A Journey's End

by Ann Christopher

  Upset?

  Upset didn’t begin to cover it.

  He’d be even more broken than he was now.

  He’d be ruined.

  This simple fact was so obvious and unavoidable it forced him to open up and tell her the truth for once.

  “You think I haven’t been asking myself that?” he asked, staring her in the face.

  She hesitated. Her brows contracted and she cocked her head as though she couldn’t trust her hearing, but she recovered quickly enough.

  “Well, what’re you going to do about it, James?” There was a silky note in her voice now, half-taunt and half-seduction. In response, the fine nerve endings running down his arms and across his nape tightened with delicious anticipation. “The same old nothing you’ve been doing? Haven’t we had enough of that? Aren’t you tired of fighting me?”

  Oh, yeah.

  He was tired.

  He twisted the wedding band around his finger, watching her.

  “It’s like I’m trapped in a cage, Miranda.” The second he admitted this secret shame—the insurmountable obstacle sitting right in the center of his soul, he felt lighter. Almost ...free. “I can’t see the way out.”

  Warmth and understanding lit her eyes until she smiled at him without moving her lips.

  “The cage door is open,” she told him. “All you have to do is walk out.”

  It sounded so easy when she said it. Infinitely doable.

  But his ring was still on his finger, and it still felt tight.

  “I’m not sure it’s that simple,” he said.

  She nodded with perfect understanding, then kicked the world out from under him.

  “If you can’t do it, then you have to let me go.”

  He recoiled as though she’d spit in his face.

  Let her go?

  “Don’t come into Java Nectar again. Ever. Don’t bring me little presents anymore. Don’t look out for me and try to protect me and then expect me not to notice. Don’t ...don’t look at me with those hot eyes, like you want to swallow me whole.” She paused, pressing her lips together as she blinked back tears. “And I’ll find another group of scouts for the boys, so you won’t have to see me, either. You’re big on simple, right? It’d be simple enough for us to let each other go.”

  Let each other go?

  “But you have to decide, James. Because I can’t go on like this. It’s too painful.”

  Never go to Java Nectar again? Never see her or the boys, when seeing them was the touchstone of his existence? He opened his mouth to ask her if she was serious, but the unyielding set of her mouth and chin told him she was.

  They stared at each other for one endless, excruciating second, her line in the sand stretching between them.

  Then he turned and strode out the back door, into the roaring wind and drifting snow as he made his way to the chopping block, knowing he had to make the biggest decision of his life.

  Chapter 8

  Ten minutes later, when she’d worn a channel in James’s carpet, her cell phone beeped from the depths of her purse. The display showed a picture of the boys from last summer, when they visited a local petting zoo and become attached to a black pygmy goat named Zeus.

  Grinning, she hit the button. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mommy,” said Noah. “It’s me, Jonah.”

  “Hello, Noah,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

  There was a pause.

  “How did you know it was me?” said Noah, sounding deflated.

  “I gave birth to you.” She laughed, feeling better than she had all evening. “Plus, you try the same trick every time you call me. So I’ve got you all figured out.”

  “Well, you should still act surprised. That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

  “Duly noted. So, what are you and your brother up to? Did you brush your teeth? I know better than to ask whether you took a shower or not.”

  “We did take a shower! So you owe me an apology.”

  “I apologize most sincerely.”

  “Thank you,” Noah replied graciously. “Mommy, can you—”

  He was interrupted by the sounds of a scuffle and, unless she was much mistaken, a smack.

  Uh-oh. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable tussle.

  “Noah!” came Jonah’s muffled voice on the other end of the line. “I told you I want to talk to Mommy!”

  “Well, I called her, and I’m talking to her now,” Noah yelled smugly, his voice magnified a thousand times in Miranda’s ear. “So you need to wait your turn.”

  “Mommy!” screeched Jonah in the background. “I want to talk to you! Don’t hang up without talking to me!”

  Miranda had to laugh. Her personal life might be circling the drain, but she could always count on those two hooligans for comic relief. “Noah, please tell Jonah that I will be sure to talk to him before I hang up, so he can calm down.”

  Noah duly reported this information to his brother, then came back on the line.

  “So what are you guys doing to celebrate New Year’s Eve?” Miranda asked, trying not to feel too forlorn without her two rowdy boys.

  “We miss you,” Noah said glumly. “We wanted to be home with you so we could watch Toy Story with our Christmas quilts. And have snacks. I really wanted cheddar popcorn.”

  “I know,” she said, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “But there was no way you could get back home with all the snow. The roads aren’t safe.”

  “And we can’t even do anything fun,” Noah complained. “Daddy and Desiree went to some stupid party without us. So we’re here with the babysitter. And she keeps texting people.”

  “Well, I’m sure Daddy and Desiree made those plans a long time ago. They didn’t expect you guys to be at their house tonight. You were supposed to be with me, remember?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So are you going to make it until midnight?”

  Noah yawned into the phone, a protracted process that included a loud groan and a cracking jaw. “Yeah. But Jonah’s going to fall asleep.”

  From somewhere in the background came the sound of Jonah’s answering shout. “I’m not going to fall asleep! You are!”

  “I really wish we were home with you, Mommy.” Noah sounded small and pitiful now. She’d’ve given anything to have him and Jonah crawl onto her lap and sit there with her, like they’d done when they were smaller and still did sometimes when they were tired. “We could’ve made popcorn and roasted s’mores in the fireplace.”

  “I know, buddy. That’s what I wanted, too.”

  They were both silent for a second.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Miranda said.

  Noah yawned again. “What idea?”

  “We can have a New Year’s Eve do-over,” Miranda said. “When you guys get back home, we can pretend it’s New Year’s all over again, and do all the stuff we thought we’d do tonight.”

  Noah hesitated. “It’s not the same.”

  “I know it’s not a perfect solution, but I think it’s a pretty good idea. What do you think?”

  “Okay.” Noah’s voice perked up. The idea seemed to be growing on him. “Maybe we could invite James to roast s’mores with us. He really likes s’mores. We made them when we went camping.”

  James.

  Miranda took a deep breath and tried to control the hot surge of emotion in her tight throat. For all she knew, she’d never see James again after tonight, unless it was the occasional accidental glimpse of him around town. But she wasn’t about to tell the kids that. They were almost as wild about James as she was. “That sounds like a good idea. But we’ll have to ask James. I’m not sure what his plans are at the moment.”

  Her words came back to haunt her a few minutes later, after she’d spoken with Jonah and wished both boys a good night. She had absolutely no idea what James’s plans were at the moment. The wait was eating her up on the inside, gnawing away at her the way leaf-cutter ants devour plants—in sharp little bites. He’d only been g
one for ten minutes, but she felt certain another five minutes or so would finish her off. James would come back inside with an armload of wood and discover that all that was left of her were a few ragged bits of flesh on the rug in front of the fire.

  After a couple of aimless laps around the living room while she paced and rubbed her churning belly, she circled back to the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. Being careful to stay to the side of the doors and well out of his line of sight, she nudged aside one corner of the drapes and looked outside.

  James, illuminated by the golden glow cast by the deck light, swung his ax with the artistry of Roger Federer serving for Wimbledon and neatly halved a log that was standing upright on his chopping block.

  Thwack!

  The two halves tumbled into growing piles on either side of the block. Working rhythmically, he grabbed a fresh log, stood it on the block, and swung again.

  Thwack!

  The snow kept coming, driving into his sweaty face, but other than the occasional blink or swipe with the back of his hand, he didn’t seem to notice. Nor did the cold bother him; as usual, he wore only a fleece-lined flannel shirt.

  No, wait. He’d taken that off, just like she’d taken off her coat earlier. So maybe she wasn’t the only one in danger of expiring from hypothermia tonight.

  She looked down at Frank, who’d trotted over and settled at her feet.

  “Well,” she said, scratching his ears. “At least you won’t have to go out in the cold to find him the way you had to find me, huh, Frankie?”

  Frank closed his blue eyes and leaned into her touch.

  “Silly dog.”

  She looked back to James. His face was twisted with effort now.

  Hard. Unyielding. His expression was closed, probably focused inward on something she could never understand.

  Another ruthless swing. Thwack!

  Letting the drape fall back into place, Miranda turned away from the window and resumed pacing.

  She’d pushed him away with her demands. Driven him too far, too soon. Ruined whatever small chances they might have had.

  She’d made a mistake confronting him. A terrible mistake that would, no doubt, lead to a long and painful night stuck here at his house. With her luck, he’d probably hole up in his master bedroom, praying she didn’t bother him while he counted the seconds until the storm passed and the snowplows could clear the roads so she could leave.

  Too agitated to settle anywhere, she circled to the kitchen. It was, as she’d expected, ruthlessly clean, with gleaming surfaces and a huge pot of chili cooling on the stove. It smelled delicious. Better than hers, in fact. Too bad her jangled nerves prevented her from eating anything right now. The only thing that could make this waiting worse would be if she barfed that wonderful chili right back up onto his shiny floor. That would really be the cherry on top of tonight’s utter humiliation.

  After a lap around the kitchen, she circled back to the living room.

  It served her right, she supposed, idly touching the books on his polished wood shelves. With big risk came the possibility of big loss, and telling James how she felt was one of the biggest risks of her life.

  She couldn’t regret it, though. In fact, given the choice, she’d do it all over again. She felt light and free because she’d finally escaped from the shadowy purgatory where she had to tamp down her feelings and vigilantly pretend they didn’t exist.

  After all this time, she just didn’t have the energy for that anymore. It took way too much out of her.

  The truth was, she was in love with him.

  What woman wouldn’t be? He was a good man, strong and kind, with a giving and loyal heart. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for the woman he loved; she knew that with a certainty she’d never had about her ex-husband, even in the giddy days early in their marriage. James’s dark good looks, crooked smiles, rare as they were, and sharp sense of humor were bonuses. The man inside—he was the real prize.

  His wife, Joy, had been the luckiest woman in the world.

  He wasn’t over her. The proof was right here, in his living room and, probably, all throughout his house. It was as unavoidable as the sound of his ax chopping wood to smithereens outside.

  Miranda worked her way down the bookshelf, absently rubbing Frank on the head as he trailed alongside her.

  Romance novels took up one shelf. Odds were, they didn’t belong to James, whose taste in books, Miranda saw, ran to woodworking, home improvement and presidential biographies. There were fashion and celebrity magazines—also not James’s. A basket overflowing with embroidery floss in every color of the rainbow, and a half-finished something with beautifully stitched yellow flowers cascading down one side. Would it have been a pillowcase if Joy had lived to complete it? A guest towel?

  There was a framed photo sitting next to the basket. With dread, Miranda picked it up so she could see it better: James and Joy, smiling and happy, in a pool. Joy was behind James, with her arm slung around his neck, and their faces were pressed together, cheek-to-cheek.

  The image blurred behind hot tears that she couldn’t blink back. Miranda put the photo back on the shelf and turned away from it, even though what she’d seen was seared into her mind.

  As long as she’d known him, she was pretty sure she’d never seen James smile like that.

  Maybe she never would.

  He still wore his wedding band. That was another big clue, wasn’t it?

  She wandered over to the fireplace, rearranged the logs with the poker, then sat down on the stone hearth. Frank joined her, settling in his basket with a canine groan of pleasure. While he arranged himself into a tight furry ball and fell asleep immediately, she enjoyed the renewed wave of heat and studied her left hand.

  After the split, she couldn’t take off her rings fast enough. She’d sold them and deposited the money into the boys’ college funds. Much as she’d loved her diamond engagement ring, she hadn’t given it a second thought once her marriage crumbled.

  But James had been a widower for a couple years now, and he still touched his wedding band. All the time.

  Which only proved, like James kept telling her, that he wasn’t read—

  The glass door slid open, admitting a swirling burst of snow and cold air. James, carrying a load of wood in an enormous copper bucket, strode in. His impenetrable gaze went right to her and stayed while he shut the door, put the bucket down and yanked off his boots.

  She stood, her thoughts scattering. Her pounding heart swelled to a two-ton mass in the center of her chest, making it impossible to breathe.

  Until James’s expression softened and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Holding her gaze, he took off his wedding band, kissed it and put it into a small wooden box on the mantel. He closed the box’s lid with a decisive snap.

  A wave of hope washed over her, so powerful and dizzying that she felt light-headed.

  “Come here,” he said, reaching out a hand to her.

  Without hesitation, she flew across the room and into his arms.

  Chapter 9

  At last—at last—James put his hands on her, gripping fistfuls of her ropy wet hair and leaning down to cover her mouth with his. Her lips were velvety soft, as tender as a ripe peach, and she met him eagerly even though his clothes were cold and damp from the snow, scraping her nails across his nape as they pulled each other closer. He tasted her with insistent sweeps of his tongue, savoring the flavors of Scotch and tea inside her mouth—of Miranda.

  Letting go of her hair, he stroked over her body, dragging his hands down her back ...gripping her wide hips to test the feel of them ...grabbing her big butt to anchor her to him as he rhythmically thrust his raging erection against the sweet spot between her legs. He kissed her the whole time, absorbing her hums of pleasure between nips and licks and marveling at the feel of her, feverishly hot, passionate and alive in his arms.

  And he’d thought to deny himself this, the sweetest pleasure he’d ever known or ever could know? Fo
r what? Misguided feelings of loyalty or survivor’s guilt?

  Yeah, man. Real smart move.

  “Yes,” he murmured between kisses. “Yes. Yes.”

  The word, after so many needless denials and rejections, filled him to bursting and overflowed. He couldn’t stop it.

  Breaking away from her kisses with delicious regret, he trailed his mouth lower, past her jaw line and down her neck, to the opening at the front of her robe. Her skin was hot satin, the most amazing substance imaginable. Desperate to touch it all now, he found the robe’s belt with his fumbling hands and jerked it loose. Gasping, her lips dewy and swollen from his kisses and her eyes feverishly bright, she helped him, shrugging her way free as the robe slid off her shoulders and dropped to the floor.

  All his breath hissed out of his lungs.

  “I’m a lucky man,” he murmured, drinking her in.

  More beautiful than he could’ve imagined, she was a masterpiece of curves for his fingers to explore and his mouth to worship. Heavy breasts that overflowed his hands. Engorged nipples that were hot and velvety against his tongue as he stooped to suck each one, long and hard, making her head fall back as she lost herself in sharp cries of pleasure. He ran his hands up and down her sides, mesmerized by the way her small waist flared to those wide hips, as though God knew exactly what drove him wild and was gifting him with the most perfect present imaginable.

  There was more.

  Her juicy thighs, one of which she eagerly hooked around his waist. Her round butt, perfect for him to cup and knead. Her gasps and throaty croons as he stroked her from behind, delving into the slick cleft between her legs.

  She was ready, his Miranda.

  So was he.

  Planting his hands on her butt, he hefted her up. She wrapped both legs around his waist and buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder, licking and nipping him until his raging need made him groan. Knowing his grip on control was tenuous at best, he swung her around and hurried down the hall, toward the bedroom.