by Sara Orwig
She pushed back, gave his chest a playful slap and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re really here. You must be hungry. I’ll go fix you something—”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, knowing nothing could stop her. Connie Wyatt treated all difficult situations as a reason to feed people.
“Won’t be a minute,” she said, then shot her husband a quick glance. “I’ll bring us all some coffee, too. You stay in that chair, mister.”
Bob Wyatt waved one hand at his wife, but kept his gaze fixed on his son. As Connie rushed out of the room and headed for the family kitchen, Sam walked over to his father and took a seat on the footstool in front of him. “Dad. You look good.”
Scowling, the older man brushed his gray-streaked hair back from his forehead and narrowed the green eyes he’d bequeathed to his sons. “I’m fine. Doctor says it wasn’t anything. Just too much stress.”
Stress. Because he’d lost one son, had another disappear on him and was forced to do most of the running of the family resort himself. Guilt Sam didn’t want to acknowledge pinged him again as he realized that leaving the way he did had left everyone scrambling.
Frowning more deeply, his father looked over to the doorway where his wife had disappeared. “Your mother’s bound and determined to make me an invalid, though.”
“You scared her,” Sam said. “Hell, you scared me.”
His father watched him for several long minutes before saying, “Well now, you did some scaring of your own a couple years ago. Taking off, not letting us know where you were or how you were...”
Sam took a breath and blew it out. And there was the guilt again, settling back onto his shoulders like an unwelcome guest. It had been with him so long now, Sam thought he would probably never get rid of it entirely.
“Couple of postcards just weren’t enough, son.”
“I couldn’t call,” Sam said, and knew it sounded cowardly. “Couldn’t hear your voices. Couldn’t—hell, Dad. I was a damn mess.”
“You weren’t the only one hurting, Sam.”
“I know that,” he said, and felt a flicker of shame. “I do. But losing Jack...” Sam scowled at the memory as if that action alone could push it so far out of sight he’d never have to look at it again.
“He was your twin,” Bob mused. “But he was our child. Just as you and Kristi are.”
There it was. Sam had to accept that he’d caused his parents more pain at a time when they had already had more than enough loss to deal with. But back then, there had seemed to Sam to be only one answer.
“I had to go.”
One short sentence that encapsulated the myriad emotions that had driven him from his home, his family.
“I know that.” His father’s gaze was steady and there was understanding there as well as sorrow. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, but I understand. Still, you’re back now. For how long?”
He’d been expecting that question. The problem was, he didn’t have an answer for it yet. Sam ducked his head briefly, then looked at his father again. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” the older man said sadly, “that’s honest at least.”
“I can tell you,” Sam assured him, “that this time I’ll let you know before I leave. I can promise not to disappear again.”
Nodding, his father said, “Then I guess that’ll have to do. For now.” He paused and asked, “Have you seen...anyone else yet?”
“No. Just Kristi.” Sam stiffened. There were still minefields to step through. Hard feelings and pain to be faced. There was no way out but through.
As hard as it was to face his family, he’d chosen to see them first, because what was still to come would be far more difficult.
“Well then,” his father spoke up, “you should know that—”
The elevator swished open. Sam turned to face whoever was arriving and instantly went still as stone. He hardly heard his father complete the sentence that had been interrupted.
“—Lacy’s on her way over here.”
Lacy Sills.
She stood just inside the room, clutching at a basket of muffins that filled the room with a tantalizing scent. Sam’s heart gave one hard lurch in his chest. She looked good. Too damn good.
She stood five foot eight and her long blond hair hung in a single thick braid over her left shoulder. Her navy blue coat was unbuttoned to reveal a heavy, fisherman’s knit, forest-green sweater over her black jeans. Her boots were black, too, and came to her knees. Her features were the same: a generous mouth; a straight, small nose; and blue eyes the color of deep summer. She didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. And didn’t have to.
In a split second, blood rushed from his head to his lap and just like that, he was hard as a rock. Lacy had always had that effect on him.
That’s why he’d married her.
* * *
Lacy couldn’t move. Couldn’t seem to draw a breath past the tight knot of emotion lodged in her throat. Her heartbeat was too fast and she felt a head rush, as if she’d had one too many glasses of wine.
She should have called first. Should have made sure the Wyatts were alone here at the lodge. But then, her mind argued, why should she? It wasn’t as if she’d expected to see Sam sitting there opposite his father. And now that she had, she was determined to hide her reaction to him. After all, she wasn’t the one who’d walked out on her family. Her life. She’d done nothing to be ashamed of.
Except of course, for missing him. Her insides were jumping, her pulse raced and an all too familiar swirl of desire spun in the pit of her stomach. How was it possible that she could still feel so much for a man who had tossed her aside without a second thought?
When Sam left, she had gone through so many different stages of grief, she had thought she’d never come out the other side of it all. But she had. Finally.
How was it fair that he was here again when she was just getting her life back?
“Hello, Lacy.”
His voice was the deep rumble of an avalanche forming and she knew that, to her, it held the same threat of destruction. He was watching her out of grass-green eyes she had once gotten lost in. And he looked so darn good. Why did he have to look so good? By all rights, he should be covered in boils and blisters as punishment for what he’d done.
Silence stretched out until it became a presence in the room. She had to speak. She couldn’t just stand there. Couldn’t let him know what it cost her to meet his gaze.
“Hello, Sam,” she finally managed to say. “It’s been a while.”
Two years. Two years of no word except for a few lousy postcards sent to his parents. He’d never contacted Lacy. Never let her know he was sorry. That he missed her. That he wished he hadn’t gone. Nothing. She’d spent countless nights worrying about whether he was alive or dead. Wondering why she should care either way. Wondering when the pain of betrayal and abandonment would stop.
“Lacy.” Bob Wyatt spoke up and held out one hand toward her. In welcome? Or in the hope that she wouldn’t bolt?
Lacy’s spine went poker straight. She wouldn’t run. This mountain was her home. She wouldn’t be chased away by the very man who had run from everything he’d loved.
“Did you bake me something?” Bob asked. “Smells good enough to eat.”
Grateful for the older man’s attempt to help her through this oh-so-weird situation, Lacy gave him a smile as she took a deep, steadying breath. In the past two years, she had spent a lot of nights figuring out how she would handle herself when she first saw Sam again. Now it was time to put all of those mental exercises into practice.
She would be cool, calm. She would never let on that simply looking at him made everything inside her weep for what they’d lost. And blast it, she would never let him know just how badly he’d broken her heart.
Forcing a smile she didn’t quite feel, she headed across the room, looking only at Bob, her father-in-law. That’s how she thought of him still, despite the divorce that Sam had demanded. Bob and Connie Wyatt had been family to Lacy since she was a girl, and she wasn’t about to let that end just because their son was a low-down miserable excuse for a man.
“I did bake, just for you,” she said, setting the basket in Bob’s lap and bending down to plant a quick kiss on the older man’s forehead. “Your favorite, cranberry-orange.”
Bob took a whiff, sighed and gave her a grin. “Girl, you are a wonder in the kitchen.”
“And you are a sucker for sugar,” she teased.
“Guilty as charged.” He glanced from her to Sam. “Why don’t you sit down, visit for a while? Connie went off to get some snacks. Join us.”
They used to all gather together in this room and there was laughter and talking and a bond she had thought was stronger than anything. Those times were gone, though. Besides, with Sam sitting there watching her, Lacy’s stomach twisted, making even the thought of food a hideous one to contemplate. Now, a gigantic glass of wine, on the other hand, was a distinct possibility.
“No, but thanks. I’ve got to get out to the bunny run. I’ve got lessons stacked up for the next couple of hours.”
“If you’re sure...” Bob’s tone told her he knew exactly why she was leaving and the compassion in his eyes let her know he understood.
Oh, if he started being sympathetic, this could get ugly fast and she wasn’t about to let a single tear drop anywhere in the vicinity of Sam Wyatt. She’d already done enough crying over him to last a lifetime. Blast if she’d put on a personal show for him!
“I’m sure,” she said quickly. “But I’ll come back tomorrow to check on you.”
“That’d be good,” Bob told her and gave her hand a pat.
Lacy didn’t even look at Sam as she turned for the elevator. Frankly, she wasn’t sure what she might do or say if she met those green eyes again. Better to just go about her life—teaching little kids and their scared mamas to ski. Then she’d go home, have that massive glass of wine, watch some silly chick flick and cry to release all of the tears now clogging her throat. Right now, though, all she wanted was to get out of there as quickly as she could.
But she should have known her tactic wouldn’t work.
“Lacy, wait.”
Sam was right behind her—she heard his footsteps on the wood floor—but she didn’t stop. Didn’t dare. She made it to the elevator and stabbed at the button. But even as the door slid open, Sam’s hand fell onto her shoulder.
That one touch sent heat slicing through her and she hissed in a breath in an attempt to keep that heat from spreading. Deliberately, she dipped down, escaping his touch, then stepped into the elevator.
Sam slapped one hand onto the elevator door to keep it open as he leaned toward her. “Damn it, Lacy, we have to talk.”
“Why?” she countered. “Because you say so? No, Sam. We have nothing to talk about.”
“I’m—”
Her head snapped up and she glared at him. “And so help me, if you say ‘I’m sorry,’ I will find a way to make sure you are.”
“You’re not making this easy,” he remarked.
“Oh, you mean like you did, two years ago?” Despite her fury, she kept her voice a low hiss. She didn’t want to upset Bob.
God, she hadn’t wanted to get into this at all. She never wanted to talk about the day Sam had handed her divorce papers and then left the mountain—and her—behind.
Deliberately keeping her gaze fixed to his, she punched the button for the lobby. “I have to work. Let go of the door.”
“You’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”
She reached up, pulled his fingers off the cold steel and as the door closed quietly, she assured him, “No, Sam. I really don’t.”
Copyright © 2015 by Maureen Child
ISBN-13: 9781460378397
At the Rancher’s Request
Copyright © 2015 by Sara Orwig
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