like bathing her, combing those long blond curls, helping retie the
shoelaces that came undone after Rachel laboriously tied them herself.
There were substantive things to cherish, like cookie baking, hikes in
the woods, and reading stories before the fire at night.
And if Anne was in love, she felt it coming right back from Rachel. Such
innocent, heartfelt, freely given affection was the most precious thing
in the world.
Staying indifferent to Mitch was a problem, but she did her best and, to
his credit, he didn't push. She slept upstairs, he slept downstairs,
with Rachel in a sleeping bag on the floor of his room. By Wednesday
morning, though, Anne felt she was walking a tight-rope of conflicting
emotions, with Mitch watching from morning to night to see which way she
would go.
Memory nagged. She remembered beautiful times here with Mitch, innocent
times of fulfillment and love. She might put them aside in New York, but
they were more real here and harder to flee.
Still she tried. "I'm going for a walk," she announced after a
postbreakfast bit of brooding.
"That's a good idea," Mitch said without mockery, but then, his
gentleness was part of the torture. "Take your time. I think I can
manage Rachel for a few hours."
Despite the little girl's protest, Anne left. It was the first time she
had been alone since they had arrived, and she needed it badly. She was
feeling frayed at the seams, but there were still two days left in the
week. She had to find a way of surviving.
Spring was everywhere. What had been damp and gray a month before was
now a fresh, vibrant green. The scent was of rebirth, spreading upward
from the lush carpet of new grass and through the lime leaves that
clothed long tree branches. The sounds were enchanting ones-the chirping
of birds from nest to nest, the rustle of forest creatures in the newly
spreading undergrowth. Water ran freely over rocks and silt, rushing
with the force of the snows that melted higher up the mountain. The
pasture glowed yellow with dandelions and pink with crab apple blossoms.
It was the countryside at its gayest and most promising.
Not so her heart. Its sadness was all the more poignant by contrast.
Pebbles scattered before her shuffling feet. She kicked a boulder or
two. When she finally buried her head on her arms, the tears flowed as
fast and free as the brook beside her. But while the brook's course was
one of liberation, Anne's was the opposite. She was in an emotional
prison. Loving Mitch did that.
In time, she knelt on the stones and splashed her face. The water was so
cold that she gasped, but the pain felt good, and the invigoration was
welcome. She headed slowly back toward the cottage, winding in and out
among the forest paths, physically relieved from the cry, if no closer
to a solution.
Under the warmth of the high noon sun, she arrived at the house to an
unexpected silence. Assuming that father and daughter were out in the
woods themselves, she passed through the kitchen to the living room,
only to stop short at the sight of Mitch, standing tall and lean at the
front window. His hands filled the pockets of his jeans in a pose that
was more idle than she would have expected, given the presence of a
vivacious six-year-old.
"Where's Rachel?" she asked.
He faced her. "She's gone."
"Gone." But he wasn't upset. "What do you mean gone?"
"My parents came by to pick her up. They're continuing on to Montreal
for a few days."
"You mean, she's gone?" The implication of it was only slowly seeping
in.
"Yes." His eyes held hers. "You've been crying."
"No." She felt justified lying. He had tricked her again!
"Your eyes are red," he challenged softly.
"I have hay fever," she snapped, feeling a growing fury. "You planned
this, didn't you? You had it all arranged with your parents. You
orchestrated the whole thing, using Rachel to get me up here, then
conveniently having her vanish." Every muscle in her body had tensed.
"Yes," he admitted and offered no excuse.
Anne's eyes blazed. "And you really think I'm staying, now that she's
gone? Hell, she was the only reason I agreed to come up here in the
first place!"
He began to move toward her. "Was it, Anne? Was it really? Be honest
with yourself"
She was suddenly afraid. "I am! That was why I came up here." She put up
a hand to ward him off and took a step backward. "Don't come any closer.
Don't you dare touch me-"
"Or what? Haven't we been through this before? We're right back at the
beginning, Annie. Face it. No child. No deposition-taking. No other
pretense. Just you and me."
"It's not that simple!" she cried and took another step back. He was too
tall, too attractive, too near. "I can't forget those things. They're
all here, even if you try to deny them, and nothing can change the fact
that I didn't want to see you, that I don't want to have anything to do
with you!"
But her body was trembling. It remembered how he felt and responded the
closer he came.
He continued his advance until she was backed against a wall. "I don't
believe you," he informed her smoothly. "I think you want the opposite."
She shook her head in denial. "Don't, Mitch. Get away from me." But her
warning was a whisper, and a faltering one at that. She was between
Mitch and the wall, between a rock and a hard place. She was wondering
where to go, when he flattened his hands on the wall by either shoulder.
"This has gone on long enough. I'm going to talk now, and you're going
to listen. My patience is wearing thin."
"Your patience?" she cried, raising her eyes to his. "What about mine?
And what about my feelings? But then, you never were all that concerned
about what would happen to me after you'd taken everything you wanted!
You are the most selfish, arrogant, ruthless-"
The list of scathing expletives would have gone on if he hadn't stopped
them with his mouth. She tried to pull back, to twist her head away, to
push him off. But he was bigger, stronger, and determined.
He drew her from the wall and into his arms, kissing her so vehemently
that her breath was cut off. At the instant she would have collapsed, he
eased his grip, breathing raggedly for a moment before capturing her
lips again.
This time was different. His mouth was more persuasive now, moving with
gentleness and sensual sureness. Anne might have been able to resist
force, but a caring kiss was something else. Her body was weak, her mind
muddled. While her arms continued to apply a token pressure against his
chest, her lips betrayed her. Gradually they softened, then opened, then
drank helplessly of his kiss.
When he finally raised his head, she bowed hers and dissolved into
helpless tears.
"Don't cry, Annie. Please." Sounding tormented, he held her tightly
until she gradually quieted. "I won't hurt you. Please believe me,
honey. I've never meant to hurt you. I just want you to listen to what I
have to say."
"Do I have a choice?" she finally whispered.
He smiled. "No."
She remained docile as he led her to the chair before the cold hearth.
The same wings that had once been blinders against the dark, now blotted
out all but Mitch.
He raked a hand through his hair. "I know what you must be thinking
about me, but you're wrong. It's unfair of you to blame me for what
happened to Jeff."
Anne had never blamed him for the crash. But before she could tell him
that, he said, "It wasn't until February, when you were so sick and had
that nightmare about the accident and mentioned the court hearing, that
I began to wonder if there was a connection. Contrary to your
assumption, I did not run right back to New York to check it out." He
turned away and approached the hearth. With an arm on its mantel, and a
foot on the ashstrewn grate, he was silent for several minutes. "I
didn't want to know," he finally said. "My guilt feelings about that
accident were bad enough, without having to bear your scorn."
But he was missing the point! She didn't blame him for the accident!
That wasn't the problem!
He went on without turning. "I was tortured coming back here in March. I
knew I had to be with you, but I also knew you might hate me even more
afterward." He pushed a hand through his hair. "You were bound to learn
the truth sooner or later. I wanted to tell you myself I just ...
couldn't."
Slowly he turned to face her. His eyes held unfathomable pain. "When we
made love, Anne, it was magnificent. We might fight about little things,
but when we came together that day, it was heaven. I kept thinking that
if you knew how much I loved you, you'd forgive me. If I could have
prevented that accident," he said on a note of defeat, "I would have,
believe me, I would have."
"I never blamed you for that crash!"
"The guilt has been unbearable," he said as though he hadn't heard her.
"It's irrational and unjustified, but it's real. You have no idea.
Between the plane and the car.. ." He shook his head.
Anne was missing something. Quietly, she said, "What car?"
He turned away, took a shuddering breath, straightened in resignation.
"My wife was killed in an automobile accident three weeks before that
plane crash. It was late at night. The roads were icy. Our car was hit
head on by a man who'd had too much to drink." He looked back over his
shoulder. "I was at the wheel."
Anne stared dumbly at him, and suddenly she was the one overwhelmed with
grief She hadn't asked how Mitch's wife had died, because that was
against the rules. But she should have known that the death of a young
woman would be tragic no matter how it occurred.
"It wasn't your fault," she reasoned.
His eyes flashed. "I was driving! If only I'd driven slower or faster,
or taken a different route." He hung his head. When he raised it again,
his anger was spent. "Remember the nightmare you had? Mine was no dream.
I was able to pull Bey out of the car, only to watch her die in my arms.
There was nothing I could do. A battered arm was the least of my
punishment. The plane crash seemed an extension of it. Then"-he pressed
his lips together and nodded-"then I found you."
Anne swallowed hard. He wandered across the room, seeming aimless, as
though it didn't matter where he went. She had never seen him like this,
had never heard his voice so bleak or so sad.
"I had fallen in love with you long before I made the connection between
Jeff's death and my airline. In an odd way, I felt you were my only
chance at happiness, at building a new life. I was terrified of losing
you. I didn't know what would happen when I told you what I knew. I
wanted to think you'd understand, but the stakes were so high."
He turned to face her, earnest now. "I never lied to you about the
crash, Anne. I just didn't tell you the whole truth. It's tormented me
for months. But the longer the deception went on, the worse my sin and
the greater the risk of coming clean. I was afraid that once you knew,
you'd despise me." For a long and heartrending moment, he stared at her.
Then he cursed softly. "What's, what's the use. It's happened, and I
deserve it. I was too blinded by my own need to see to yours." He took a
ragged breath. "I just wonder when the punishment will end." Turning on
his heel, he stalked out of the room, leaving Anne alone and in shock.
The slam of the back door jolted her, but even then it was a minute
before she could move. Bolting up, she ran after him out of the house,
stumbling on the steps, catching herself and running on. The hammer of
her heart made breathing difficult, but she didn't stop.
He was fast disappearing into the woods. Frantically she followed,
running on through the low growth until she reached a clearing. He sat
there with his back to her, brooding among the dandelions. The sun
glanced off his hair in sparkles, but his hunched form was grim.
"Mitch?"
She crept nearer.
"Mitch, I'm sorry, so sorry." She tried to touch him, but pulled back
when he flinched. So she hunkered down inches behind him and said, "I've
been wrong. Please forgive me. It was cruel of me not to listen, not to
even ask questions, but it hurt to know that there was so much I didn't
know, after everything that we'd shared. Because of what we'd shared, I
should have given you the chance to explain, but I loved you so much.
Finding out who you were like that was awful. Try to understand."
This time when she touched his shoulder, he allowed it.
"I've always been nayve," she explained not to make excuses for herself,
but so that Mitch would know more. "My life was easy and happy and
charmed. Maybe I felt immune to tragedy. I'd never known any, not until
the crash, and then I couldn't believe Jeff was gone. It couldn't happen
to me."
She moved closer. "Then I found you. I love you, Mitch. I fought it for
a long time. I was afraid of suffering the kind of pain I had suffered
loving Jeff and losing him. When I saw you in that lawyer's office, the
two worlds came together. I should have trusted you. I should have known
that there was an explanation. So help me, I was afraid to listen. Maybe
I was punishing myself. Maybe I was feeling guilty for finding happiness
with you." Her voice broke.
His eyes met hers, then, and they were filled with the same
