and reflected in mirrors for his entire thirty-four years.
Stunned, he stared at his wife, whom he’d last seen through the Plexiglas barrier in the penitentiary visiting room. The woman who’d sat, her expression a blank mask, and never said a word when he’d set her free to live her life without a felon for a husband. Even though, judging from the boy’s size, she must have known, even then, that she was carrying his son.
“Down, Mama.” Sam’s impatient voice hung in the air. “Down, down, down.”
Awareness flooded Gavin, first in a trickle, then in a gush, as the full extent of her betrayal crashed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, rocked by wave after wave of fury, pain and disbelief.
A mistake, he realized too late. Because when he opened his eyes, she and the boy were gone.
The storm broke as Annie started for work.
Car keys in hand, she stood on her small covered porch and watched as the wind sighed through the gnarled trees that lined the dusty street. A faint drumroll of thunder echoed through the artificially early twilight, only to fade away as the first raindrops began to fall, rich with the scent of sun-baked evergreen.
She lifted her face to the breeze. It had been unseasonably hot all week. She let her eyes drift closed, the better to savor the cool wash of air that ruffled her hair and tugged at her clothes. While she no longer minded working nights, had even convinced her body it was okay to sleep from first light to mid-morning, she didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to life without air-conditioning.
A rueful smile lit her face. Watch out, Annelise. Your silver spoon is showing.
She sighed. Time and past, to get going. Clia would no doubt have her head if she were late.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the truck.
Big and black, its headlights gleamed in the murky light as it rolled down the street, slowing and speeding up in a way that suggested its driver was reading house numbers as he drove.
As simply as that—with an instinct she didn’t question—she knew.
Gavin.
Annie had been expecting him for more than a week, ever since their disastrous encounter in the grocery store. In some ways his arrival was a relief. At least now the waiting would be over. She would see him again, and the confrontation she’d dreaded for three long years would become a thing of the past. No longer would she struggle with the guilt, the regret, the host of what-might-havebeens.
No longer would she have to look into Sam’s precious little face and wonder if she’d compromised his future to survive her past.
At least now, she would know.
In the street, the pickup stopped altogether, then slid in against the curb with a throaty rumble. The headlights winked out; the engine fell silent. Raindrops spattered, sizzling as they struck the hood.
Oddly calm, Annie watched as the door swung open and Gavin climbed out. He hadn’t changed, she thought with that strange sense of detachment. Last week in the store she’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of him she hadn’t really seen him.
But now…Dressed in boots, jeans and a navy T-shirt, he was all man, from his hard thighs and narrow hips to his wide shoulders and strong, chiseled features. The wind snatched at his hair, tumbling the thick, inky strands across his forehead. Even from where she stood, the blue of his eyes was startling.
He started up the slight slope of her ragged lawn. His long legs made short shrift of the distance, and it was only a handful of seconds before he halted at the foot of the stairs. His gaze was shuttered as he looked up at her, taking in her work uniform of black slacks, white blouse and braided hair.
“Annie.” He inclined his head a scant quarter inch.
Pain shot through her hand. She glanced down, bemused to see she had a stranglehold on her keys. Perhaps she wasn’t so calm, after all. “Hello, Gavin.” She forced her fingers to relax.
A faint smile twisted across the achingly beautiful curve of his mouth. “You don’t look very surprised to see me.” His eyes were as hard as ice chips.
Her courage almost deserted her then. “Liam Corson called me. He said you’d been making inquiries.” Corson had been her father’s attorney. “I—I thought you might come.”
He raised one straight black brow. “And?”
“And I guess you’d better come in.” She crossed the few feet to the door, opened the screen and got her key in the lock, only to falter as she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.
Goose bumps prickled across her arms. To her horror, her hand began to shake, and the lock, always temperamental, refused to budge.
“Here.” His voice sounded in her ear. She froze as he moved up behind her, unknowingly sheltering her from the wind. He reached for the key, so close she could feel the heat from his skin and taste his scent on her tongue.
And as quickly as that, she was caught in a flood of memories; of waking to the slow caress of his workroughened fingers; of the melting pleasure she’d found in his powerful arms; of the deep, urgent murmur of his voice filling the night…
Annie. Look at me. Look at me while I love you, baby. See how perfect we fit together—
The door swung open.
Annie fled inside. Pulse racing, cheeks burning, she crossed to the battered old highboy set against the wall to the right. She dropped her car keys and pocketbook next to the diminutive chiming clock that had been her mother’s and switched on a small ginger jar lamp. Then she hurried across the room and turned on the larger lamp that sat on the end table next to her yellow-and-white sofa and the bentwood rocker—as if the light could banish the specters of her past.
All the while she was acutely aware of Gavin, who stood in the shadows inside the entry, silent and watchful.
Panic welled inside her. She couldn’t do this, she thought wildly. She’d been a fool to ever think she could match his calm, his control, his icy lack of emotion—
Stop it. With a slight shudder, she clamped down on the flow of negative thoughts and instinctively fell back on the endless drills in deportment that had filled her teenage years. While the Brook School for Girls hadn’t taught the proper etiquette for dealing with an estranged husband who’d broken one’s heart, Miss Kesson had repeated countless times that good manners were always a lady’s best line of defense.
Annie was no longer certain she qualified as a lady, but the reminder served to steady her. “Why—why don’t you come in and sit down?”
He didn’t move. “You live here?”
The disbelief in his voice puzzled her, and then she understood. The little house was certainly nothing like her father’s sprawling Denver compound, or even the deluxe town house she and Gavin had shared in the ritzy suburb of Bretton Hills. There was just the one room, with a pair of doors on one side that opened into her and Sam’s bedrooms, a bank of windows on the other side, and an archway at the back that led to the kitchen and bathroom.
Still, in many ways it was the first real home she’d ever known. And except for the handful of months that had comprised her marriage, the time she’d lived here since Sam was born had been the happiest period of her life.
She stood a little straighter and retreated further into formality. “Yes, I live here. Please, sit down, Gavin. I need to make a phone call, and then I’ll be right with you.” With that she escaped into the kitchen to call work.
Annie punched in the number she knew by heart, then braced herself.
A