His Wife. Muriel Jensen

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      “You know the rule about whining,” she interrupted.

      Sophie was determined to get out of this without a further commitment or connection of any kind to Sawyer Abbott. As sweet and charming as he was, she wanted never to see him again. Ever.

      “Which way home?” he asked as they reached the road that ran through Losthampton.

      Funny, she thought. She’d been asking herself that question for years. When everything had gone bad with Bill, she’d sort of run in place for a long time, trying to find the road back to the way things had been before he’d fallen in with bad cops and become someone different from the man she’d married. She’d been lost in a nightmare for so long that when she finally escaped, she still felt as though she was getting nowhere.

      The move from Boston to Losthampton had been intended to help her break free, to put Gracie in a new place, where the old memories would fade in the light of new experiences.

      But Gracie was having as much trouble forgetting as Sophie was, so it felt as though they were still stuck in place.

      Only Eddie and Emma provided the occasional breath of fresh air with their irrepressible good humor and direct approach to life. If she could just get through to them that their daddy search was hopeless.

      She wondered idly if an uncle would appease them.

      “Sophie,” Sawyer prompted. “Which way?”

      She was a little surprised to hear her name on his lips. There was something nice about hearing it quietly spoken rather than shouted at full volume with a threat in it.

      Something inside her made her want to lean toward him, tell him how nice it would be to have pizza or burgers and feel certain that the need wouldn’t erupt into an ugly event with the children crying and her wondering what on earth had happened to her life.

      But life with Bill had changed her, and she had nothing left to give a man—even over pizza. So she just had to live with that, focus on her children and not mess up anyone else’s life.

      “We live on Blueberry Road,” she said finally. “That old cottage right at the end.”

      “Oh, yeah.” He turned in that direction. “I heard somebody’d moved into that place.” He smiled apologetically. “Small-town rumor mill, you know. It’s been vacant a long time.”

      “Yes. I cleaned up the living room and the kids slept there for two months until I could make their bedrooms livable. Now I’m slowly working on the rest of it.”

      “Nothing like an old house,” he said. “Ours has been around since the mid-1800s. Belonged to my mother’s family.”

      “Was your mother a native New Yorker?”

      “She was from an old Texas family, actually. They used to summer here. Her great-grandfather built the place and called it Bluebonnet Knoll after the flowers from home. When she left with the chauffeur, she signed the place over to my father—to assuage her guilt, I suppose.”

      Sophie could imagine running away, but from circumstances, not from the kids.

      “How old were you?”

      “Ah…three. Killian was five. Then my father married a designer who worked for one of his clothing companies, and they had two children together.”

      “Is Killian the brother you’re meeting after you drop us off?”

      “No, he and his wife are in Europe on a second honeymoon. I’m meeting Brian Girard. My mother was pregnant with him when she left.”

      “So he was the chauffeur’s…?”

      “No. His father is the owner of the neighboring estate.”

      “Good heavens!” She put a hand over her mouth to stop a smile. “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t funny. It is your life, after all. But it sounds like a soap opera during Sweeps Week when they pull out all the stops to get the biggest audience share.”

      He didn’t bother to hold back his smile. “There’s more,” he said. “Our little sister was kidnapped at fourteen months and we never saw her again. But about two weeks ago, a young woman appeared on our doorstep, who thinks she might be her.”

      “You’re kidding!”

      “I’m not. She’s dark-haired like Campbell—that’s my younger brother—and she and he squabble like real siblings, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she is.”

      “Well…aren’t you going to find out for sure?” she asked. “A DNA test would do it, wouldn’t it?”

      He nodded. “I think it will. But my stepmother’s in France, looking after her dying aunt right now, and we don’t want to do anything to upset her. So we haven’t told her China is here, and we haven’t gone for testing. China’s in agreement. She’s living at Shepherd’s Knoll with us and helping Campbell run the estate.”

      “I thought it was Bluebonnet Knoll.”

      “My father changed the name when my mother left. Our ancestors raised sheep in Massachusetts before starting a mill, so Dad wanted the place to reflect his heritage rather than hers.”

      “How interesting,” she said, “to be able to follow your ancestry so far back. All I know is that my grandparents farmed in Nebraska, lost everything in a drought and moved back to Vermont, where my great-grandfather was and the family’s been there ever since.”

      He smiled. “What brought you here?”

      “I spent ten years in Boston after I got married. We vacationed here one summer and I loved it.”

      She’d been telling everyone simply that she was a widow starting over. But he knew it wasn’t that simple. Still—she didn’t want him to know much more.

      “Fresh start,” she said, relieved as he turned onto Blueberry Road.

      “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, glancing at her as he led the car down the long, straight road. “I mean…if you need anything for you or the children, I have connections everywhere.”

      He didn’t appear to be boasting. “It’s kind of you to offer,” she replied, “but we’re doing fine.”

      “I’m not doing fine,” Emma said petulantly. “My cookies are still at the market.”

      Sophie groaned. “The groceries.” She wondered if her cart had been set aside for her, or if everything had been put back. She hadn’t had time to pay before the police had taken her and her children away.

      “Well, you’ll have to be happy with fruit for a snack tonight,” she said. “We’ll go back to the store tomorrow. And if you don’t tell some stranger a made-up story about being kidnapped, maybe we won’t have to go to jail and can actually take our groceries home.”

      “He’s not a stranger,” Eddie corrected. “He’s The One.”

      Embarrassed by her children’s insistence СКАЧАТЬ