His One And Only Bride. Tara Randel

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СКАЧАТЬ it concerning Zoe before. Didn’t much care for it.

      Spent now, he rose and made his way back to the view he’d been savoring before Zoe had arrived. Taking a deep breath of fresh Cypress Pointe air, he suddenly wondered why he’d ever left her at all. Then, just as quickly, memories bombarded him, reminding him exactly why.

      He yanked the sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and clumsily placed them over his eyes.

      The beach looked the same. The water, still a brilliant blue-green, drawing tourists to the quaint seaside town. So much the same, yet his entire life had been blasted to oblivion. Upended by a decision that had nearly cost him his life.

      It seemed like yesterday that he’d started his career here. When Zoe’s mother had given him a camera as a way of channeling his boundless energy, he’d taken to it immediately. The natural surroundings of Cypress Pointe had been an inspiring subject. Samantha had taken one look at his shots and proclaimed he’d found his calling. Skeptical at first, he’d experimented by finding different places and techniques to take photos, pleased he’d latched onto something constructive to steer his life. He had been eighteen, rudderless, except for Zoe, and he’d had no idea what his future held.

      Eventually, Samantha had begun showing his photos in her art gallery. The popularity of his work had grown and before long, local and then national publications began calling for freelance work. New opportunities opened up. At first, Zoe helped him book assignments, but eventually her causes took over.

      When things started to go south in the marriage, he took whatever job he could find just to get away again. It wasn’t until he’d left the last time that the job to photograph conditions at the refugee camp had caught his attention. Zoe’s kicking him to the curb had probably been a major factor in his choice. But who knew he’d have ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time?

      Heavy footsteps pounded over the wooden deck, announcing an arrival. Mitch shook off his thoughts and turned just as Wyatt joined him at the railing.

      “You okay?” his friend asked.

      “Been better.”

      “Zoe gave me the evil eye just now.”

      “You aren’t the only one.”

      “So how did it go?”

      “As you’d expect. She’s angry but doing a good job keeping a lid on it.” He looked over the water. “Said we need to talk.” He eyed his friend. “Never good when a woman says those words.”

      Wyatt remained quiet.

      “Something I should know?”

      When Wyatt didn’t meet his gaze, a bad feeling curled in his gut.

      “Better you have a conversation with Zoe,” Wyatt told him.

      “Now I have all kinds of what-ifs running around my head.”

      “Just sit down with Zoe when you get home. It’ll be okay.”

      A motorboat zipped by in the distance. Mitch longed for freedom from his injuries and the past, but knew that jumping in a speeding boat would never solve his problems.

      “About that. Seems I need a place to stay.”

      Wyatt turned his head, his expression incredulous. “She didn’t ask you to come home?”

      “I’m thinking maybe I don’t have a home to go to.”

      Wyatt blew out a breath. “You can stay with me.”

      Mitch made a fist and squeezed. “I don’t want to put you out.”

      “It’s not a problem.”

      “Thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d rather we left here before the people inside find out I’m back. Talking with Zoe is about all I can handle right now.”

      “You got it.” He yanked a set of keys from his pants pocket. “My truck is in the lot.”

      Taking one last gaze at the boat, now far enough away to be only a speck on the tranquil waters, questions assailed him again. What would happen now? Old feelings for his wife, mixed with the conflicted emotions he’d stored away when he’d left Cypress Pointe for good, betrayed him.

      Mitch leaned heavily on his cane, following his buddy to the parking lot, wondering how long it would be before the hurricane that had managed to wreck his life hit again.

      * * *

      “MOM? WHERE ARE YOU?” Zoe called as she closed the front door behind her.

      She tossed her clutch on the couch, then kicked off her shoes and fell back against the cushions, exhaling the pressure that had been working up inside her chest since she’d left the hotel.

      Mitch was alive! She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. So many emotions, so many questions. What did this mean? Did she carry through with the divorce? Did they try to fix their marriage, in light of Leo? And why hadn’t she told him he was a father?

      Guilt and anger walloped her. Yes, she should have told Mitch right away. But after learning he hadn’t called her immediately to let her know he was safe and alive, a selfish part of her had held back. She’d tell him later when she went to Wyatt’s house to talk to him, but back there at the hotel? She couldn’t. Her pride had made her mute about their son, along with the residual hurt that produced reservations about revealing the truth.

      “Mom?” she called again. When she didn’t receive an answer, she hauled herself up and walked to the back of the house, sure to find her mother holed up in her studio. The southern exposure of light was an artist’s dream. Perfect for when Samantha was creating a new piece.

      “Hi, Mom.”

      Samantha never took her gaze from the canvas as she dabbed paint on the project before her.

      “Is Leo okay?”

      “Of course.” Her mother paused to glance briefly at Zoe, then back to her piece. “Why are you home early?”

      “We need to talk.”

      Samantha went still. She didn’t like dealing with real-world problems, preferring to let Zoe or an assistant take care of her life. Dealing with critical issues, like Mitch returning from the dead, were not her forte.

      “Can it wait?” her mother asked, already looking for a way to avoid the conversation.

      “No.”

      “Let me just get this last shade...”

      While she finished her task, Zoe roamed the room, thinking of a way to break the earth-shattering news.

      Samantha laid down her palette and brush, then wiped her hands with a paint-spattered towel. “Are you going to explain why you’re home? Trouble with Tim?”

      Poor Tim. He’d been just as shocked to see Mitch. Barely spoke on the uncomfortable ride to the house she shared with her mother.

      “No. Well, yes, СКАЧАТЬ