Rocky Mountain Revenge. Cindi Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ plucked a brochure advertising Telluride ski area from a rack on the counter. “This is such a beautiful place, I might stay longer than I planned.”

      “We’ve got plenty of scenery, that’s for sure,” she said. “Not much excitement, though.”

      “I don’t need excitement.” He’d had enough to last a lifetime. As soon as he was done with this last job, he’d stick to crunching numbers for the rest of his life.

      “You might stick around for the Winter Carnival next weekend,” the clerk said. “That’s kind of fun.”

      “What’s the Winter Carnival?”

      “It’s this little festival in City Park. Ice skating, ice sculpture, a broomball tournament. A bonfire. Different groups have booths selling food and hot chocolate and stuff. Real small-town, but a lot of tourists like it.”

      “I might have to check it out. Thanks.” The phone rang, and when she turned away to answer it, he took the opportunity to set the brochure aside and leave before she questioned him further.

      Outside, the sun was so bright he squinted even behind his sunglasses. The windshield of the car he’d rented in Grand Junction was thick with frost. He turned the heat on full blast and sat in the driver’s seat, debating his next move.

      He’d driven by Anne’s house last night, after midnight. Her car had been parked in the driveway, a single light in the back of the house glowing yellow behind the shades. Her bedroom. He’d thought of stopping, but she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

      Not that he intended to take no for an answer. He understood she was angry with him—upset and hurt by the lies he’d told her. Sooner or later she’d see he’d had to lie to protect them both. The fact that he’d failed so miserably made him more determined than ever to make it up to her.

      She was afraid; that was clear. Who wouldn’t be, in her position? Helping him would force her to admit that fear—that weakness. For all the changes in her life and her appearance, she was still a woman who never liked to admit any weakness. Take no prisoners. She could erase the words from her skin, but Jake was certain they were still inscribed on her heart.

      Approaching her at her house had been a tactical error. He could see that now. They needed neutral territory. With other people around she wouldn’t be so guarded.

      He spent the morning at the library, reading through back issues of the Rogers Reporter, learning what Anne’s life had been like these past nine months. Other than the announcement of her hiring, the new first-grade teacher had stayed out of the spotlight. She was playing by the rules of the Witness Security Program, keeping quiet and fitting in.

      At three o’clock he drove to the school, a low-slung group of buildings set one behind the other at the foot of a mesa. The elementary classrooms were in the last building, next to a fenced playground where children in parkas and snowsuits climbed a jungle gym and kicked a soccer ball in the snow.

      Jake spotted Anne standing with a shorter woman with curly hair. He waved and strode toward them. Anne stiffened, and the other woman eyed him warily, but he kept a pleasant expression on his face. I come in peace.

      Up close, she looked tired, gray smudges under her eyes, her skin pale beneath the makeup, as if she hadn’t slept well. Had thoughts of him kept her awake? Memories of what had happened between them? “Hello, Anne,” he said, stopping in front of her.

      “What are you doing here?” She didn’t look angry—more resigned, he decided.

      “I was hoping I could take you for a cup of coffee.” He was aware of the other woman staring at him, suspicion in her eyes.

      “Is this the man McGarrity was talking about?” the woman asked.

      “What man?” Jake asked. “Who’s McGarrity?”

      Anne shook her head. “This isn’t him.”

      Jake turned to the other woman and offered his hand. “I’m Jake Westmoreland. A friend of Anne’s from New York.”

      “Margaret O’Neal.” Her hand brushed his lightly before retreating. “Anne doesn’t look like she wants to see you.”

      “It’s been a long time. I wanted to apologize for what happened the last time we met.”

      “What happened?” Margaret and Jake were the only ones talking, but at least Anne was listening. She hadn’t walked away.

      “Anne left before I could say goodbye.” He spoke to Margaret, but his gaze remained fixed on Anne. She stood with her arms folded, her body angled away from him, her shoulders stiff with tension. “I’ve always regretted that.”

      “We don’t have anything to say to each other,” Anne said.

      “We have a lot to say to each other. I came two thousand miles to talk to you. Please don’t turn me away now.”

      “You can’t say no to a man who says please.” Margaret touched her friend’s shoulder. “A cup of coffee can’t hurt.”

      Anne’s eyes telegraphed the word “traitor” to her friend, but she kept silent. She glanced at Jake. “One cup of coffee, then you leave me alone.”

      “One cup of coffee.” He wouldn’t leave her, though. He couldn’t.

      “Call me,” Margaret said, and left them, smiling to herself.

      Anne moved closer to Jake. “Now you’ve done it,” she whispered.

      “Done what?”

      “Everyone will think you’re the long-lost boyfriend who broke my heart.”

      The words were so melodramatic they were almost comical, but he felt the pain behind them. “Is that what happened, Anne?” he asked, his voice as gentle as he could make it.

      “No!” Her eyes sparked with anger, the energy in them a jolt to his system, a glimpse of the woman she’d been. “But it’s what people want to think. They think I don’t know about the stories they’ve made up to explain me, but in a town this small, gossip always eventually gets around to everyone. They say I came here all the way from New York to recover from a broken heart. It’s the reason I don’t date anyone now. The reason I won’t talk about my past.”

      “It’s a good story,” he said. Maybe part of it was even true, but he didn’t say this. He didn’t want to risk making her angrier.

      “That’s the only reason I let them think that. It’s a good story.”

      “Have coffee with me and tell me your real story.”

      “You already know my real story.”

      “Then maybe it’s time I told you mine.”

      Her gaze met his, sharp and questioning. “Come with me,” he said. “Listen to what I have to say and then decide how you feel.”

      She hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”

      She insisted on taking her own car, and led the way to a coffee shop СКАЧАТЬ