Married 'til Monday

by Denise Hunter

  The fire popped across the room, its light casting shadows on the wall. No, there was no going back. But maybe there could be healing. Maybe they could part friends. Maybe then she’d be ready to move on. With someone else.

  Her finger toyed with her ring—her wedding ring. She’d forgotten to take it off. She’d do it in the morning when she could tuck it safely into her purse.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ABBY SNUGGLED INTO THE WARMTH OF HER PILLOW. SHE didn’t want to wake quite yet. She was cozy, and sleep beckoned. Her eyes fluttered, sensing light, just out of reach.

  Not yet. She resisted the pull, turning her face into the pillow.

  The most delicious smell filled her nostrils. Mmmm. She drew in another breath and snuggled closer. Something toyed at the frayed edges of consciousness. Something not right. Something about her pillow.

  It was firm and warm.

  She tried to push away the thought, but it nipped at her like a bass at a dangling worm. Her eyes fluttered open. Daylight filtered softly through the cracks in the blinds, and she blinked against the light. Her eyes connected with the white of her pillow, honing in on the gentle rise and fall of it.

  Ryan.

  She became aware of other things, almost all at once. Her cheek smooshed against the warm flesh of his shoulder, her arm curled around his waist, her leg—oh my gosh—thrown over his body.

  She froze. Her breath ceased. She was attached to him like a starving leech. She watched his chest for some sign of wakefulness.

  Please. If he could just be asleep, that would be dandy.

  His torso rose and fell in a slow, easy rhythm, his breaths ruffling the hair on the top of her head.

  He was still asleep. She could get out of this. He’d never know she—

  He stirred beneath her. She felt a hitch in his breath. She lay still for a solid minute, hoping he wasn’t awake. That he was only shifting in his sleep. When she felt it was safe, she lifted her lids, careful to keep her head still. She followed the column of his neck to his mouth, his nose, and . . . met his open eyes.

  The awkwardness blooming inside flushed her cheeks. But the warmth in his eyes soon extinguished the lingering embarrassment. The intensity in them gripped her, held on tight, wouldn’t let her go. His eyes had always said so much. And right now they were saying things her heart longed to hear.

  She became aware of every point their bodies connected. Her cheek. The tender underside of her arm, the length of her leg. A curl of warmth unfurled inside as tingly heat spread through her.

  His fingers moved against her shoulder, threaded into her hair, sending a shiver up her spine. His eyes fell from hers, landing squarely on her lips.

  Her mouth went dry, and her breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her? Yes, please! her heart screamed even while her brain said tsk-tsk-tsk.

  He leaned ever so slightly toward her.

  Her pulse jumped, and her heart squeezed tight. She wrenched away, turning her back as her feet hit the floor.

  “Sorry . . . I—I guess I got cold in the night.”

  Ryan watched Abby skitter into the bathroom. The door shut behind her. He fell back into the pillow and palmed his eyes. What was he thinking? She wasn’t ready for that. He had to be careful not to push. She was like a cornered cat, looking for the first chance to run.

  But what was he supposed to do when he woke up with their limbs all tangled? When she looked at him with those come-hither eyes? She was right there in his arms, and he was madly in love with her. How could he not kiss her?

  The shower kicked on, and he lay there letting his heart rate return to normal, thinking about the day ahead. Drawing Abby out was a painstaking process, and he knew it was time to retreat or risk scaring her away. And with her upcoming move, that was a risk he couldn’t take.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ABBY PULLED OUT THE PACKAGE OF BOLOGNA AND MADE sandwiches for lunch. They were still waiting on word from the garage. Charlie had promised to tow the car first thing and said he’d call them after lunch.

  Please let it be something simple. Something he can fix so we can get back on the road.

  Her boss had called this morning. Frank had given Lewis a fraud case he’d been saving for her, and if she knew Lewis, he’d do everything he could to show her up. Lately he’d been getting better results with his cases. Sometimes she wondered if he was as ethical as he made himself out to be. He’d been solving cases that seemed impossible without going beyond the law. Apparently Frank didn’t see it. He’d never condone such practices.

  She’d gone for a long walk in the woods after her “shower.” She still felt awkward about the way they’d awakened this morning, though Ryan seemed fine. He’d been on the phone a lot with his coaches and his family. She could hear his voice filtering through the shack’s porous walls.

  She was slapping cheese on the bread when Ryan entered, Boo on his heels.

  She handed him the plate of food. “Bon appétit.”

  When they settled on the porch step with their lunch, her phone rang. Abby’s heart quickened as she saw the foreign number on the screen.

  “This is Abby,” she said in greeting.

  “Hey, Abby. This is Charlie from the garage. I checked out your car. I suspected from what you said that there’s a transmission problem from the flooding. So I took out the electrical switch assembly and tested it. Bottom line, you need a new one. Don’t have that here, of course, but there’s a Fiat dealer in Worcester that carries the part.”

  She didn’t know what any of that meant. “Worcester . . . how far is that?”

  “Basically, they’d have to ship it, but they can overnight it. I’ll have it first thing tomorrow if you want me to order it.”

  Tomorrow? Abby closed her eyes. When she opened them, Ryan was looking at her.

  Charlie told her the price of the part and the cost of repair. “Soon as we get the part, we’ll get it installed. I could have it ready tomorrow after lunch sometime.”

  “Is there anything you can do to expedite this? Another dealer that’s closer?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Best we can do. There’s a dealer in Manchester, but they don’t have the part.”

  “And that’ll fix the problem?”

  “Fix you right up.”

  What choice did she have? She told him to overnight the part, and he promised to call tomorrow as soon as it was fixed.

  Abby hung up the phone. The bologna sandwich suddenly looked unappetizing.

  “Tomorrow?” Ryan asked.

  “Afraid so. We still have a fourteen-hour drive left, not including stops, so even if he gets done at one o’clock, the earliest we’d be home is four or five on Thursday morning. Frank’s going to kill me.” If this cost her the promotion, she was going to punch somebody.

  “Frank’s lucky to have you. This isn’t your fault.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I parked in a flood zone.”

  “Frank doesn’t have to know that.”

  Their eyes met, and she felt her smile turning real. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t repair the car. She couldn’t wish the part into existence. There was no magic wand that fixed everything. If there were, she would’ve waved it over her heart years ago.

  “Let’s just make the best of it,” he said.

  She looked down at her half-eaten bologna sandwich and scowled.

  “There’s an ATV in the shed. We could burn some time with that. Plus I found a grill and some charcoal in there. How about we grill out those hotdogs tonight?”

  “Isn’t that kind of like setting a pebble in a platinum ring?”

  “Everything tastes better grilled.” He polished off his sandwich and stood. “Now where do you keep that gun of yours? I think it’s high time to kick your butt at target practice.”

  Abby arched a brow. “You are so on.”

  Abby watched as Ryan cocked his hip, held the .38 Special out with one arm, and lined up the sight.

  “
Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  He lowered the gun. “Aiming for the water bottles.”

  “Your stance, your arms . . . My gosh, Ryan, have you ever shot a gun?”

  “’Course I have. Dad took me hunting a few times.”

  She frowned at him. “With a rifle.” She huffed, using her foot to knock his feet apart. “Not like that. Broaden your stance.”

  He cocked his foot out to the side. “Like this?”

  “Not like—for heaven’s sake.” She put her hands on his hips and tugged. “Square up.” She tapped on the side of his hip, then nudged his left foot forward. He wouldn’t be able to hit the broad side of a barn like that. “Kick my butt . . .,” she muttered.

  Ryan raised the gun.

  “Both hands!”

  “Geez.” He placed his left hand over his right, too low.

  “Wait.” She reached around him, aligning his thumbs. “Haven’t you ever seen Cops?”

  His large hands dwarfed the gun, and it seemed to take forever to get his fingers situated. She was pressed into his side, her head practically on his shoulder, her arm stretched alongside his. He was warm and solid and—

  She felt his shoulders shake once. Twice.

  She angled a look up at him.

  His jaw was locked. His lips were pressed into a tight line and twitched at the corners. His eyes, avoiding hers, sparkled like a lake at high noon.

  She huffed. “You jerkwad!”

  His smile broke loose, and his mischievous eyes found hers as he lowered the gun. “What?”

  She stepped away, swatting his backside for good measure.

  He laughed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Abby crossed her arms, but she was sure the effect of her glare was ruined by the smile she couldn’t quite bite back.

  When he raised the gun a moment later, he had perfect form. He smirked at her before firing off a round, taking out a water bottle on his second shot.

  Once she was convinced he was no novice, she stood back a good distance. After he’d taken out half the water bottles, he aimed for the ones on the ground. His broad shoulders didn’t even budge against the recoil. His arms tightened and flinched at each squeeze of the trigger, the movement of skin over hard muscles fascinating her. Her eyes followed the tapered lines of his back down to his narrow waist. His jeans hung there, fitting quite nicely against the curve of his backside. She couldn’t believe she’d smacked his butt. She used to do it all the time.

  She suddenly realized it had been quiet a moment. Her eyes shot up to find him watching her, gun lowered.

  She wiped the appreciation from her face. “Not bad,” she said, stepping up to take her turn.

  He smirked. “My aim or . . .?”

  “Your aim, smart aleck.” She reloaded the gun, her face heating.

  “If I didn’t know any better, Abby McKinley, I’d think you were checking out my form.”

  “I see you’re still as humble as ever.” Her fingers shook as she loaded the chamber. When she finished she snapped it shut. “Now step aside and see how an expert does it.”

  They shot off rounds until she was almost out of ammo. She hadn’t planned on target practice when she’d packed. And she sure never dreamed she might actually enjoy the company of her infuriating ex-husband.

  Ryan found a couple of serviceable branches and set them by the logs he’d put in front of the campfire next to the cottage. The charcoal briquettes had turned out to be wet from a roof leak, so they were improvising.

  They’d been doing a lot of that today, and Ryan was enjoying every minute. After they’d shot Abby’s gun, they’d explored the trails with Boo. They’d talked a lot, keeping the conversation light and insignificant. There had been playful moments and flirtatious quips that buoyed his spirits.

  But tonight was their last night together. Tomorrow they’d start their marathon journey home, and what then? He could almost hear the clock ticking in the background.

  Abby joined him by the fire, opening the package of hot dogs and handing him two. Moments later, they were roasting them over the fire from their respective logs, which he’d set close together. Darkness was falling around them, bringing a light chill to the air, but the warmth of the fire should keep Abby warm.

  “I wish we’d gotten the makings for s’mores,” she said.

  “You haven’t even had supper, and you’re already wishing for dessert.”

  She flashed a shameless smile at him before tending to her hot dog.

  His thoughts went back to earlier when he’d caught her ogling him. The memory gave him a burst of hope. Maybe she hadn’t forgiven him, maybe she was afraid to let him in again, but she wasn’t immune to him either. That was something. It made all those early-morning workouts totally worth it.

  The fire popped and sizzled, casting a glow over her face. She looked lost in thought, staring into the fire, her brows drawn. Even with a frown, she was beautiful.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  Her eyes flitted to him. “Just fretting over work. The timing’s really bad with the promotion on the line, and Lewis is determined to show me up while I’m gone. I have got to get home.”

  He understood her need to get ahead, to prove herself. But her rush to get home was like a jab to the gut, especially after the nice day they’d had.

  “Know what?” she said suddenly. “I don’t want to talk about work. Nothing I can do from here, right?”

  “That’s the spirit.” He turned the stick, heating the other side of the hot dogs.

  They sat in comfortable silence, soaking up the peacefulness. Sparks shot into the blackened sky, almost seeming to meld into the stars above. The smell of burning wood lingered in the air. He couldn’t imagine anyplace else he’d rather be.

  “This reminds me of that camping trip we took with your class that one time,” she said, a smile curling her lips.

  His first year of teaching, they’d gotten suckered into being chaperones for the science class trip to Clifty Falls State Park.

  “I remember,” he said. “We sat by the fire after everyone else turned in.”

  “Until the girls found a snake in their tent.”

  He chuckled. “I can still hear the screams. Brendon Martin and his pranks. My gosh, that kid about wore me out my rookie year.”

  It had taken an hour to settle everyone after the snake was discovered. Once it was quiet he’d sat next to Abby by the fire again, dreading saying good night.

  “It was our first night in separate beds,” he said.

  “Beds being a relative term.”

  They couldn’t get enough of each other in those early days. Sitting close to Abby with the kids in the nearby tents, knowing he couldn’t have her, had strained his self-control. When Abby had stood, holding out her hand, giving him that come-hither look, he would’ve followed her anywhere.

  They walked toward the parking lot under the guise of putting away supplies and made out behind a grove of pine trees until he was ready to curse Mrs. Mowers for signing him up for the blasted trip. That night he’d turned in restless and wanting.

  He watched her now, her eyes trained on the fire, her cheeks pinkening, and he knew she was remembering too.

  Man, he’d loved her so much. Still did. Would give anything if he could turn back time and change what had gone wrong between them. He’d thought one night without her was difficult. Three years had been torture.

  “I loved having you as my wife,” he said.

  Her eyes swung to him and clung, hungry. Not for touching, but for words. Early in their marriage he’d often showered her with loving words. Because she filled him with so many emotions, because the look of peace that would come over her face was a sight to behold. She would soften, melting into his arms like ice cream on a hot August day.

  Now that he knew about her childhood, he finally understood. Wished he’d never stopped saying the loving words she’d needed to hear. Maybe it wasn’t
too late.

  Please, God.

  “You were my everything, Abby,” he said softly. “I wanted to spend every day making you smile. I wanted to have a family with you, grow old with you.” I still do.

  She swallowed, her eyes shuttering. “Some things aren’t meant to be.”

  He wanted to deny it, to press her. But he couldn’t risk sending her running. And yet . . . he was running out of time.

  “I know you didn’t want me along on your trip—”

  She gave a huff of laughter. “What gave it away?”

  “Going back home was hard for you, and I know the delays have been frustrating . . . but I feel like this has been good for us.”

  He waited for her response, his heart pounding like a little girl’s. Just some little encouragement. A tiny hint that this trip hadn’t been an epic mistake. That she didn’t hate him anymore. That she might give him—give them—a second chance.

  “Maybe so.” It was a big concession for her.

  “I’m glad I came.” He reached out, swept the back of his knuckle down her cheek. It was so soft, like silk.

  Her green eyes glittered in the firelight. She leaned into his touch just a little. His heart lurched.

  That’s my girl. Without breaking eye contact he took her roasting stick and leaned them both against a log.

  His fingers trailed down her hair, drawing a shiver from her. “I’ve had fun with you,” he said softly. “I forgot how much fun you are. How warm you can be.”

  Something flashed in her eyes. “I thought I was cold,” she said lightly. But emotions tightened the corners of her mouth. “Heart of stone, or something like that.”

  His careless words were a blow to the solar plexus. She’d already suffered so much verbal abuse from her father. It killed him that he’d added to it.

  “I was wrong. You’ll never know how sorry I am for those words. I wanted to call them back a million times.” He swallowed against the hard lump in his throat. “No wonder you hated me.”