but a curse.” After all, Jenny’s life was in danger simply because those kidnappers knew what she had to inherit.
Wayne Kincaid had unexpectedly returned to Whitehorn after years of being away. Everyone had thought he had been killed in Vietnam, so the story went, but he returned under an assumed name to check out the town and the Kincaid ranch.
He had helped nab some men who were trying to destroy the ranch so they could buy it for a song, then, his identity exposed, he’d stayed on. He had married Carey Hall, the pediatrician who took care of Sara and Jenny. The couple had just been blessed with their first child together at Christmas, and seven-year-old Sophie, Carey’s daughter from her first marriage, was delighted to have a baby brother.
“I didn’t know your husband had returned,” Jessica continued, looking over Danielle’s shoulder.
“Yes, for a while. A couple of months,” she added so that no one, including herself, would think it was a permanent arrangement.
Jessica cast her a quizzical glance but didn’t ask any questions. Danielle was grateful.
She glanced across the room. The teacher was explaining the security in place for the girls to Kyle. Rafe Rawlings, who had recently been promoted to the town sheriff, had taken on the case himself and would be within a few feet of them at all times while they were at school. Lynn pointed out the window to a man dressed as a custodian.
“Sterling said Shane McBride was coming out to do a security check on your house this morning,” Jessica continued after a thoughtful moment.
“Oh, good,” Danielle said distractedly. Shane was the deputy sheriff and was working with Rafe on the case.
She felt she knew and had dealt with every law enforcement officer in the county during the past month. All except the one she’d needed so desperately—her husband.
Kyle strode toward her. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” She introduced him to Jessica. “Sterling McCallum is a special investigator with the sheriff’s office—”
“I know who he is.” Taking her arm, Kyle nodded to Jessica and ushered them out of the building.
On the way home, Danielle went over several opening statements in her mind and discarded them all. “Don’t manhandle me in front of my friends,” she finally said.
He cocked one dark eyebrow. “Only when we’re alone? Okay, I can handle that.”
She clenched her hand inside her mitten. “Don’t touch me at all. And don’t give me orders.”
He turned in the drive and parked. Leaning against the door, he observed her for a long moment. “You ordered me out of the library the first time we met. It was time to close, but I wasn’t finished researching old issues of the newspaper for information.”
She stared out the window, wisps of memory floating around in her mind. It had been a day much like this one—cold and cloudy and threatening snow. She had ended up helping him, then walking across the street for coffee, which turned into a late meal, then he’d walked her to her car and driven behind her until she was safely in her small cozy house. He’d been waiting when the library opened the next morning. Her heart had quickened. When they’d married, he had moved from his sparse apartment to her two-bedroom cottage. Those had been the happy days, the star-crossed sun-kissed days.
“There’s no point in remembering.” She climbed out, slammed the pickup door and went into the house, her heart heavy with a mass of confused feelings.
He didn’t come in until he’d made a circuit of the house and the stable in the back that had been converted into a four-car garage. After fighting a battle with her conscience, she had told him he could park there, too.
He’d accepted her offer and was gone a half hour. She figured he was checking out the building. When he returned, a cobweb caught on his hat confirmed her suspicion.
His dark-blue gaze met hers. She was at once aware of the silence that surrounded them. They were alone.
Flames ignited in the depths of his eyes. His gaze roamed over every inch of her as if he were comparing her to his memories the way she found herself constantly doing. Sweet, treacherous yearning blazed over her. Her body answered the question in his eyes with a resounding yes.
Shaken, she looked away. Her heart beat like a trapped bird in a cage. Once they would have rushed into each other’s arms. Endless kisses would have been followed by endless caresses, the merging of their bodies and their souls. No! Don’t even think it.
Stretching her arms to the side, she clutched the edge of the countertop and held on, waiting for her body to follow her mind’s bidding. She gazed at the snow out the window and thought of cold things—winter rain, glaciers…loneliness. Heat radiated over her back.
Kyle’s hands clasped the counter beside hers. His warmth caressed her arms, her back, her thighs. She was trapped. Like a cornered animal, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think—
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
His cheek brushed her hair as he leaned his head near and peered out the window. A tremor raced through her.
“The mountains can help put life into perspective,” he continued on a soft, husky note. “They lift our aspirations above the petty irritations of daily life.”
She stared at the snow-covered peaks, but her thoughts didn’t rise to lofty heights. They dwelt on more mundane matters—the earthly delights of kisses and lovemaking and the sharing of hearts and souls. She pressed her teeth into her lower lip and fought the yearning.
His hands touched hers, then glided up her arms. “When I look at the mountains, I think of you.”
He caressed her shoulders, then slid his fingers into her hair and gathered it into bunches in his fists. Through their reflected images in the windowpane, she saw him bury his face in the thick strands and inhale deeply.
“Why?” she asked, needing to know more, seeking an answer to why he had left her. “Why think of me?”
He lifted his head and met her gaze in the reflection. “Because, like the mountains, you remind me of all the good things in life. You are the good things.”
His gaze didn’t waver, but compelled her to listen, to believe what he said. She wanted to. Heaven help her, but she wanted so desperately to turn and fling herself into his arms and beg him never to leave again.
“Dani,” he whispered.
Her name seemed to echo through the silent house, full of need and a desperation she’d never heard from this man who had never truly needed anyone. His lips touched her temple. His hands gathered her hair and lifted it aside. He kissed the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes, feeling vulnerable and helpless. The way she had when Sara was taken. Helpless. And alone.
“No,” she said. It was hardly a murmur.
“Don’t shut me out.”
She heard the agony, and it stunned her. The man she had known would never express such an emotion. He dipped his head. She felt the touch of his lips against her throat, a butterfly caress that threatened to melt the icy core that had enabled her to survive the past two years. For a moment, she imagined that he had been as lonely as she.
“No,” she said again, stronger this time. “I can’t go back. I’m not that person anymore.” Whirling, she faced him. “I don’t believe in us anymore.”
Silence so deep, so filled with despair she thought she would weep, echoed around them. His features shifted slightly, becoming as unreadable as stone. He dropped his hands and stepped back.
She retreated to the small office off her bedroom and turned on the computer. Her hands shook. By sheer willpower, she forced her thoughts to the task at hand. She had a job to do. She had to support herself and Sara. She wouldn’t depend on