She’d lived most of her life in her parents’ upstate New York home, dressing like the perfect daughter, smiling at the dinner table as her mother and father asked about her day at prep school. Then she’d hide in her room at night, locking away her mother’s secrets with her. Even after Rachel had gone to college, she’d kept her silence. Maybe that was Rachel’s destiny—to be the sentinel of domestic happiness, securing all the bad news from those she loved the most.
Rachel shook herself back to the moment as Chloe rounded up the phone call. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Ms. Shane. Expect me tonight.”
“Thank you. I’ll have dinner waiting, all right?”
Chloe signed off, every bit the professional. Rachel could almost imagine her buffing her shoes and delinting her ensemble before checking in tonight.
She turned off the phone and leaned against the door frame, watching Matthew. She hated to admit it, but he was still capable of seducing her with a glance. Whether he meant to or not.
Maybe it was his light brown eyes, the way they invited a girl to a guaranteed good time. Or maybe it was that half smile, the one that used to smack of arrogance. Now the added melancholy drew her, made her want to smooth a palm over his brow to promise him everything was going to be all right.
Sure. Make those vows you can never keep, Rachel.
Where Matthew used to be light and charming, this man was dark and reticent. Even the achingly uncertain glances he’d slid in her direction were working the old magic on her.
And that body. Matthew had always shadowed her with his height, but he’d gone soft around the edges with his playboy ways, the whiskey-chub around the belt line, the desk-jockey arms. This new guy was all muscle. All temptation.
Don’t go back to the way things were, she told herself. Don’t fall into his arms for no reason. Don’t let that overwhelming sexual draw make you forget that your marriage had become a tattered thing after your extended honeymoon period.
Rachel straightened her spine, donning her protective facade once again. Then she dialed Matthew’s family to tell them that their brother had finally come home.
Matt watched Rachel pace the kitchen floor, phone to her ear, her body flashing past the door every few moments.
He couldn’t help himself. He wanted her to look at him again, maybe even smile at him for once. He wanted to know exactly what was going through her mind. Was she calling the men in the white coats to haul him out of her life? Or was she yearning to touch him as much as he wanted to touch her, just to get a taste of what Matthew Shane had once possessed?
Who knows? Maybe touching her would bring back a memory or two. Maybe it’d even make some new ones. Good ones that wouldn’t haunt her eyes or make her keep a safe distance.
The knife wound between his ribs pulsed again, reminding him of just how right Rachel was to distrust him. After all, Matthew Shane, the man with blood on his hands, could be his wife’s worst nightmare. And did he really want to make her confront that?
Tamela poked him in the arm. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He shook off the dark mood and focused on the angel next to him. Maybe Matthew hadn’t been too bad if he helped create something as wonderful as this child.
“Are you going to tell Mommy to let us stay here? Grandma and Grandpa want us to come back to New York.”
Matt tried to keep his cool. “She wants to leave Kane’s Crossing?”
“I love it here.” She spun a finger through a long, brown curl. Maybe it was a habit. “I love my horse, Booberry, and I love the Cutter’s Lake carousel and I love…everything!”
Matt flicked a spiral of hair from her shoulder. It felt like the thing to do. Natural. Expected. “Now why would you and your mommy leave all that?”
Tamela sighed, sounding much older than her years. How much stress had his absence put on his daughter?
“Every time she talks to them on the phone, Mommy cries. Then Mr. Tarkin calls, and she cries even harder.”
Tarkin. The name sounded familiar for some reason. Matt thought of ice, ambition, money. “Help your pop out, Tam. Can you tell me about Mr. Tarkin?”
Tamela stuck out her lips and narrowed her eyes, then said, “He’s a mean old man, and when he comes to the farm, the trainer and the grooms and everyone else don’t smile. He killed Suzy Q.”
A horse. Suzy Q. How could Matt remember this piece of trivia when he couldn’t remember his own damned life?
“So Mr. Tarkin had Suzy Q put down?” Too late, he wondered if Tamela knew what he meant.
Sharp as a tack, she did. “I heard Mommy on the phone, saying Mr. Tarkin wanted money. That’s when Mommy cries the most. When people talk about money.”
Matt would have to ask Rachel about Tarkin. If he wanted to go back to his old life, he’d have to know everything about the farm and how it was running.
He felt someone hovering over him. When he looked up, Rachel was standing in back of the couch, seeming none too amused.
“Tam, honey, you want to go upstairs and pick out a nice outfit? Uncle Rick and Aunt Lacey are coming over tonight.”
Tamela bounced off the couch and out of the room. Her footsteps pounded up the stairway, leaving Rachel and Matt in a staring contest.
She blinked first. “That was cute. Squeezing information out of a six-year-old.”
“It’s a hell of a lot easier than talking to you.”
“Great. You’re back for an hour, and you’re already feeling entitled. Glad to see that, Matthew.”
Matt stood. “I would’ve liked the chance to talk with you privately before the relatives hit the scene.”
Rachel came out from behind the couch, lifting her chin to look directly into his eyes. The gesture turned him on like a power switch, electrifying him with her spirit.
Damn that chemistry.
She said, “I thought they might want to know that their wayward brother had returned to Kane’s Crossing.”
He glanced away. “I don’t recall siblings.”
Silence, unbroken except for the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. Hell, it could’ve even been his time bomb of a conscience.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Listen, I’m going to be doing a lot of messing up here, so cut me a little slack.”
“Likewise. I can’t seem to do anything right.”
“That’s not…” Your fault.
The rest of her sentence went unspoken. Probably because his amnesia very well could’ve been his fault. And maybe Matthew Shane had brought trouble to the house more than once.
Would she even be surprised if she knew about the blood on his shirt, on his hands? Or had Matthew shed enough proverbial blood on his wife?
The air conditioner kicked on. She was so near, he could smell the jasmine, could feel a stray hair from her braid as it blew past his neck. It tickled him, making him shift his stance.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation about the farm,” she said.
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, a heat-heavy silence pulsed around them, pulling them together while wedging them apart.
Dammit, he couldn’t stand the small talk, the distance between them. Without thinking of the consequences, Matt reached out and cupped her face between his palms. He caught a glimpse of her stun-parted lips, her wide eyes and flushed skin, before crushing his mouth to hers.
Soft