minutes later he entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said softly.
His wife spun about, fear on her face, determination in the set of her mouth. He watched her take in everything about the situation—him, the distance between them, the threat of danger. She was as edgy as a startled cat.
“Relax,” he advised and pushed a smile on his face with an effort. “Okay if I have a cup of coffee?”
Danielle gestured with her left hand toward the pot. “Help yourself.”
Her right hand, behind her and hidden by an old flannel shirt that he recognized as another of his, dropped to her side. She flexed her fingers as if they were stiff.
“I’m making oatmeal,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Do you want some?”
“Please.”
She nodded without looking at him and busied herself toasting English muffins and stirring a pot. A longing to go over and bury his face against the side of her neck, to breathe her fragrance into his starved body, speared right through him, churning up the dark pool. Regret rose to the surface. He would never have that right again.
“Sara, breakfast,” she called.
He took a drink of coffee, studying his wife as she stood at the stove. The hot need that flooded his body took him by surprise. He fought the urge and conquered it. Control was important. It was all he’d had going for him many times in his life. It would get him through the present.
He had already accepted that his return wasn’t going to result in conjugal bliss, so he’d thought he had the hunger under wraps. His libido was showing him otherwise. He carried the cup to the table and took a seat. His jeans were tight and uncomfortable.
“So, Sara, are you in third grade yet?” he asked his daughter when she entered and perched on her stool in thick pajamas that covered her from neck to toes.
She looked startled. Her glance darted toward her mother, but Danielle was busy elsewhere. Sara shook her head, slowly at first, then more firmly.
“Well, you’re in first grade then,” he teased.
This time she was a bit more self-assertive. She shook her head immediately.
“Oh, of course, you’re still in Tiny Tots.” He nodded as if remembering. “I used to drop you off at Miss Engles’s on the days Mommy had to open the library early. We would have doughnuts for breakfast at the diner and keep it a secret because Mommy thought we should eat cereal.”
“Sara is in kindergarten,” Danielle interjected, bringing their bowls to the table. She frowned at him.
“Kindergarten?” he said as if amazed. “That old? You must be…” He pretended to search for an answer.
Finally Sara held up one hand, palm outward, fingers and thumb splayed. Relief eased the soreness inside. His daughter had responded to him.
“Five. That’s right.” He smiled in approval.
Sara stared at him with an unwavering gaze and no answering smile. Danielle served them without a word. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“Eat up,” she said. “It’s almost time to go.”
She was speaking to Sara. He felt the chill of her rejection to his bones. Please let me know your thoughts on the divorce as soon as possible, her letter had read.
Always the polite librarian. But she was also his secret delight—his enchanting, passionate lover, the calm center of his being, all the good things in life.
The ache intensified. Maybe he should have handled things differently, but it had been easier to close off that side of his life than think about missing her and Sara. For their safety, he’d been willing to pay the price. He hadn’t realized at the time it would include his soul.
Danielle forced her hands to move, to do the usual morning chores, to act normal when everything about her seemed so totally alien.
She’d spent a restless night—that was nothing new—but a new element had been added. She had listened to the sounds of Kyle prowling the house and wondered what he was thinking…feeling…if he was remembering…
Had he missed her at all during those two years? If he asked, she could tell about missing him and about the loneliness of being abandoned and wondering why. Why? she wondered again now. Because of the danger? He’d told her of that possibility before they were married. She’d accepted it and determined to live with it. He’d worked on other dangerous cases. There were other ways to protect agents’ families without leaving them. She would have done anything to keep their family together. All he’d had to do was ask.
Shutting off the useless thoughts, she buried herself in the trivia of day-to-day living. “Shoes,” she told Sara after the child was dressed in plaid flannel pants and a red turtleneck. “Hurry.”
She put on her insulated boots and heavy coat after helping Sarah with her hat and mittens. They were ready to go. Kyle was at the door, dressed in the parka and black hat he’d worn last night.
“I’ll take you in the truck,” he said.
His tone indicated he was in no mood to argue. Giving him a hard look to let him know she would go because she thought it best, not because she was obeying his orders, she followed him to his pickup. She didn’t want him doing things for them. She didn’t want to learn to need him and then be deserted all over again.
Before she could do more than open the pickup door, he was there, scooping Sara up and depositing her on the seat, then his strong hands were at her waist and she found herself lifted as effortlessly as a doll and put firmly on the passenger seat.
“I could have gotten in by myself,” she rebuked after he’d gotten in, put the truck in gear and backed carefully out of the drive. He gave her a glance and said nothing.
Her neighbor’s son had plowed the drive before she’d gotten up that morning and the county road department had already done the street, so they arrived without mishap at the school. Danielle wasn’t surprised when Kyle went in with her and checked the room out.
“Introduce me to the teacher,” he requested.
Resentment flared in her, but she did as he ordered. Lynn was one of her best friends as well as Sara’s teacher. “Lynn, this is Sara’s father, Kyle Mitchell. Lynn Taylor, I mean, Garrison.”
Laughing, Lynn stepped forward. “I was recently married,” she explained, holding out her hand.
As Danielle watched the lovely blonde smile and talk to Kyle, a funny feeling came over her. Not that she was jealous. Kyle meant nothing to her. But she couldn’t help remembering that once he’d brought her such joy.
However, she obviously meant nothing to him. A two-year absence without a letter or phone call proved that. She had accepted it, grieved over it and gotten on with life.
But she still felt funny watching him talk to her friend, even one recently wed and obviously in love with her very new husband. For a birthday present, she had given Lynn a makeover at the Whitehorn Beauty Salon. The results had been startling as Lynn’s natural beauty had surfaced.
Danielle, stifling the odd feelings, helped Sara with her coat and spoke to Jenny and her mother, Jessica. The girls ran to their table and took their seats, Jenny talking a mile a minute while Sara nodded or shook her head. Danielle’s heart ached. She hoped their friendship lasted their whole lives—
“Sterling says there are no clues,” Jessica told her and sighed resignedly. “We’re afraid to let Jenny out of our sight for a minute.”
“I know what you mean,” Danielle commiserated.
“The Kincaid fortune,” Jessica murmured, speaking of the legacy that had been left to her daughter when Wayne Kincaid and Clint Calloway, Jenny’s half brothers, had given up their share of the Kincaid legacy. Both