A Family Homecoming. Laurie Paige

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      “It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

      Without direction from her, he went to the mudroom and retrieved the mop stored there. He removed his boots and left them in the small room, then mopped up the puddles on the kitchen floor. He checked the family room and living room, cleaning up melted snow in there before returning the mop to its place.

      “There,” he said upon finishing. He glanced at her as if to see if she was pleased with his efforts.

      It tore right down into her heart. Kyle’s mother had died when he was young. His father was a stern, demanding man who had rarely praised him. She had found her husband endearing because he liked for her to notice when he did something especially nice for her.

      She put a hand to her head, dizzy with sudden longing and wishing she could turn back the clock to the days when she had trusted him with her heart, when he had said he loved her…and then had shown her.

      His gaze locked with hers. Questions thickened the air between them. And something more elemental.

      She sensed the hidden hunger in him, could feel it ripple over her skin like a warm touch or a sigh. He was a man of driving passions, she had learned during their six years of marriage. Four years, she corrected. The last two didn’t count.

      Their courtship had been of the whirlwind variety. She, a quiet efficient librarian, had married a man she’d known only three weeks. Foolish people did foolish things.

      Grimacing at the memory, she hurriedly gathered the rest of the dishes. Sara’s stew was only half eaten. Neither she nor her child ate very much these days. Kyle had polished off every bit of the large serving she’d given him. For a second, she resented his ability to ignore problems when it came to satisfying his appetite.

      She was probably being unfair. After all, he’d had no part in their recent terror. Frowning, she carried the remaining dishes to the sink. “So what did Luke tell you about us, about the kidnapping?”

      She didn’t lower her voice. Dr. Carey had thought it best to speak calmly about the event in front of Sara in hopes it would get her to open up about her ordeal. Other than being cold and frightened, the child hadn’t been physically harmed, thank God.

      “Not a lot. I want to hear about it from you. Every detail you remember. Also Sara.”

      “She doesn’t speak. She hasn’t since the kidnapping. Not once.” It was another complication, one among many.

      His head snapped around. He glanced toward the family room where their child silently watched a video, then back at her. Danielle recognized the bleak pain that appeared in his eyes. It was a feeling she had learned to live with.

      “Tell me about the men who took her,” he said.

      She was startled at his tone, harsh and businesslike. “Did the FBI assign you to the case?”

      Another flicker of emotion dashed through his eyes. “You might say that.”

      Which was no answer at all. “Then you’ll be staying until it’s resolved?”

      “Do you think I would leave you and Sara to face this alone?” he asked on a soft note.

      A chill went up her arms. She’d heard him use that tone when he’d discussed a case with Luke by phone once. In it, she heard determination and grit and an absolute refusal to be distracted from ferreting out the truth.

      “I don’t know,” she admitted.

      A scowl darkened his face.

      “How would I?” she defended herself. “You haven’t been around in two years. You made us move away from the place we knew. You weren’t here when we needed you—” Her throat closed and she couldn’t continue. She held on and refused to give in to the despair. Who cared about a woman’s tears?

      “I know.” His shoulder moved restlessly under the blue shirt that matched his eyes. “It will be different now.”

      Danielle swallowed a retort. Once she had accepted every word he told her as gospel truth. Once she hadn’t minded his trips away from home. She had known he had important work to do that involved saving lives and righting wrongs. But those excuses no longer worked for her.

      “You’ve changed,” he said as if reading her mind.

      “Two years is a long time.” She headed for the family room. “It’s time for Sara’s bath. Tomorrow is a school day.”

      “It’s a blizzard out there. You won’t be able to drive to school,” Kyle told her.

      “The elementary school is only two blocks from here. We can walk. Besides, I have four-wheel drive on the car,” she added defensively, feeling criticized.

      “Did you get a new car?”

      “Yes. From my savings.”

      With that parting shot, she left the room. In the bathroom, she started filling the tub while Sara went to their room and removed her clothing. The child brought back several bathtub toys and dumped them in the swirling water, then handed Danielle a book.

      Danielle sat on the lid of the toilet to read while Sara acted out the story with her rubber bear and dog and doll family. “There once was a little girl with lovely golden curls and big blue eyes, just like you and Jenny,” Danielle began the story. She paused when Kyle came to the door.

      He gestured to indicate she should continue.

      Sara shook her head. She pointed at the door and shook her head again.

      “She doesn’t want you in here,” Danielle explained. “Men make her nervous nowadays.”

      “And I’m a stranger to her,” he murmured.

      She saw pain flicker through his eyes, an oddly desolate, lonely ache. She looked away. She didn’t want to feel anything for him, not sympathy or need or desire, not anything. It was much too late.

      He left without another word.

      An hour later, Danielle returned to the kitchen. Kyle sat at the table. She saw he had made a pot of coffee.

      She poured a cup and took her usual seat. Fatigue dragged at her heels. “There’s a guest room upstairs. It isn’t heated, though.”

      “Anything will do.”

      She pressed her fingers against her temples where a headache pounded with each heartbeat. “The attic bedroom will be freezing. The sofa in the family room makes into a queen-size bed. That might be better. I only heat part of the house in the winter,” she added as if he had made some remark about her thrifty ways.

      “The sofa will be fine.”

      His voice dropped to a deeper, huskier tone as he spoke. She remembered past homecomings, times when she had rushed into his arms, filled with the incredible excitement of his nearness, the demanding hunger riding high in both of them. They had been like kids in their eagerness to rush to the bedroom after Sara was safely tucked СКАЧАТЬ