One Snowbound Weekend...

Her hand shook as she turned off the burner.

Collapsing against the counter, she gulped half a dozen desperate breaths.

She’d left him?

Her heart raced and the aspen leaf lay against it, suddenly feeling cold. Tears swelled in her eyes. She was confused, vulnerable, and she hated not being in control.

Shane entered the room, curving his hands around her shoulders reassuringly. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ll bring you some tea in a minute.”

“Forget the tea.” Releasing one hand, he held a finger beneath her eye and transferred the moisture from her lashes to his skin, as if trying to take away her pain.

He held her gaze as captive as he held her tear. With his thumb, he stroked the dampness until it disappeared.

How was it possible that the love they shared had vanished? Nothing was more important to her than Shane.

When she’d accepted his proposal, she’d turned her back on her family and the groom her father had chosen for her. She’d known the consequences—being disinherited and cut off from her family—and was willing to pay the price because the idea of a future without Shane’s love hurt even more.

There had to be something he didn’t know, something she couldn’t remember. She was still the same woman who promised to love Shane forever. “I wouldn’t have willingly destroyed our relationship.”

She tried to pull away, only to have Shane once again tighten his grip.

“The doctor said you need to rest. I’ll see to it that you do.”

She laughed, a brittle sound. “That’s the only reason you didn’t throw me out in the snow, isn’t it? Because the doctor said I’m your responsibility.”

“Don’t.”

“You must hate me.”

“Hate? No.”

“But you don’t care.”

“I’ve had time to get over it.”

“Over me?”

His silence spoke louder than words.

“Go in the front room and curl up in front of the fire,” he said into the crackling silence.

She didn’t.

He pulled her a little closer, so close she inhaled the scent of masculine determination and saw the flash of daring in his eyes. He overwhelmed her.

“Go willingly, or I’ll carry you there myself.”

“I’ll make my own decisions—”

“You always have. No matter who you hurt.”

She flinched.

“I’m not negotiable, Angie. Don’t push me.”

Her heart was as heavy as the snow suffocating the outdoors. Needing to regroup, she conceded. For now.

She lowered her gaze, and he released her.

Crossing to the couch, she massaged her shoulders where he’d held her.

Hardhat jumped up beside her. Absently she ran her hand down his back. With a sound that was half yawn, half whine, he dropped his head in her lap.

She looked at the beautiful stone fireplace, and a cold frisson frosted her spine. Their wedding picture used to occupy the center of the mantel. Now it was bare.

Shane brought in two cups of tea and put them on coasters. “Hardhat’s not allowed on the couch.”

“Sorry.”

“He figures you’re a soft touch.”

“I don’t know him.”

“No.”

She exhaled shakily. “And the furniture?”

“I bought it after you left.”

“You’ve made other changes, too. You’ve added on, put in lots of windows. It doesn’t look like a cabin any longer. It’s more like one of those fabulous mountain retreats you’d see in a magazine. It takes a while to make those kind of changes.”

He nodded in agreement.

“How long, Shane? How long have I been gone?”

He crouched to scratch Hardhat behind one ear. “It doesn’t matter.”

Despite herself, she reached for him, curving her fingers around his shoulder. In the craziness, he was her only anchor. Damn it, she needed him. Her voice hoarse, she whispered, “It matters to me.”

He looked at her squarely. “Five years. You left me over five years ago.”

She gasped. Not months, but years. Years of her life had vanished.

Instantly he covered her hand with his.

Something in her stomach, warm and deep, fluttered. No matter what had happened, she still responded to his most casual touch. “I want to see the letter.”

He cursed beneath his breath. “I’m under strict orders from Dr. Johnson to keep you calm.”

Her laugh was frayed at the edges. “Things can’t be any worse than they already are.”

He clamped his lips together.

“Let me see the letter. I have to know…”

“Sorry.”

“It has to be real to me, Shane.” She turned her palm up. “Please understand.”

After long seconds, when she thought he’d refuse, he finally nodded curtly.

While he was gone, she wondered if she was making the right decision. Maybe it would make everything seem real, maybe her memory would flood back.

It didn’t.

She didn’t recognize the stationery. But there was no mistaking the word Shane in her handwriting.

The edges of the paper were tattered and yellowed, the creases crisp, as if he’d dragged a thumbnail across them with finality.

She paused before unfolding the page, meeting his gaze. It was as cold as the winter wind battering the cabin.

Her hand trembled as she held the letter, and the words blurred from the tears gathering in her eyes.

Shane strode away. His back to her, he tossed a log on the fire and stabbed the timber with a poker.

Shane,

I’m going home to my father. Don’t try and find me. I don’t want to see you again. Our marriage was a fling and a mistake.

I never loved you.

Angie.

The brutal coldness of the words sliced into her heart. “It’s not true,” she whispered, her voice shaking with unshed emotion.

How could she have done this to him? Why would she do this to him? It couldn’t have been that she’d fallen out of love with him, not with the emotion still swelling in her soul.

“I loved you then,” she said. “I love you now.”

Shane said nothing.

There had to be an explanation, and now, more than ever, she was desperate to know what had happened to the five years erased by an accident.

“Did we have a fight? Is that why I wrote this?” she asked softly, the words breaking on a sob.

“No.” He turned to face her. “I went to work. We’d made love….”

His gaze skimmed up and down her body, and she felt it like a caress. A blush colored her face as recognition flared into need.

“Being with you made me late for work. I didn’t mind. You’d almost convinced me to call in sick and stay in bed with you.”

“Did you wish you had?”

“At first.”

“And now?”

“If you didn’t love me, I’d rather you left. Like cauterizing a wound. Hurts like hell in the beginning. Less painful in the end.”

“Did you come after me?”

“Yeah. But not at first. About a month after the divorce was final, I was out with Slade Birmingham.” Beside Shane, the fire devoured the dried wood, hissing and crackling.

“I had a few to drink. Before that I’d refused to grab the bottle like my old man used to do.” He jammed his hands into his front pockets. His eyes, electrified by the fire, burned into hers. “That night, Angie, the pain caught up with me. It was my birthday, the anniversary of my mom walking out.”

Oh, God, oh, God, why had she asked? His pain cut through her, and her abdomen constricted.

“I drove all the way to Chicago, like a lovesick fool.”

She winced.

“Arrived just in time for your wedding reception.”

Her jaw went slack. “My…”

“Wedding reception. After your marriage to Jack Hague.” Shane’s eyes darkened like a storm in the forest.

“No,” she protested, disbelief rocketing through her. She wouldn’t have married Jack, even if it was the only thing her father had ever expected of her.

“Oh, yeah. In a long white gown, diamonds in your ears, huge vases of white flowers everywhere, a band, champagne, a sit-down meal…all the things I wanted to give you and couldn’t. The things that apparently mattered to you, even though you said they didn’t.”

A headache threatened to split her skull.

“Six months after you sneaked out of my life. The ink was barely dry on our divorce papers, Angie. It was as if we’d never happened.”

Maybe he was right; maybe she would have been better off not knowing.

“Your daddy figured out who I was and escorted me outside. He was kind enough to answer a few questions for me. He explained you really hadn’t come to live in Colorado, that spending the summer with your aunt was something to give you a taste of the real world, nothing more.”

“No. That’s not true. I came to Colorado to get away, to be an independent woman.”

“Your father said when you were done playing house with a man who wasn’t your social equal, you called him and begged him to bail you out. You were tired of being broke, tired of being a surrogate mother to my sister.”

Her head swam. “No. I loved Sarah.”

“Not only that, but in the generous spirit of the celebration, he wrote out a ten thousand dollar check to ensure I never contacted you again.” His words were short and bitter. “I tore it up and threw the pieces at his feet. Didn’t need money to stay the hell out of your life.” His tone dropped another octave. “It would have cost him more than that to make me speak to you again.”

“And now I’m back.”

“And when your memory returns, I’ll have a few questions for you.”

“Like…?”

He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets. To keep them to himself?

“For starters, are you still married? Are you Angie Hague? Oh, wait, maybe it’d be Angela Hague.”

She pressed her hand to her temples. “Shane, please…”

“Does he still have a claim on you? And if he does, why the hell are you sleeping in my bed?”

Four

The world reeled and she couldn’t even take a breath. She was in love with Shane, only Shane. The idea of another man touching her, holding her, making love to her…

“No,” she whispered. Desperately she looked at her left hand. “I’m not wearing a ring.” And there was no indentation where one might have rested.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“No other man has any claim on me. I never wanted anyone but you.”

“Stop, Angie. I’ve had enough of your lies.”

She clutched the aspen leaf.

“It wasn’t a lie.” He stared at her, long and deep. She scrambled to her unsteady feet, reaching for the couch for support. Blinded by tears, she headed for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“I’ve got to know.” She reached the entryway before he did and yanked her jacket and purse from the hook where he’d hung them.

Dropping to her knees, she jerked open her purse and dumped it upside down.

In an instant, he was kneeling in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “Angie…”

Shrugging off his grip, she dug through the cosmetics, gum wrappers and checkbook, then snatched up her wallet, desperately searching for pieces of her past.

There were no pictures in her wallet, no snapshots of her and Jack.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her Illinois driver’s license.

Angela Burton.

Her name was listed as Angela Burton…her maiden name.

She let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then studied her credit cards and checkbook.

She looked at Shane.

His eyes were narrowed, and a wary mixture of anger and concern played across green depths.

“I’m Angela Burton.”

He curved a hand around her wrist. “So it says.”

A pain ripped through her and she reached her free hand toward him, tracing her finger down his familiar, yet so different, shadowed cheek.

A thousand questions swamped her mind. Why was she in Colorado? Why was she at his house? Why did she think they were still in love? How could she have left him?

She’d never met anyone like him. Tender, protective, arrogant, maddening, passionate, they’d shared dozens of emotions, each time growing a little closer.

Grief, a sharp, stabbing pain, shot through her. She’d left him, walked out on him in the coldest, most callous way possible. She’d done what his mother and Delilah had done, after swearing she wouldn’t. Angie had betrayed their love, and she didn’t know why.

No wonder he didn’t like her, didn’t want her. “I’m sorry, Shane, so, so sorry.”

“For leaving or coming back?”

“Both.”

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

He released her wrist, and she dropped her license. “I’m not married to him.”

“No?”

“I’d know it if I were.”

“Would you? How? How do you know anything, Angie?”

She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence, something he no longer believed in.

Protectively, she curled her fingers around the dulled aspen leaf. “If I hadn’t loved you, why would I have kept the only gift you ever gave me?”

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