Maybe that was one of the mistakes they’d made as a couple.
Conrad creaked back in his chair. “You said it. Not me.”
Silence descended. All three men exchanged looks, but no one spoke.
After what seemed like an eternity, Chuck shifted his weight forward, ready to make this conversation productive. “Shana’s feeling at loose ends sitting around the house. I’ve asked her to look into Milla Jones’s disappearance.” As well as the woman’s accusations about the Mikkelson family possibly being involved in the crash that killed Jack Steele’s wife and daughter. Chuck hadn’t shared the depth of the accusations with Shana yet. It had felt like too much to pile on her tonight.
And he hadn’t wanted to taint her feelings about his family. About him.
Broderick crossed his arms over his chest, annoyance written all over his body. “We’ve dedicated unlimited resources to company investigators looking for Ms. Jones.”
And they hadn’t turned up a thing. “It doesn’t hurt to have more eyes on the lookout. Shana is good at what she does. I should have thought to ask her earlier.”
More than once, Shana had accused him of not supporting her work. In the early days of their marriage, he’d traveled so much on business it had started to take a toll on their relationship. He’d persuaded her to take a hiatus to travel with him. A few months had turned into a year and her position had been filled once she discussed returning. And then they’d turned their attention to starting a family.
Conrad spread his arms in surrender. “Well, by all means, if she can find Milla Jones, then I’m in. Whatever we can do to help her, we will.”
“Thank you,” Chuck said. “She’ll need something to take her mind off losing her memory.”
Conrad leaned forward on his elbows. “How are you?”
“Concerned,” he admitted. “She’s so damn stubborn.”
A rustle from across the room caught his attention. A little noise, the sound of footfalls, the creak of a door hinge. He looked up and over, past the computer screen and into the depths of the ill-lit room.
Shana.
She stood at the door frame, blond hair loose.
But those eyes.
After being married to Shana for nearly four years, he knew that look all too well.
He was in the doghouse.
Four
Shana held herself in check by sheer force of will.
How. Dare. He.
Appease her? Placate her?
Lingering in the threshold to the home office—her shared home office—her blood boiled.
Did this man know her at all after five years together? And while she might still be locked out of her memories, she couldn’t imagine that she had changed so much that any man—let alone her husband—would think she needed to be thrown a pity case to work on.
As if that would solve a damn thing.
Gripping the door frame, she felt her cheeks heat even more as she locked eyes with Chuck. The glow from the computer screen somehow made this broad-shouldered man seem impossibly Viking-like, with that squared jaw and stubble.
Her righteous anger at being thrown a case as a distraction was paralleled only by her anger at finding him so damn sexy.
She’d come downstairs for a snack in an attempt to feed her emotions that were still too tingly from their encounter outside the shower. Of course, that could also have something to do with why she couldn’t keep herself from following the intoxicating timbre of his voice.
Too bad his words hadn’t matched up to the allure.
Fury firing her steps, Shana crossed the threshold into the workspace, hugging her terry cloth robe tighter around her.
“You’re just trying to pacify me?”
“Hold on, I need to sign off.” Chuck looked back at the computer screen. “Conrad, Broderick, let me get back to you later.” Closing the laptop, Chuck pushed up from the desk. “I’m not sure how much you overheard, but—”
“I heard enough to know you only asked me to help this investigation because you want to keep me busy—” she paused for a breath, anger making her dizzy “—not because you truly believe I have anything of value to offer.”
Chuck took a beat, studying her face. Those green eyes shone in the dim room, bearing down into her soul. Awakening something...
But never mind that.
She crossed her arms over her chest in a challenge. No backing down.
“You want the truth? Fine.” He walked around the corner of the desk and sat on the edge of it. “I want you to rest and to devote your energy to healing, for yourself and the baby. Can you imagine how awful it was to see you pass out and not be able to revive you?”
Anger seeped from her, replaced by an image that, even though she couldn’t remember the event, she could still imagine clearly, and it tugged at her heart for him. “I’m sorry you went through that. But surely it crossed your mind that pregnant women pass out sometimes.”
He stayed silent, his face sanitized of expression.
He was hiding something. God, she hated the inequality of him knowing everything while she stood in a void.
What would it have been like to meet him on even footing? The attraction between them was so intense.
And it was distracting her from reading the signs.
Something was off between them, and she needed to get to the bottom of it.
Her sleuthing skills screamed, an alarm walloping through her head. Deep breaths. She could figure this out. She had to, for the sake of her future here with this man. For the sake of her unborn child.
“You knew I was pregnant, didn’t you? Or did you?” Her legs folded and she sat on the armchair near him as the truth became all too evident. “You didn’t know about the baby. Why didn’t I tell you?”
He scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I suspect because of failed in vitro attempts and three miscarriages. You didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
“That makes sense.” Yet it still felt like there was more to the picture when it came to why she would keep such news from him, from her husband.
“You sound skeptical.”
“I sound like someone who doesn’t know you well enough to form an opinion on whether you’re trustworthy or not,” she blurted out, head tilting as if to better take him in amid the books and flowers. She’d dreamed of a space like this when she was younger. Of course, younger felt like only a year or two ago—not six or seven years ago.
His jaw flexed, his lips thinning.
“You’re angry.” She stated the obvious, curious about why he’d had that reaction.
“I don’t like my honor being called into question,” he said tightly. “I just want what’s best for you, for us.”
Her own irritation was fanning back to life. “And that includes pacifying your baby’s mother with busywork.”
“I respect your professional instincts. I always have.” He sounded sincere.
Still, she felt the need to press. “So I’ve been working during our marriage? Where’s my business office?”
“You worked for the first year, until we decided to start a family.”
She’d completely stepped away from the career she loved? Another twist, a blow she hadn’t even considered. “I haven’t worked in three years?”
“You did some consulting on occasion. And you organized incredible fund-raisers for the family.” He gave her a roguish smile. “I have to tell you that if you dismiss the importance of that, there are women in our family who’ll come after you.”
“Your mother the business executive? Your sister the CFO? Or your stepsister the lawyer?” she retorted.
She refused to let his roguish smile throw her off the scent. She’d found a sensitivity and she needed to follow it.
He stood from the desk and knelt on one knee in front of he
r. “Are you trying to provoke me into an argument?”
“Is that what we used to do? Fight a lot?”
She wanted to spark some memory free, something tangible to hold on to from the past five years with this man she’d cared for—enough to marry him, to give up her career to try having children together.
He took her hand in his, his clasp steady, launching tingles up her arm. “I realize that losing your memory has to be...untenable. Finding out you’re married, you gave up your job, must be so hard. Finding out you’re carrying a child you don’t recall conceiving is more than unfair.” He palmed her stomach possessively. “But let me reassure you, I remember well when we made this baby.”
Sliding his hand from her still-flat belly, he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her wrist. Her whole body flushed with a heat that rivaled the intensity she’d felt outside the shower. The sizzle of an almost-kiss, inhaling one another’s breaths, their scent.
There was no question.
They shared a connection that had nothing to do with her pregnancy.
Chuck rocked back on his heels, stood and walked away, leaving her with more questions than answers.
* * *
Chuck had a sneaking suspicion he’d find Shana in the barn.
When they’d started dating, his parents’ barn had been her favorite place. He recalled how she’d taken solace in the quiet caring of the horses, a natural horsewoman. He’d gotten her a fiery filly soon after they’d tied the knot, a bay Tennessee walking horse with a feathery mane. Her name was Sedna, after the Inuit goddess of sea animals.
Over the past four years, they’d spent time breaking the horse, transforming the leggy colt into a beautifully disciplined mare.
Unlike the barn of his professional enemy turned family, the Mikkelson family barn operated for business as well as for family recreation. The sleek steel fifteen-stall structure featured small turnout paddocks and a climate-controlled tack room.
He walked down the spine of the building until he reached the last stall on the right side. Sedna’s stall.
Realizing the fight last night would not win Shana over, Chuck knew he had to do better. He had to romance her. Because he’d been given a second chance to regain the marriage he’d almost lost. And because he needed to taste her lips and feel her body again.
So he’d gathered a bouquet of irises from their hothouse. He held the flowers behind his back and swept off his Stetson, hooking it on the back of a post.
Biting wind whipped through the open door to the small paddock behind Sedna’s stall. Shana’s honeyed hair fanned around her, her cheeks chapped from the cold.
It had taken all his willpower not to kiss her lips last night. The velvety softness of her wrist had nearly undone him.
She held a soft brush in her hand and seemed to absently brush the horse. While the memory of Sedna might not be available to her, his wife’s ease around horses remained.
An ease that had once allowed them to take a weekend-long camping trek through the woods on horseback during the summer. He’d always been mesmerized by how Shana looked just as elegant in jeans and boots as in an evening gown and jewels.
In the chill of the night, they’d warmed themselves with lovemaking. He could still hear the echo of her sighs, still feel the glide of her body. He’d held her in his arms afterward as the sun rose early in the summer months.
As if she could read his thoughts, Shana glanced over her shoulder. A question already formed in the tension of her brow.
He brought his arm from behind his back, his fist around the paper-wrapped irises from the greenhouse. Year-round flowers had been his first anniversary gift to her. “You wanted to know more about the past five years. These always made you smile.”
A smile spread across her face now, her eyes lighting with pleasure as she took the flowers from him.
“Thank you. This is so thoughtful, but you don’t have to buy me things.” Still, she buried her face in the blossoms and inhaled.
“Consider it a first-date gift.” Except this wasn’t a date. “Or a first-full-day-home gift.”
“They’re gorgeous.” She smiled over the bouquet, her blue eyes deepening with joy to a near purple echoed in the flowers. “Thank you.”
“They’re from the greenhouse.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “We have a greenhouse?”
“I like the way you say ‘we.’” He rested an elbow on the horse stall, his shoulder brushing hers.
Her smile faded. “That was presumptuous of me.”
“Not at all.” He angled closer, their knees grazing, his back blocking the wind rolling through the open barn door. “This is our home. This is where we’ve built our life together.”
Her hands clenched in the paper, crackles echoing along with horse’s whinnying. “Chuck—”
“No need to say anything.” He toyed with a lock of her hair. How long had it been since he’d flirted with her? Too long. “I realize this is all new to you. Let me know how I can help.”
“I want to know—I want to remember. I feel at such loose ends.” She glanced up at him. “If you’re still interested in my helping out in researching the missing employee, I could use something to occupy my time, especially until my mother arrives.”
“I would very much appreciate your expertise in digging into Milla Jones’s disappearance.”
“Okay then. I’m all in. Even after my mom arrives.” She looked down, their boots almost touching on the dusty barn floor. She shuffled her feet. “Do you and my mother get along?”
“Sure.” He took the flowers from her and set them along the stall ledge.
“Care to elaborate?” She leaned back, arms across her chest.
Were her breasts swollen from pregnancy or was it his awareness that made them so appealing? Either way, he burned to test their weight in his hands.
His eyes grazed her chest before sliding up to her face. “Your mother and I don’t argue.”
“I guess I was looking for details on what you two talk about, or what you enjoy about each other.”
He searched for something to share that wouldn’t bring up her father. He knew she didn’t like to talk about him. “Your mom makes my favorite cookies when she visits.”
“What are your favorite cookies?” She went back to brushing Sedna. The horse shivered, swishing her tail lazily.
“Macadamia nut.”
“Sounds delicious. Now I’m craving some.”
“Craving?” His chest went tight.
She nodded, dropping her arm from brushing. “I guess that’s a pregnancy thing.”
He smiled and draped an arm around her shoulders.
She stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“Do you mind my touching you?” He squeezed her shoulder lightly.
“I don’t think so.” She swayed toward him ever so slightly.
“A resounding endorsement,” he said drily.
She let out a low laugh. A real, genuine one.
A surge of hope—and desire—filled him.
Laughing with her, teasing, felt good. But he was all too aware of how that laughter would stop if she remembered their more recent past before he had a chance to wrangle his way back into her bed again. Before he could reestablish the connection they had lost.
He was walking a tightrope, balancing savvy timing with racing against the clock.
* * *
One week and...nothing.
Not one memory bubbled to the surface. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Shana had tried holding items throughout the house. Smelling them. And still not one memory came.
She trudged forward on her daily walk, snowshoes crunching the packed surface. The crisp air teased her lungs and senses, but she couldn’t shake the frustration of still feeling like an interloper in her own life.
&nb
sp; The Mikkelson and Steele families were all visiting today. Not one person in the sea of faces managed to dislodge a memory from its hiding place.
Closing the last few steps to the house, she puffed free a cloud of air. She knelt and removed her snowshoes, one, then the other. Holding them, she opened the side porch door into the mudroom, relishing the quiet before descending into the chaos that was her new normal. So many people—relative strangers—hovered over her, staring at her with expectant eyes.
Her mom had never made it. After having had her flight canceled multiple times for weather, she’d decided to wait until later to visit rather than risk using up all her vacation days for a trip that might not happen.
Shana was on her own to sort through her convoluted life.
Glenna, Chuck’s elegant sister, had invited Shana on a snowshoe walk through the grounds. His eldest sister seemed warm and thoughtful. She’d married the eldest Steele brother, Broderick. So many names still.
Glenna had popped back inside to check on her child, leaving Shana in the mudroom between the family inside the house and outside. Hand on her stomach, Shana let her eyes flutter closed.
She’d worked off some of her tension from being in close quarters with her sexy husband, who’d been Prince Charming personified every minute of every day. He hadn’t been pushy, and that made him somehow all the more alluring. Every accidental touch and thoughtful gift had her tied up in knots.
He’d made dinner himself the other night. Chuck dug up her mother’s Alfredo recipe and served it complete with a dark chocolate mousse cake—which he didn’t bake, but had special ordered for her. So kind. And yet so strange.
He’d finished off the meal with the gift of a bracelet holding a studded diamond charm.
Her eyes fluttered back open, away from recent, accessible memories to the unfolding present. She looked for her husband through the mudroom window. A combination of snowmobiles and horses disrupted the snow-covered land, white-capped mountains in the distance.
The Second Chance Page 5
