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“I’m home,” he said gently.
She felt a biting pain behind her nose as tears gathered there but went no farther. She fought with herself to discount the way his voice caressed her, the sudden ache his presence created, an ache she’d spent months trying to overcome, to deny. Pulling away, she said, “No—”
“I’m home,” he repeated fiercely, his face mere inches from hers, his breath warm against her chilled skin. His gaze bored two holes into her. “Home, Liz.”
And feeling the pressure of his hands clasped around hers, sensing the heated power of his body standing so close, she felt every last ounce of self-control and pride slip away. Horrified at her own weakness, she nevertheless burst into tears, slumping against him, relying on his quickness and strength to save her from hitting the floor in a pitiful heap.
He caught her with forceful hands. Supporting her against his side, he shut the door, shielding them both from the wild cold night and prying eyes.
It’s all been a terrible mistake, her heart chirped like a demented songbird. Haven’t you somehow known it all along? He’s your husband and he’s home.
For the first time in months the planet fell back on its axis.
“You’re really here,” she whispered as he wiped away her tears with trembling fingers whose touch she’d thought she’d never again feel. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
How many nights had she dreamed this very thing? Alex’s soft, sensuous mouth pressed against hers, his big hands gently cupping her face, his lips everywhere, grazing her forehead, eyelids, mouth, chin. She held onto him as tightly as she could, afraid he might vanish from her arms the way he always vanished from her dreams, but he was flesh and blood and real.
A million questions rattled around in her brain. She shut them out. For the moment, it was enough to go on feelings and her feelings were telling her that everything she’d thought about her husband for the past several months had been unequivocally wrong. Damn the facts, damn his own confession. Damn the way he’d turned away from her, shut her out. All wrong.
Her husband.
Not for long. Not now…
Like the relentless advances of an unwelcome suitor, reason refused to leave her alone. Things weren’t so simple. She’d come a long way in the past six months, further than Alex knew. She’d had no choice.
Pulling herself away, she whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“I came because of you.” Tugging on her hands, he led her toward the light cast by the floor lamp. “Look at you.” His gaze dropped from her face to her distended middle and he put a hand on her belly, lightly cradling his baby. She involuntarily flinched at the intimacy.
“I missed all this,” he said. His gaze lifted again and his expression was so carefree he almost looked like the boy she’d fallen in love with over twelve years before. “Do we know the sex?”
“No,” she said, her voice shaky. She’d worked hard to eradicate the surreal quality that had suffused her life for the past several months, thanks to him, but now it was back.
His gaze swept over her, leaving her breathless, reawakening memories of him she’d fought desperately to forget. Alex after a fire, alive and safe; Alex in bed, reaching for her, loving her…
“You cut your hair,” he added, fingering the tousled blond tresses. “I like it.”
She’d cut her hair because he’d loved it long.
“Honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come sit down.”
Summoning her resolve, holding her breath, she blurted, “I’m not moving from this spot until you explain how a man who should be in prison is suddenly here in my living room.”
He looked at her as though the answer were obvious. “I know you’re surprised—”
“You could say that,” she whispered.
His gaze traveled every square inch of the room as he took off his jacket, revealing a black shirt she’d never seen before. It didn’t fit him very well; it was too tight across his broad shoulders, too short in the sleeves. He caught sight of the cat who now sat on his haunches, both almond shaped eyes wide open. “Sinbad, you little devil, how are you, boy?” He picked Sinbad up and as Liz watched, the cat rubbed Alex’s chin in a show of affection and trust. Liz found herself thinking that life was easier if you were a cat.
Alex put Sinbad down and draped his jacket over the back of a chair. He stared at the unused fireplace for a moment, then back at her. “You still can’t stand an open flame in the house,” he said softly.
She shrugged as he strode to the door with the unconscious grace that had first attracted Liz in high school. Back then, she’d been a shy freshman and he’d been the star varsity basketball player, the resident bad boy, four years her senior. It had been love at first sight.
He locked the door then yanked the drapes closer together, blocking out the black, moonless night.
From what—or whom—was he hiding?
Rolling up each sleeve in turn, he faced her again, more in control now, thinner than in the past but still unbelievably fearless and every inch the man she’d pledged to love for eternity.
She said, “Why are you stalling?”
Staring at her as though she might disappear at any second, he whispered, “Because I can’t believe I’m really here. I thought I’d never see you again.”
She nodded, well acquainted with that particular feeling.
He moved close to her and added, “There’s going to be a new trial.”
A veritable tidal wave of relief flooded Liz’s central nervous system. Her legs felt wobbly again, but all she could think about was that a new trial must mean new evidence and some kind of…well, mistake or misunderstanding.
“Come sit down before you fall down,” he insisted, taking her arm.
She obligingly sank down on a chair and stared up at him. “I’m okay,” she insisted, relieved when he let go of her. It was hard to think clearly in his presence, let alone form a coherent thought when he actually touched her.
And then his statement resounded in her head. A new trial? How could that be? She knew his case had gone to jury two days before. The television and radio had been full of little else; the newspaper had all but locked him up and thrown away the key. She’d avoided watching, listening to or reading anything that had to do with his trial. What was the point? He’d confessed. He’d shut her out. He was history.
He pulled the ottoman near her chair and sat down opposite her, so close their knees touched. Propping his hands on his thighs, he leaned closer still. “The jury was unable to reach a unanimous verdict.”
“They’re hung?”
He nodded.
Liz rubbed her hands together. The old house tended to be cold anyway and having the door open for so long hadn’t helped matters, nor did the tension presently building in her chest. “How could that happen when they had your confession?”
His gaze met hers and slid away. “My lawyer was too good.”
“And that means?”
“I told him not to mount a defense, but he said he couldn’t do that because it would provide grounds for a mistrial. He offered up enough witnesses and enough doubt about the way my confession was obtained and the way the evidence was handled that it planted a seed of doubt in some of the jurors’ minds. The D.A. has warned me there’ll be a new trial. My being out is only temporary.”
As she tried to assimilate all this, she started to shake. Alex retrieved his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. He stared down at her, his face caught in shadows, holding her gaze with glittering intensity.
“Sheriff Kapp is foaming at the mouth,” he said. “He told me he’s coming after me. That’s why I’m here, Liz, to warn you. It’s imperative you and I have our stories straight. This time Kapp will build a tighter case. This time his pride is on the line and re-election is right around the corner.”
The jacket was still warm from Alex’s body heat, and she pulled it close, burying her hands in the heavily piled lining. “You want me to lie for you?”
His brow wrinkled as he sat back down.
She realized with a sinking heart that she’d been foolishly nurturing the hope that a miracle had occurred, that he truly was innocent and that someone on the jury had realized it. That hope now shriveled up and died as had all the other hopes before it. She said, “Nothing’s really changed.”
“Everything’s changed. I thought you were safe, but you’re not, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, that’s why I’m here.”
She pointed at the door and said, “I want you to leave. Right now. Go.”
He managed to look bewildered for a moment. “How can you ask me to leave?”
“You have no right to come back here and try to make me feel…”
“Feel what, Liz?”
“Anything,” she mumbled.
He got to his feet in one fluid motion. “I suppose that explains the divorce papers delivered to the jail?”
She narrowed her eyes as months of frustration and grief fueled her anger and words too long unspoken flowed from her mouth with a life force of their own. “When you killed my uncle, you killed us. You killed any feelings I had for you. You killed our future. And you did it for his money. Was his money the only reason you married me in the first place? Was Uncle Devon actually right about you?”
Alex stood over her, eyes blazing again, fists balled, and for the first time in her life, Liz felt afraid of him. She sat frozen in her chair as he dropped to his knees by her side.
“You know why I married you,” he said, his voice deep with emotion. “In your heart, you damn well know why and it had nothing to do with money.”
Every womanly part of her knew he was right. It was just that his abrupt arrival had jolted her. She’d spent months mourning, she’d made herself sick with grief. It had been a long and difficult journey to escape the yawning abyss that had threatened to swallow her and her baby. She wasn’t about to allow herself to stand so close to the edge ever again.
“I don’t understand this charade,” he added in a hushed whisper, sending new chills down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. “We both know what really happened the night your uncle died. Okay, I signed on for the long haul. I was willing—I am willing—to protect you and our baby until my dying breath. Nothing’s changed when it comes to that.”
Liz shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
He pushed himself to his feet and glared down at her. “You know what I’m talking about.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. What do you mean you were willing to sign on for the long haul? What’s going on here, Alex? Stop talking in riddles.”
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and ominous, as though he sensed a thousand ears pressed against the windows, listening to their every word. Standing over her, his expression grim, he said, “Remember the night your uncle died? We went to his house to tell him about your pregnancy. There was a terrible fight.”
“We left the party and you were called to an emergency at the station,” she added. “The old church at Taylor’s Crossing was on fire.” She shuddered as she thought about that fire, mercifully without victims.
Alex stopped dead in his tracks and pinned her with a laser stare. “When I left you, you were still furious with Devon.”
Tears puddled in her eyes as old feelings of inadequacy welled up inside her. “Of course I was furious. For years I tried to please that man. I never could. That night was the last straw. The things he said—”
“He didn’t want you saddled to someone like me,” Alex said. “He wanted better for you than one of the Chase boys.”
One of the Chase boys. Sure, Alex had come from a disreputable family but he’d grown into a wonderful, trustworthy man. Her uncle had refused to see that. To him, Alex would always be the boy he’d forced Liz to break up with in high school—the boy with no future.
Did wonderful, trustworthy men commit murder? an inner voice demanded.
Alex a murderer. It didn’t sit right, it never had.
But he confessed.
It always came down to his confession.
“Later that night, you went back to his house,” Alex said softly.
“How do you know that?” She’d never admitted that bitter, pointless trip to anyone.
Alex said, “I saw you.”
Before he killed her uncle? Had she been that close to being able to stop him? A cry of anguish erupted and died in her throat. “I thought Uncle Devon might have had a…I don’t know, a change of heart,” she mumbled. “Except he didn’t have a heart and I should have known it. I guess I was still hoping he might come through.”
“But he didn’t.”
“Of course not. It was foolish of me to think he would. He was more sure than ever that I’d eventually do just as he wanted, like I always did. He said he was going to call his lawyer in the morning and set up the papers giving everything he had to a local nature conservatory. He didn’t care about the wetlands, it was just his way of showing me he had control. Because he judged everything by its monetary worth, he thought I did, too.”
Alex cleared his throat. “He never understood you.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He stared at her so hard she felt the back of her skull throb. Finally, he said, “Don’t ever tell anyone else you went back there that night. Do you understand? Not a soul.”
“Why—”
“Not a soul,” he repeated. “Promise me.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“You didn’t tell Kapp, did you?”
“I was in shock when he came, but I kept thinking the less I said the better it would be for you. After he left, I called your lawyer. I told him I wanted to help you. I couldn’t believe you’d ever kill anyone. But he confirmed that you’d confessed. He said you didn’t want any help from me, you didn’t even want to see me or talk to me. Alex, do you have any idea how much that hurt?”
“I—”
“Because for all intents and purposes, I lost you that night. I thought I was going to lose our baby, too. I’d lost one before and the thought of losing another… The doctor put me in bed for a week.”
“I—”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re out on a technicality. You’re still a murderer. I won’t have you around me or my baby.”
To her astonishment, Alex laughed. He laughed until a single tear rolled down his cheek, then he sat abruptly in one of the wing back chairs that flanked the stone-cold fireplace and buried his face in his hands.
Liz watched him with growing alarm until she found herself standing by his side. She shrugged off his coat and laid it aside. He apparently sensed her closeness for without looking up, he reached for her, caught the hem of her sweatshirt, pulled her onto his lap. He rested his cheek against her breasts, his chin on the curve of her belly.
While one tear did not a crying-jag make, she’d never seen Alex shed even that before. She’d always been the one to weep at the drop of a hat, not him. She wrapped her arms around him and smoothed his hair with an unsteady hand. She tried to dismiss how sitting in his lap made her feel. The way her body came alive. The way the world suddenly seemed to be okay again despite the fact that nothing was okay. It was like finally waking from a long, dreary sleep.
But where would this feeling of renewed life take her? Into heartbreak territory, that’s where. Into a new trial, the outcome of which didn’t matter because he was guilty and that was enough to destroy them. She concentrated on feeling pity. It was safer.
Eventually, he looked up. She fought the urge to touch his lips with her own. How else does a woman comfort a man she loves, even a man she knows she shouldn’t love?
His expression guarded, he said, “I found your long green scarf.”
She blinked a few times, totally at sea.
