“Everything’s all right,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. “Don’t worry.”
Her arms were his shelter, his protection. The first time he’d met Bethany, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t become involved with her. Until now he’d steadfastly stuck to that vow.
But he hadn’t counted on needing her—or anyone—this badly. She was his sanity.
He knew he was going to kiss her in the same moment he acknowledged how desperate he’d been for her. With a hoarse groan that came from deep in his throat he surrendered to a need so strong he couldn’t possibly have refused it.
Their lips met, and it was like a burst of spontaneous combustion. He’d waited so long. He needed her so badly. One hand gathering the blond thickness of her unbound hair, he kissed her repeatedly, unable to get enough.
He was afraid his need had shocked her, and he sighed with heartfelt relief when she kissed him back as avidly as he was kissing her.
He moaned, wanting to tell her how sorry he was. But he was unwilling to break the contact, to leave her for even those short seconds.
Bethany coiled her arms tightly about his neck. Again and again he ran his hands down the length of her spine, savoring the feel of this woman in his arms. Their mouths met urgently, frantically. He felt insatiable, and she responded with an intensity that equaled his own.
Mitch broke off the kiss when it became more than he could physically handle. He felt that the passion between them might never burn itself out. At the rate things had progressed, the kiss would quickly have taken them toward something more intimate. Something neither of them was ready to deal with yet.
Bethany gasped in an effort to catch her breath, and she pressed her hand over her heart as though to still its frenzied beat. Her lips were swollen. Mitch raised his finger and stroked the slick smoothness of her mouth.
Slowly he raised his head and studied her.
She blinked, looking confused. Or dazed.
He felt a surge of guilt—and regret. “That should never have happened,” he whispered.
She said nothing.
“I promise you it won’t happen again.”
Her eyes flickered with…anger? Before another second had passed, she’d turned and rushed out of his office.
Matt had found the day long and emotionally exhausting. He’d attended the services for his grandmother and the wake that followed.
His mother mourned deeply, and in his own way Matt did, too. His grief surprised him. Matt had barely known Catherine—Grammy, as Lanni called her. There hadn’t been many visits over the years.
She’d always sent a card with a check for his birthday. Money again at Christmas. A Bible when he graduated from high school and later, she’d established a trust fund for him. This was the money he’d used to buy the lodge from the O’Halloran brothers.
His grandmother had never known how he’d used the money in the trust fund. By the time he was able to collect it this past summer, her health had disintegrated so much she no longer recognized him. Somehow Matt felt she would have condoned his choice. He liked to think she would have, anyway.
The memorial service and wake had gone well. Virtually all the townspeople had offered condolences, and many had inquired about his progress with the lodge.
The people of Hard Luck had been open and friendly since his arrival, but Matt tended to keep to himself. He was too busy getting the lodge ready to socialize much. He didn’t dare stop and think about everything that needed to be done before he posted an Open sign on the front door. The multitude of tasks sometimes overwhelmed him.
Readying the lodge was a considerable chore, but his success depended on a whole lot more than making sure the rooms were habitable.
He’d have to convince people to make the journey this far north, and he’d have to provide them with activities. Wilderness treks, fishing, dogsledding. If his first order of business was getting the lodge prepared for paying customers, his second was attracting said customers.
He’d do it. Whatever it took, he’d do it. He had something to prove to—
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
Karen.
He worked fifteen-hour days for one reason, and that reason was Karen. Just saying her name produced an aching sensation in his heart, an ache that had started the day she’d filed for divorce.
What kind of wife filed for divorce without discussing the subject with her husband first? Okay, so maybe she’d mentioned once or twice that she was unhappy.
Well, dammit, he was unhappy, too!
He’d be the first to admit she had a valid complaint—but only to a point. True, he’d changed careers four times in about that many years. He was a man with an eye to the future, and opportunities abounded. But Karen had accused him of being self-indulgent and irresponsible, unable to settle down. That wasn’t true. He’d always moved on to something new when the challenge was gone, when a job no longer held his interest.
He supposed he could understand her discontent, but he’d never thought she’d actually leave him. To be fair, she’d threatened it, but he hadn’t believed her.
If she truly loved him, she would’ve stuck it out.
Matt shook his head. There was no point in reviewing the same issues again. He’d gone over what had led to the divorce a thousand times without solving anything.
The final blow had been when she left Alaska. Oh, he’d fully expected her to do well in her career. She was an executive secretary for some highfalutin engineering company. Great job. Great pay. When they’d offered her a raise and a promotion, she’d leapt at the chance. Without a word, she’d packed her bags and headed for California.
California? Even now he had trouble believing it.
He reached for a magazine and idly flipped through the pages, then slapped it shut. Thinking about Karen was unproductive.
California! He hoped she was happy.
No, he didn’t. He wanted her to be miserable, as miserable as he was. The simple truth was…he loved her. And he missed her.
A year. You’d think he’d be over her by now. He should be seeing new women, going out, making friends. He might have, too, if he wasn’t so busy working on the lodge. But if he had any free time and if there were single women available—like that new teacher, maybe—he’d start dating again.
No, he wouldn’t.
Matt wasn’t going to lie to himself. Not after today when he’d stood with his family and mourned the loss of his grandmother. His parents had been married for nearly thirty years now. Lanni and Charles had stood on his other side. Together.
Losing Grammy had been difficult for Lanni. Having spent part of the summer in Hard Luck cleaning out their grandmother’s home, Lanni felt much closer to Catherine than he did. She grieved, and Charles was there to lend comfort.
The way his father comforted his mother.
But Matt stood alone.
It hurt to admit how much he’d yearned to have Karen beside him. His agony intensified when he was forced to recognize how deeply he still loved her.
He wondered if it would always be like this. Would he ever learn to let her go? Not that he had any real choice. The truth was, any day now he expected to hear she’d remarried.
There wasn’t a damn thing to stop her. The men in California would have to be blind not to notice her. It wouldn’t take long for her to meet some executive who’d give her the stability she craved. There wasn’t a man alive who could resist her, he thought morosely. He should know.
His ex-wife was beautiful, talented, generous and spirited. Was she spirited!
A smile cracked his lips. Not many people knew that the cool, calm Karen Caldwell loved to throw things—mainly at Matt. She’d hurled the most ridiculous objects, too.
His shirt. A newspaper. Potato chips. Decorator pillows.
When her anger reached this point, there was only one sure method to cool her ire. One method that had never failed him.
He’d make love to her. The lovemaking
was wild and wicked, and soon they’d both be so caught up in the sheer magic of it she’d forget whatever it was that had angered her.
Matt remembered the last time Karen had expressed her fury like a major-league pitcher. His smile widened as he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.
He’d quit his job. All right, he should’ve discussed it with her first. But he hadn’t planned to go in and resign that day. It had just…happened.
Karen had been furious with him. He tried to explain that he was going to find something better. Accounting wasn’t for him—he should’ve realized it before. He’d been thinking about a job more suited to his talents.
She wouldn’t give him a chance to explain. Ranting and raving, she’d started flinging whatever she could lay hands on. Matt had ducked when she’d sent her shoes flying in his direction. The saltshaker had scored a direct hit, smacking him in the chest.
That had given her pause, he recalled, but not for long. Braving her anger, he’d advanced toward her. She’d refused to let him near her. When she ran out of easy-to-reach ammunition, she’d walked across the top of the sofa and leapt onto the chair, all the while shouting at the top of her lungs and threatening him with the pepper mill.
It hadn’t taken much to capture her, and he’d let her yell and struggle in his arms for a few minutes. Then he did the only thing he could to silence Karen—kiss her.
Soon, the pepper mill had tumbled from her hands and onto the carpet, and they were helping each other undress, their hands as urgent as their need.
Afterward, he remembered, Karen had been quiet and still. While he lay there, appreciating the most incredible sex of his life, his wife had been planning their divorce. Less than a week later, she moved out and he was served with the papers.
The smile faded as the sadness crept back into his heart.
He modified his wish. He didn’t want Karen to be miserable. If someone had to be blamed, then fine, he’d accept full responsibility for their failure. He deserved it.
He missed her so much! Never more than now. Whatever happened in the future with this lodge and the success of his business venture seemed of little consequence. Matt would go to his grave loving Karen.
Like his grandmother before him, he would only love once.
“You seem pensive,” Sawyer said as he sat on the edge of the bed and peeled off his socks.
With her back propped against the headboard, Abbey glanced over the top of her mystery novel. “Of course I’m pensive,” she muttered, smiling at her husband. “I’m reading.”
“You’re pretending to read,” he corrected. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?” she asked him with an expression of pure innocence.
“The one that says you’re plotting.”
Abbey made a face at him. How could Sawyer know her so well? They hadn’t been married all that long. “And what exactly am I plotting?” She’d see if he could figure that one out.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll tell me sooner or later.”
“For your information, Mr. Know-It-All, I was just thinking about Thanksgiving.”
Sawyer cocked his head to one side, as if to say he wasn’t sure he should believe her. “That’s almost a month away. Tell me what could possibly be so important about Thanksgiving that it would occupy your mind now?”
“Well, for one thing, I was thinking we should ask Mitch and Chrissie to join us.” She glanced at her husband in order to gauge his reaction.
Sawyer didn’t hesitate. “Good idea.”
“And Bethany Ross.”
A full smile erupted on Sawyer’s handsome face as he pointed his finger at her. “What did I say? You’re plotting!”
“What?” Once more she feigned innocence.
“You want to invite Mitch and Bethany to Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Right,” she concurred, opening her eyes wide in exaggerated wonder that he could find anything the least bit underhand in such a courtesy. “And what, pray tell, is so devious about that?”
His finger wagged again as he climbed into bed. “A little matchmaking, maybe? You’ve got something up your sleeve, Abbey O’Halloran.”
“I most certainly do not,” she said with a touch of righteous indignation.
“I notice you didn’t suggest inviting John Henderson.”
“No,” she admitted.
“Isn’t he the one Bethany’s been having dinner with for the past few weeks?”
“They’re friends, that’s all.”
“I see.” Sawyer leaned over and deftly reached for one end of the satin ribbon tying the collar of her pajama top. He slowly tugged until it fell open.
“Besides, I heard from Mariah that John’s interested in someone else now.”
Sawyer idly unfastened the first button. “Is that right?”
Her husband’s touch was warm, creating feathery sensations that scampered across her skin.
Sawyer’s eyes dropped to her mouth, and his voice lowered to a soft purr. “Mitch has lived here for a few years.”
“True.” Her second button gave way as easily as the first.
“If he was interested in remarrying, he’d have done something about it before now, wouldn’t you think?”
Abbey closed her book and set it blindly on the table next to the bed. “Not necessarily.”
“Do you think Mitch is interested in Bethany?” Sawyer slipped his hand inside the opening he’d created.
Abbey closed her eyes at the feel of her husband’s fingers. “Yes.” The word sounded shockingly intimate.
“As it happens,” Sawyer said in a husky whisper, “I agree with you.”
“You do?” Her voice dwindled to a whisper. With her eyes still closed, she swayed toward him.
Sawyer’s kiss was long and deep. The conversation about Mitch Harris and Bethany Ross stopped there. Instead, Sawyer and Abbey continued their dialogue with husky sighs and soft murmurs.
Bethany walked into the Hard Luck Café shortly after ten on Saturday and sat at the counter. The place was empty. Ben wasn’t in sight, either, which was fine; she wasn’t in any hurry. Tired of her own company, she’d decided to take a walk and sort through what had happened between her and Mitch. Ha! she thought sourly. As if that was even possible.
There wasn’t anyone she could ask about Mitch’s past. And apparently he wasn’t going to volunteer the information. He hadn’t said one word about his life before Hard Luck, and no one else seemed to know much, either.
As for what had happened at the memorial service, Bethany had given up any attempt to make sense of it. For whatever reason, Mitch had turned to her. He’d kissed her with such intensity, such hunger.…Never before had she felt that kind of joy.
Then he’d apologized. And she’d realized he had simply needed someone. Anyone. Any woman would have sufficed. She just happened to be handy. The minute he saw what he’d done, he regretted having touched her.
“Bethany, hello! How are you this fine day?” As always, Ben greeted her with a wide smile as he bustled up to the counter. “We missed you at the wake after Catherine’s memorial service. The women in town put on a mighty fine spread.”
There was probably some psychological significance in the fact that she’d sought Ben out now, Bethany decided. If she wasn’t so sick of analyzing the situation between her and Mitch, she might have delved into that question. As it was, she felt too miserable to care.
“I’m fine.”
“Is that so?” Without her asking, Ben filled a mug with coffee. “Then why those little lines between your eyes?”
“What lines?”
“When I’m stewing about something, these lines always appear. Right there.” He pointed to his own forehead. “Three of them. Seems to me you’re cursed with the same thing. Can’t fool a living soul, no matter how hard I try.” He smiled, encouraging her to talk.
Bethany resisted the urge to tell him she’d come by those lines honestly
. Inhaling a deep breath, she eyed him, wondering how much she dared confide in him about her feelings for Mitch. Darn little, she suspected. That she’d even wonder was a sign of how desperate she’d become. Still, maybe he could fill in a few details about Mitch’s background. With no other customers present, this was the optimum time to ask.
“What can you tell me about Mitch?” she began.
“Mitch? Mitch Harris?” All at once, Ben found it necessary to wipe down the counter. He ran a rag over the top of the already spotless surface. “Well, for one thing, he’s a damn good man. Decent, caring. Loves his daughter.”
“He’s lived in Hard Luck for how long?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted to ease Ben into the conversation.
“Must be around five years now.”
She nodded. “I heard he worked for the police department in Chicago before that.”
“That’s what I heard, too.”
“Do you know how his wife died?” Since Ben wasn’t inclined to share any real information, she’d have to pry it out of him.
“Can’t say I do.” His mouth twisted to one side, as if he was judging what he should and shouldn’t tell her. “I don’t think Mitch has ever talked about her to anyone. Hasn’t mentioned her to me.”
Bethany heard the door open behind her. Their conversation was over, not that she’d gleaned any new facts.
“If you’re curious about his wife,” Ben whispered, “I suggest you ask him yourself. He just walked in.”
For the briefest of seconds, she felt like a five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
To her surprise, Mitch sat on the stool next to hers. He studied her for what seemed like minutes. “Hello, Bethany,” he finally said in a low voice.
“Mitch.” She refused to meet his eyes.
“I’m glad I ran into you.”
Well, that was certainly a change.
Ben strolled over and Mitch asked for coffee.
“I’d like to talk to you, Bethany.” He gestured toward one of the booths, the steaming mug in his hand.
She followed him to the farthest booth, and they sat across from each other. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and when he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were bleak.
Midnight Sons Volume 2 Page 8
