn’t quick enough.
His eyes narrowed, his mouth curled. He’d never accepted pity from anyone.
“You’re hurt?” Her words came out in a squeak.
“Nothing major.” He tapped the cane on the tile. “This helps me negotiate uneven ground—or with an intruder in my home.”
“You don’t have to be so snippy. It’s still legally half my home—for the next two weeks.”
She walked to the teakettle and took it from the hot stove. She hoped her actions conveyed a tranquility she didn’t feel. First Grammy’s venomous words and now Nicholas’s censorious presence.
“‘Snippy.’ Yeah, that’s how I’m feeling. Snippy.”
He strode across the room to the coat closet, the cane tapping in rhythm with his steps. The rustle of hangers and winter coats was followed by a muffled curse, just loud enough to reach her ears.
She stopped plunging her teabag into the cup.
It wasn’t like Nicholas to swear. At least it hadn’t been, not while they were married. Or rather, together.
Melinda bit her lip. How could she know what he was like now? They hadn’t communicated in more than six months. Not one e-mail, not one phone call.
There’d been times when Melinda itched to take advantage of her staff position in Senator Hodge’s office and use a Pentagon resource to trace Nicholas’s location.
But she hadn’t.
If Nicholas wanted her, he could find her.
He’d been in Afghanistan, last she’d heard. He could’ve died and she wouldn’t have known. Not until the casualty assistance officer knocked on her door. If Nicholas had even bothered to change her emergency-contact information after she’d left Buffalo.
“What are you doing here?”
“Aaagh!” Melinda dropped the bag she’d steeped too long in the hot water and whirled to face Nicholas.
Don’t look at his eyes. Don’t remember why you loved him.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? In case you haven’t checked, I’ve had no information from you in the past six months—except the divorce papers I was served with four months ago!”
She stared at him, as surprised by her outburst as he obviously was.
After a long moment, he glanced away. The anger that fueled her accusation ebbed but left her knees shaky. Melinda sank into the 1940s-style red-and-white striped chair nearest to her and looked down at the tiled floor.
Anywhere but at his eyes.
She heard the scrape of a chair, then a vibration as the table shook with Nicholas’s weight against it.
“You never responded to the papers, except to sign them.” His voice was flat. Melinda’s tension flared into resentment at his apparent nonchalance.
“What was I supposed to do, Nicholas? The last thing I knew, we were separating to see if living apart was what we actually wanted. I didn’t realize you’d already made up your mind.”
She hated sounding so pathetic but there it was. The truth as she saw it.
“The last thing I knew, you packed up and left for D.C.—a week before I had to ship out.” His quiet tone tugged at her and she risked another look at him.
She gazed openly at his strong features and noted that his skin appeared paler, more drawn. The lines that crinkled when he laughed made him look tired, even sad. But his eyes bore the intensity she’d always seen in him and for a second Melinda didn’t know how she’d lived without her husband these past months.
“What else could I do? I was reacting to the news that you were leaving again the best way I knew how.” Her words ended on a whisper, and she looked down at her hands.
Her bare hands. She wore her wedding ring on a thick gold chain around her neck. It had been Grammy’s chain from before World War II. Had he noticed?
His sigh reverberated around her. “Doesn’t matter now, Melinda. We’ve made our choices.” His fingers drummed on the table and she saw that he, too, had removed his wedding band. She didn’t think it was for safety purposes since he wasn’t in uniform.
“How long will you be here?” His question caught her off guard. She had Senator Hodge’s blessing to take at least two weeks.
“I don’t know.” Maybe Nicholas needed some time alone here, she thought, before they put the house on the market. Their home.
“Do you need me to be out of here?” she asked.
“This is your home, too, Melinda. All I want to know is whether I’m sleeping on the couch for tonight or if I should go ahead and unpack in the guest room.”
“Grandpa Jack gave me this journal of Grammy’s to read, and his diary. I’d planned to stay with him—do whatever he might need me to do before winter sets in. But he insisted I stay here.”
She shrugged, trying to appear casual. “I think it would’ve upset him too much if I fought him on this.”
Nicholas’s expression remained impassive. “Fine. Take your time,” he said. “I’m home for good, so after about a week or so I’ll be back at work full-time.”
His stamina was close to his pre-injury level. But he hadn’t had to test it in a real environment for so long.
His leg ached from the flight and the drive home. But he was secure in the knowledge that no one—not Melinda or anyone else—could tell just how much