Digging my nails into my palms, I calmly told him, “I really don’t need any more time to think about it. I’m one hundred percent certain I don’t want to be married to you. That’s why I divorced you in the first place. We don’t work as a couple.” Mainly because you never listen to me.
Setting down the flowers, Shawn took a step forward. “Come on, Mallory—don’t be hasty about this. Just think about it; think about us; think about . . . this.” Before I could stop him, he bent down and attached his lips to mine. Even though Shawn and I had been very intimate before, it was odd to have him kiss me now . . . like I was kissing my brother or something.
I instantly shoved him back. “Damn it, Shawn. Now you’re starting to annoy me. As I’ve told you several times before, I don’t want to be with you like that. You and I are just friends, but if you keep pushing me, you’re going to lose—”
Shawn finally looked upset as he cut me off. “Is this because of that Michael guy? The one who saved you?”
Shock made me suck in a quick breath. Hearing his name hurt. “How do you know about Michael?”
Shawn rolled his eyes. “Your mom. She let it slip to Suzy, Suzy told Judy, Judy told Beth, and Beth told my mom. You know how small towns work.”
I blinked in surprise. “Yeah, I do . . . I’m sorry. I should have told you, but . . . I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He nodded like he understood. Then he said, “You’re going through a breakup. I understand how much that sucks. I’ll give you space, Mallory.” Leaning in, he kissed my cheek. “You can keep the flowers.”
He was gone before I could object, and I knew with absolute certainty he’d ask for my hand again. Once he felt I’d had enough time to get over my loss. Like I ever would . . .
Spring transitioned into summer so slowly it was almost like someone kept pressing the pause button on time. Michael was on my mind every day. Nothing I did seemed to shake him for long. His eyes haunted me during the day; his lips haunted me at night. I couldn’t stand not knowing what he was doing. Was he getting enough to eat? Was he sleeping okay? Was he missing me every second too?
Being around my family eased my pain some. Mom was helping me master my baking skills—it was a painstaking process. Dad was giving me odd jobs around the house, helping me stay busy. Patricia stopped by the diner almost every day for lunch. She said it was to support the family business, but I knew she was also checking up on me . . . cataloging my mental state. Shawn proposed to me every single day. And no matter how many times I told him no, he was never deterred enough to stop.
Today he’d decided to do it in the middle of the diner. Down on both knees this time, he held his hands wide open. “Mallory Reynolds . . . I can’t live without you. Please be my wife.”
The patrons in the diner were both amused and touched by his romantic display. I was just annoyed. “Shawn, please . . . I’m serious. Stop asking me to marry you. My answer from here on out will always be no.”
Shawn dropped his hands but stayed on his knees. Some of the customers frowned and shook their heads at me. Mom was watching me with a concerned expression on her face, and my sister, here for lunch, was alternating between watching the exchange and writing stuff down in her journal.
“Mallory, why are you killing me? You know you and I are destined to be together.”
Reaching down, I pulled him to his feet. “Yes, Shawn, as friends. Although if you keep this up, I can’t guarantee that we’ll have that for much longer. And besides, don’t you remember how we were together? We were a disaster.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. Some customers went back to their lunches, but most were still watching the show. “We were young; maybe it would be different this time.”
Turning him around, I started pushing him toward the door. “Or maybe it would be exactly the same. But regardless . . . my heart is somewhere else, Shawn.”
Irritated, Shawn stopped letting me manhandle him. “With a man you’ll never see again? A man you’ve put on a superhigh pedestal, leaving zero chance for anyone else? That’s really not fair, Mallory.”
Tears burned my eyes as I stared at him. “Do you think I want to be in love with someone I can’t be with? Do you think this is fun for me, Shawn?”
His shoulders slumped, and his expression—for once—looked sympathetic. “No . . . I’m sorry, Mallory. If you really want me to stop asking . . . I will.”
“Yes, please stop. I don’t want to lose your friendship, but that’s what you’re killing each time you ask me something you already know the answer to.”
Shawn stared at me for long seconds, then turned around and left the diner without another word. A soft sigh escaped me as I watched him leave. I could tell I’d hurt him, but honestly . . . how many times did I have to tell him no before he believed me?
Patricia came up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Mallory. He knows it’s over. He just doesn’t want to accept it.”
I nodded as I put my hand over hers. “Yeah, it figures, though—the guy I want to be with is completely unobtainable, and the one I’m not interested in won’t leave me alone.”
“I think he got the message this time,” she said, giving me an encouraging smile.
I wanted to believe her, but I knew how tenacious Shawn could be. A fact that was proven to me when I got home and found another dozen roses on my doorstep with a note that said, “I’ll give you more time.”
“Shawn . . .” I groaned, opening my door. Maybe if I tattooed No on my forehead, he’d finally believe that I meant it.
My dogs attacked me with yips and kisses when I walked inside. I reached down to pet them, but it didn’t boost my mood. I walked to my bedroom and flopped down on my bed. They hopped up with me, comforting me with their presence, since they could tell I was down. “Thanks, guys,” I murmured, scratching Pippin’s belly.
Somehow, I needed to find joy again. I was sure Michael would want me to be happy. It was so hard, though. I felt so . . . incomplete. I’d purchased a new camera last week, but it was still in the box, unopened and untouched. There was something about opening it that felt like I was letting Michael go, moving forward with my life. Ridiculous, but that was how I felt.
Shifting my gaze, I looked over to my nightstand. A cordless phone was resting there next to my lamp and alarm clock. If only I could talk to Michael. Call him, find out if he was okay. I desperately wanted to know if he was all right. Sitting up, I was struck with a sudden conversation I’d had with Michael.
“Would you like me to . . . contact your father when I get home? Let him know you’re okay?”
“No.”
“Michael, he would want to know—”
My pain of the unknown was so brief compared to Michael’s father’s. And yes, I understood why Michael didn’t want to talk to him, but leaving him in the dark because he’d acted with his head, not his heart . . . well, it seemed cruel. And I knew deep down, past the hurt, Michael wasn’t cruel. Just in pain.
Picking up the phone, I wondered how I could possibly find his father. New York City was huge. But I didn’t have anything else to do . . . besides miss Michael. My mind made up, I headed to my computer and started finding phone numbers for every police station I could.
Early the next morning, I started making phone calls. Since I didn’t have much information—just his rank and his last name—I felt like I was about to undertake an impossible mission. Clutching my cross, a necklace that painfully reminded me of Michael now, I prayed for luck.
Fate was with me, and on my third attempt, I was met with an unexpected response.
“I’m looking for a Captain Bradley?”
“This is he. How can I help you?”
My heart started pounding in my throat. “Mr. Bradley? Father of Michael Bradley?”
The line was silent for a moment. “Yes . . . Michael is my son.” The pain in his voice was crystal clear. “Who is this? And what do you know of my son?”
Relief
coursed through me in waves. “Hi. My name is Mallory Reynolds . . . your son saved my life.”
“Ah . . . at the hospital? If you’re looking to get it touch with him, I’m sorry . . . he left the city some time ago.”
“No . . . this was last winter. My plane crashed, and he saved my life.”
His voice brightened with hope and eagerness. “You’ve seen him? You’ve seen Michael? Is he . . . okay?”
A slow smile spread over my lips. “He’s fine. He’s living in the mountains, in Alaska. He’s . . . alone . . . but he’s fine.”
A long exhale met my ear. “Thank God. I was so . . . he’s been gone for so long, and nobody’s heard from him. I was beginning to think the worst.”
“I know—that’s why I wanted to call you. To let you know he’s fine.”
“You said he’s living alone in the woods?”
“Yes, it’s very . . . remote. But he does occasionally go into Fairbanks. In fact . . . if you were to leave a message at one of these three places, I’m sure he’d get it.” I then proceeded to give him the name of the fur trader, the mechanic’s shop, and the general store. If Michael’s father wanted to contact him, one of those three guys would surely pass along his message. And . . . my message . . .
“Thank you, Mallory. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I smiled into the phone. “I know how it feels to be worried . . . about a loved one.”
“Does he know that you love him?” he asked, his voice soft.
My mind flashed back to our tearful goodbye. “Yeah, he knows.”
“Don’t give up on him, Mallory. He’ll . . . he’ll come back.”
By the crack in his voice, I could tell that he’d repeated that line in his head millions of times. “It was nice to sort of meet you, Mr. Bradley. I hope we can meet in person one day.”
“Please, call me Noah. I look forward to meeting you one day, Mallory.”
We said our goodbyes after that, and I had to admit—I felt a hundred times better. Alleviating someone’s grief had momentarily lifted mine. But realizing that there was something else I could do made me feel even better. Opening my nightstand, I reached inside and grabbed some paper and a pen. Using a thick book for a writing surface, I began pouring my heart out to the man I loved.
Dear Michael,
First things first . . . I miss you. And I love you . . .
Chapter Twenty-Six
Months. That was how long Michael and I had been separated. We’d been apart longer than we’d been together, but my heart still ached for him with the same intensity. I wrote him a letter almost every day now. I wasn’t sure when he’d be going back to Fairbanks for supplies, and I didn’t know if any of the shops I’d addressed letters to would pass them on to him. They could just be throwing them away, cursing my name for sending them so much junk mail. I refused to believe that, though. They cared about Michael; they would want to make sure he knew he was missed.
But even if Michael didn’t get my letters, it didn’t matter anymore. I was done sitting here, waiting around, missing him. It was time for my annual trip, and I was going to take it. I was going to see him again. I’d once thought marrying Shawn was the biggest mistake I’d ever made, but I was wrong. Leaving Michael . . . that was my biggest mistake, one I was going to fix. I’d come home and made peace with my family. Now I needed to make peace with my heart.
“Mallory, you can’t do this. You don’t have a plane.”
I looked over my shoulder at my mother, father, and sister. All of them looked upset; Patricia looked scared. Throwing clothes into a bag, I told them, “I know you don’t understand, but I have to do this. I have to go to him. And as for a plane . . . I’ll hire a bush pilot to take me to him. I’ll be fine.”
Patricia put a hand on my shoulder and turned me around. Her eyes were wide and glossy. “That’s what you said last year—I’ll be fine. And your plane crashed. It crashed, Mallory. You shouldn’t have survived, but you did . . . and now you want to tempt fate by going out there again?”
Shaking my head, I put my hands on her shoulders. “I’m not tempting fate . . . I’m answering fate’s call. I was led to Michael. We’re supposed to be together.”
“In the middle of nowhere? You’re really going to live like . . . like a caveman?”
A small laugh escaped me. “It’s not quite that old school, but yes . . . to be with Michael, I’ll live like a caveman. I have to . . . I can’t live without him. Not fully.” Dropping my hands, I looked between her and my parents. “I feel like a part of me is missing. And nothing I’m doing here has changed that. I’m surrounded by people, by love and family, but I still feel . . . alone. I need him.”
Shawn stepped into the room, yet another bouquet of roses in his hand. “The door was open, so I . . . what are you doing?”
Patricia sniffed. “She’s leaving. She’s leaving us for that . . . mountain man.”
I frowned at her comment. “I’m not leaving you . . . I’m going where I’m supposed to be. And I’ll come back. Maybe I’ll spend summers here, winters there . . . I don’t know yet. I just know I’m supposed to be with him.”
“But what about us?” Shawn whispered. “You and me?”
With a sigh, I looked around the room. “Could you give us a minute?”
Mom and Dad turned and left the room. Patricia firmed her lips in a hard line. “We’re not done discussing this,” she said before following our parents.
Another sigh escaped me as I twisted to face Shawn. He still looked shocked and sad. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but there is no us. I’m in love with Michael. I want to be with him . . . I’m going to be with him.”
He shook his head. “He doesn’t want you, Mallory. He let you leave. He chose deer and bears over you. Don’t you see . . . you didn’t mean that much to him.”
Every word he said jabbed a knife right through me, especially since, during dark and insecure times, I’d had that same thought. But Shawn didn’t know the whole story. Michael did want to be with me. It was everyone else he didn’t want to be around. “It’s . . . complicated, Shawn, but it’s real . . . we love each other.”
Setting down the flowers, Shawn took a step toward me. “We love each other too.”
Shaking my head, I grabbed his hands. “We loved each other. Past tense. Now we care for each other, and that’s great . . . but it’s not enough. Sometimes I wish we’d worked out, Shawn. But every moment, I know Michael and I will work.” Squeezing his hands, I told him, “You’ll find your person, I promise, but . . . it’s not me.”
“Yes, it is . . . you’re my Michael.” Frowning, he shook his head. “You know what I mean.”
A sad laugh escaped me, and I tossed my arms around him. “You just think it’s me because you haven’t experienced anyone else. Let yourself let go, Shawn. Let yourself love someone else.”
Shaking his head, he pushed me away. “It’s not that easy, Mallory. You’re all I’ve wanted since the first grade.” I reached out for him, but he held his hand up. “I can’t . . . I can’t do this right now.”
Turning around, he practically fled from me. Guilt roiled in my stomach, but I pushed it back. I’d been as forthcoming with Shawn as I could be, telling him no time after time. He just hadn’t wanted to listen, and unfortunately, now he didn’t have a choice . . . I was leaving. Sometimes actions did speak louder than words.
Once Shawn was gone, my parents and my sister trudged back into my room and continued telling me what a horrible mistake I was making. It was hard to pack when I knew I didn’t have their support. It was hard to leave that way, too, but . . . it was time. I couldn’t stay here anymore. As much as I loved Cedar Creek, my heart was way up north, under the northern lights.
“Look, guys . . . I know you mean well, but I’ve made up my mind, and this is happening. My friend Ann is going to be renting my house while I’m gone. She’s going to take care of the dogs and the bills, so you guys don’t have to worry about anything this ti
me.” It hurt my heart to leave my pups behind, but they wouldn’t fare well in the cold. It was in their best interest to stay here. Shaking off that small misery, I told my family, “I’ll do my best to keep in contact, but during the winter months, I won’t have a good way to communicate. You’ll just have to trust that I’m okay.”
Mom wiped beneath her eyes, then muttered to Dad, “We should get back to the diner.” She started to leave, then stopped, turned around, and wrapped me in a hug. “I love you, Mallory. Please be careful.”
Her voice was shaking so hard it made my eyes water. I wasn’t trying to hurt them . . . I was just trying to live. Fully and completely. Dad hugged me next. “Chase your dreams. You’re the only one who can.”
Sniffling, I sputtered, “Thank you, Dad.”
He released me, then shepherded Mom out the door. Once they were gone, I turned to my sister. “I don’t want to leave with you mad at me.”
She was furiously tapping her foot, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked about ready to explode. Then she sighed and threw her arms around me. “I’m not mad—I’m just redirecting my fear into anger so I can deal with you being gone and in danger and gone.”
“You said gone twice,” I said, holding her tight.
“I know. I’m struggling with that part the most.” Pulling back, she cupped my cheeks. “I just got you back.”
Grabbing her hands, I told her, “I’m not disappearing without a trace this time. I’m following my heart. This is a good thing.”
She nodded. “Maybe in a few months I’ll be able to accept that.”
I gave her another quick hug, then sheepishly asked, “Can you give me a ride to the airport? And give me a hand with all my stuff?”
A dramatic sigh escaped her. “God . . . maybe I won’t miss you after all.” She paused to wink at me. “Of course.”
She took a couple of bags, while I took one bag and my favorite item—a chainsaw for Michael. He needed one. Badly. My heart was in my throat as we headed outside to her car. As much as I wanted to see Michael again—couldn’t wait to see him again—Shawn’s comments were on my mind. I hadn’t heard anything from Michael since we’d parted ways at the airport. He hadn’t written me, hadn’t called. I’d given him every possible way to get ahold of me in all my letters . . . but then again, if he hadn’t gone into town, if he hadn’t received my letters, well . . . then it was perfectly reasonable that I hadn’t heard from him.
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