She hated herself for the confusion she heard in his voice. Time hung suspended for a tense, never-ending moment as she stared at him, her features pale and colorless.
"I'm sorry, Matt," she choked out. Her hands shook so badly she clasped them in front of her to still their trembling. The words came out choppy and disjointed. "I don't mean to hurt you. Don't you see, it's not you... it's him! Him!"
And by him she meant Evan.
Matt's shoulders slumped. He had no way of knowing that his own face looked as if it had been etched in stone. As Angie turned from him and ran, powerful but conflicting emotions surged deep inside him. Anger. Hurt. Frustration.
But strongest of all was the undeniable certainty that he had made a mistake—a mistake that would cost him dearly.
***
Twenty-four hours later he still felt as if he were caught somewhere between heaven and hell. It was sweet agony to be near her but unable to touch her.
Angel... My sweet, loving angel... Because of something he'd inadvertently said, because of Evan, they were back where they had started. Even worse, Matt reflected testily on Sunday evening. Angie was more frigidly polite than ever before. It was a situation he was convinced would have tried the patience of a saint.
It was a good thing he had never aspired to such a lofty existence--he definitely wouldn't have made it.
Why did she stand so proud and aloof? What fueled her determination to keep him at a distance? Both were questions that nagged at him with such relentless persistence that he could think of little else.
The burnt child dreads the fire. He remembered the night he had said that to her. She had admitted she was afraid to let herself give in, to let herself love again. God knew it was still true. But not, he suspected, for the reasons he'd thought.
More and more, Matt was beginning to think there was more than just the memory of her husband standing between them. But what? What? Angie held the key.
But Angie wasn't talking.
He leaned his head back against the sofa wearily, pondering the situation and wondering what, if anything, he could do to change it. He'd been struggling with himself all day long. He felt oddly out of step, unsure of which way to turn. One minute he was determined to demand that Angie confide in him, once and for all. The next he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and whisper that it didn't matter. Her secrets could remain hers—as long as nothing kept them apart.
But something was keeping them apart, and that was the whole damn problem. With a heavy sigh he got up and wandered around the living room.
They had spent most of the afternoon at the Craw- fords, and he was glad for the opportunity to get her out of the house and get her mind off the letter she'd received Friday. After dinner they'd watched some of the home movies Bill had taken of both families. Angie had casually mentioned that somewhere at home she had a boxful of films taken when Kim and Casey were younger.
Matt wasn't surprised; Angie was the type of doting mother to catalog every stage of her children's development, both significant and insignificant. There were dozens of pictures, studio portraits and informal snapshots alike, crowded on one wall of her den. Atop the end table near the sofa were bronzed baby shoes. Just yesterday Casey had proudly pulled out her baby album and displayed footprints, handprints, even a lock of hair snipped when she was a year old.
Suddenly Matt stood stock-still. He sucked in a harsh breath of air, every nerve in his body tightened to an almost painful pitch of awareness.
Sentimental Angie. This time the words mocked him. He turned slowly, his eyes moving carefully around the room. All of a sudden he realized there was something conspicuously absent in Angie's home.
There were no reminders—absolutely none—of the man who had once been her husband. No wedding pictures or albums, no small mementos of a love once treasured...
More than ever, Matt was certain that something wasn't right.
***
Two very long baths and three bedtime stories later, it was time to head downstairs and face Matt. Lovingly, Angie tucked the blanket beneath Casey's chin. She reached over and smoothed the tumbled curls off Kim's forehead. Both were sleeping peacefully.
Moving noiselessly to the bedroom door, she realized there was no point in delaying it any longer. She had dreaded being alone with him all day. The tension between them had eased somewhat while they were at Janice and Bill's, but there had been several times today when she had glanced up to find him watching her with a dark, analytical stare that was unnerving. She wished she had some idea what was going on in his head, but his expression gave nothing away.
That same prickly sense of unease gripped her once more as she paused near the entrance of the living room. Darkness had fallen. The room was lit only by a hazy path of moonlight that crept in through the windows.
She could see Matt in silhouette standing near the fireplace, his hands thrust into the pockets of his slacks. As if sensing her scrutiny, he slowly turned, his face all planes and shadows. Her heart thundered in her chest as she hurriedly switched on a light. The tension in the air was almost palpable.
Matt finally extended his hand. "Come here," he invited softly.
Angie swallowed. Certainly there was nothing threatening in either his tone or his manner, yet as she moved slowly across the room, she felt as if she was heading straight into a minefield.
His jaw hardened as she ignored his outstretched hand and sat down in the nearest chair, prim and poised. So this is how it's going to be, he thought silently, his feelings a curious blend of frustration and resignation. She was still putting up barriers between them. But he was going to get through that wall around her if he had to tear it down piece by piece. They had played the game by her rules, but no more, dammit. No more!
Still, he found himself giving her one more chance. "I noticed Bill and Janice's wedding picture tonight— the one hanging in their dining room." He paused, watching her closely. "I couldn't help but wonder about yours and Evan's."
If he had surprised her, she gave no sign of it. "Why?" she asked bluntly.
Matt shrugged. "No special reason, I guess." He wandered over to stare absently out the window. "How long were you and Evan married?"
Angie glared at his broad back. She knew what he was trying to get at, and she didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. "Ten years," she replied curtly.
"Ten years," he murmured. "All of them happily, I take it?"
She sucked in a harsh breath. Damn! she moaned silently. She should have realized Matt wouldn't be satisfied with the little she had told him. She clasped her fingers tightly in her lap as she tried not to let his words rattle her.
"You already know that," she started to say, but Matt cut her off.
"No, I don't know that, but it occurred to me tonight that I don't even know what the hell Evan looked like. And it also struck me as odd—damn odd—that the woman who is supposed to be so damn smitten with her dead husband doesn't even have a picture of him. No reminders whatsoever."
He faced her once more, his eyes glittering angrily. "Married for ten years, widowed for two and still in love with her husband. All along that's what you've wanted me to believe. Isn't it, Angie?"
Boldly he confronted her, his voice ringing with accusation. His eyes bored into hers, stripping away all pretense between them. Her tongue darted out to trace suddenly dry lips. She'd been right to be wary of him.
"Isn't it, Angie?"
Numbly she nodded.
"It was just an excuse, wasn't it?" His voice was blunted with both hurt and anger.
"Yes," she whispered again and closed her eyes. That she had hurt him was something she had never even considered. She had thought only of herself, yet she knew that if the same choice had to be made all over again, it would have been no different.
A bitter oath penetrated the air. The confusion and conflict in her voice tore him apart, but there was such a wealth of pain and despair burning inside him he could fight it no longer.
"Good Lord, Angie!" he cried. "What are you trying to do? Punish yourself because Evan is dead?"
For one paralyzing second she stared at him, her mind whirling. At Evan's name every nerve in her body tightened. Her stomach knotted into a sickening coil of revulsion. All this time she hadn't wanted to face up to her feelings about Evan. The anger at his abuse, the guilt she'd suffered by her decision to leave him. She had buried them in a far corner of her mind, refusing to examine them and let them go.
And then there was Matt. Was he right? she wondered giddily. By denying her secret longing for him, had she somehow been trying to punish herself because Evan was dead and she was alive?
Something within her snapped. She was furious with Matt for dredging up such painful memories, furious with Evan for stripping her of her pride, her dignity, destroying their love.
"No!" she cried, her eyes sparkling wildly. Shoving him back, she jumped to her feet. She was only half aware of what she was saying. All her resentment at Evan was suddenly directed at the man before her. "I'm not trying to punish myself because I hated him! Do you hear? I hated him! I didn't want him in my life any more than I want you!"
Words. They were just words, uttered in the heat of the moment. In his rational mind Matt knew that. But because he was angry and because he was hurt, he struck out—just as she had struck out.
Her breath was torn from her lungs as he reached for her and grabbed her shoulders. "Dammit, Angie!" he muttered fiercely, giving her a little shake. "What will it take for you to see—"
He got no further. Launched from the shadows, a small body suddenly threw itself between them.
"Leave her alone!" a voice cried. "I won't let you hit her like Daddy did. I won't!"
Kim was pushing at his legs with surprising strength. Caught off balance, Matt regained it only to find she had thrown herself at him again.
Along with the flailing fists, the kicking legs, the pathetically furious little voice came a numbing realization. It hit him with shattering clarity, but for a fraction of a second, he was overcome with disbelief. Was it the product of an overly imaginative young child, or was it really true... ?
One glimpse of Angie's haunted expression was all it took to know that it was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was suddenly so crystal clear that Matt wondered why on earth he hadn't been able to see it before. Everything pointed in only one direction: Angie's dislike of being touched, the fear he had sensed in her, especially at first, the way she clung to her conviction that she wanted no part of him, of any man.
And Kim. Only two days ago she had looked up at him, her eyes huge and solemn. You won't hurt my mommy, will you?
A wrenching pain ripped through him. But there was no time for his own emotions—he was still the target of an eight-year-old bundle of rage determined to protect her mother. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Angie had stumbled over to the sofa. She was staring blindly ahead of her, her face white with shock. Matt swore softly, torn between mother and daughter. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.
It was Kim who ultimately made the choice for him. She was crying, screaming, "Don't hit her. Don't hit her!" over and over. It wasn't hard to figure out that she was on the verge of hysteria.
"Kim." He spoke in a firm but reassuring tone, not wanting to frighten her any more. She didn't even hear him. "Kim!" Finally he dropped to his knees and picked her up, wrapping his arms around her flailing limbs and gathering her small body up against his chest.
"It's all right, Kim. Your mom and I--we were arguing. But please believe me when I say I would never, never hurt your mom." He took a deep, ragged breath, marveling that he could speak at all, let alone calmly, soothingly. But something in his voice must have convinced Kim of his sincerity. Her sobs eventually gave way to a watery hiccough, but when she looked up at him, her drawn features were still filled with anger, fear and resentment.
Then suddenly her face crumpled. "He hit her." The pitifully thin voice quavered. "I had to go to the bathroom and that--that's when I saw Daddy hit Mommy and she—she fell down the stairs. He—he hurt her, Matt."
Matt drew in his breath sharply and glanced at Angie. She gave no sign that she had heard. The knowledge that Evan had abused Angie had been a shocking revelation. It had shaken him badly, and his throat worked silently as he saw the tormented anguish that lingered in her eyes. She hadn't known about Kim; that much was clear. For a child to witness such a brutal act, for Angie to have endured such a brutal act... His eyes closed.
This time he had to struggle to speak. "I know, sweetheart." His large hand stroked Kim's hair gently. "But no one is ever going to hurt her again. I swear." Cradling her limp body tightly in his arms, he picked her up and rose to his feet, praying that Angie would be okay until he could get Kim settled down.
The little girl clung tightly to his neck as he mounted the stairs. How he found the words to comfort her he never knew, but somehow he did. Still, it seemed an eternity before she finally drifted off to sleep.
Angie was another story. He had no idea what to say to her. She had fought him for so long that he wasn't sure what his own reaction would be if she turned away from him now. Now, when she so desperately needed someone to lean on. Someone to share her pain.
She hadn't moved from her place on the sofa. From where he stood behind her, Matt could see the soft swirls of golden hair that had escaped their prison and lay loosely on the tender curve of her nape. Oddly, those few curls only accentuated her vulnerability even further.
As he watched, she drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her head dropped forward so that her forehead rested on her upraised knees. She looked completely drained and lifeless.
The utter bleakness in that one action affected him even more deeply than anything in the preceding half hour. Matt felt an unfamiliar tightening of the muscles in his throat.
Swallowing convulsively, he moved to stand before her. "Angie?" His voice sounded raw, as raw as the storm of emotions churning inside him.
Slowly she raised her head and looked at him. "Is Kim okay?" Her whisper was reed thin.
"She's asleep," he answered quietly. His eyes never left hers as slowly he eased down beside her. If she turned away from him now, he didn't think he could bear it.
She didn't. With a strangled little cry she propelled herself toward him. Strong arms enfolded her with tender urgency. A rush of relief poured through him, so powerful that, for a fraction of a second, he went weak with it. His eyes squeezed shut as he absorbed the almost unbearable sweetness of what she had just done. She had finally turned to him of her own free will. But Lord, what it had taken for him to reach this point!
His arms tightened around Angie's trembling body. He buried his face in the fragrant silk of her hair, and for a long moment they clung to each other.
Finally she drew back. She gazed at him with dark and tormented eyes and opened her mouth to speak.
Matt had felt the tension invade her body. His fingers came up to silence her. "Not yet," he pleaded. "Just let me hold you a little longer." For just a moment he thought she would refuse. Then with a breathless little sigh she sagged against his chest once more, absorbing his warmth, his strength.
Long minutes later she finally stirred weakly. Matt kissed her softly on the temple, not resisting as she sat up in his arms. She didn't break the circle of his hold, though. She simply repositioned herself so that her shoulder was wedged in the crook of his arm.
Matt was well aware of what she was trying to do, but he didn't argue. He, too, knew that what was to come in the next few minutes would be easier for both of them if he couldn't see her face. His eyes dropped to where her fingers plucked restlessly at a fold in her slacks.
Sensing her uncertainty, he said quietly, "You didn't know that Kim saw Evan hit you, did you?"
S
he shook her head and dug her teeth viciously into her lower lip. A hollow silence ensued. She drew in a ragged breath and finally spoke, venting her thoughts aloud.
"I should have," she said tonelessly. What followed was in jagged bits and pieces. "She changed so much after Evan died, became so silent and withdrawn— I thought it was because she missed him. I thought her shyness around men was because her father was gone, but she was probably scared to death. If she saw what he did to me—my God, she must have hated him as much as I did!"
He felt as if he'd been slashed to ribbons by the guilt in her voice. "There was no way you could have known," he told her quietly.
"But why didn't she tell me?" she cried.
He sighed. She was as tense as a taut metal wire, ready to snap with the slightest pressure. He eased her against him so that her back was flush with his chest. His arms encircled her, his forearms resting against her ribs.
"I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe for the same reason children who are abused don't let anyone know. Maybe she was afraid that somehow she would lose you, too." His hand blanketed hers where it lay on her stomach. "She'll be okay. She's young. She'll get over it in time." His fingers squeezed hers reassuringly.
It was a touch of utter familiarity, a touch that somehow gave her courage. She'd been so stunned by Kim's revelation, and at the same time so horrified that Matt would know her terrible secret, that she hadn't realized how perilously close she'd come to losing control. Even now the threat of tears hovered just beneath the surface.
It made the sudden quiet that descended almost unbearable. She knew what was coming next by the rigidness that invaded the arms that held her. Her heartbeat accelerated to a point just short of panic.
Matt had to force the words past the ache in his throat. "Kim said you fell down the stairs. How badly were you—"
This time it was she who cut him off. "He didn't put me in the hospital, if that's what you mean. My ribs were sore and I had some bruises." She paused to take a deep, uneven breath. "Nothing too terribly serious."
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