Cold Hearted. Beverly Barton

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      After Rick left her study, Jordan locked the door and turned out all the lights, except the one on her desk. She walked to the windows and looked out into the darkness. A powerful, almost unbearable ache welled up inside her and for the first time since Dan’s death, she allowed the pain freedom. She stopped trying to control it, temporarily succumbing to her grief. Standing alone in the shadows, unable to cry, she trembled as the sadness engulfed her. She grieved for Dan, for a future that would never be, and for a past that she could not change.

      She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. She wanted to scream, to rant, to curse the heavens. If it were within her power to go back a few short weeks and change things, would she? For her child’s sake?

      How many more good years might Dan have had? One? Five? They would never know. His untimely death had saved all of them and at the same time had cheated them. Even if Devon could not see both sides of the issue, she could. If that made her the cold-hearted bitch that Rick Carson had accused her of being, then she accepted the condemnation. Life was never all black or all white; instead it was shades of gray. People were never all good or all bad, but myriad combinations.

      Had life and circumstances taken away all that was pure and good and loving inside her? Had she truly become cold hearted, so much so that she could admit, if only to herself, that perhaps Dan’s death would free her from the lie her life had become?

      Forgive me, Dan. Please forgive me.

      We both deserved so much more than what we had to settle for, a marriage without passion, living two separate lives, one in public and the other in private.

      Jordan slumped down into the nearest chair, bent over and covered her face with her hands, effectively muffling her moans. She wanted to cry, wished she could weep cleansing tears, allowing them to flow freely until she was spent. Crying would be such a relief. She curled up in the large, overstuffed chair, pulled the folded afghan from the arm, opened it, and wrapped it around herself.

      Tomorrow morning she would face what lay ahead: the reading of Dan’s will, the private investigation into his death, Gary Werneth taking Dan’s place in the senate, holding together and providing for her hodgepodge of a family, bringing her child into the world without his or her father, accepting the fact that she was destined to live the rest of her life without love.

      But tonight, she didn’t have to be strong and brave. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She didn’t have to feel guilty or blame herself for what had happened.

      All she had to do was survive one more night.