“I haven’t had a lot of experiences with them.” It was difficult to think about marriage with him sitting in front of her, so handsome in his black slacks and white shirt and a lightweight black jacket that she knew hid his shoulder holster and gun.
It was so difficult not to feel a sensual pull toward him. The spicy scent of him was far too pleasant; the dark blue of his eyes threatened to pull her into places she didn’t want to go.
“I was raised by a widowed aunt, abandoned by a mother who, as far as I know, never married anyone, and my own marriage definitely left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m just not in a place to believe that it would work for me. What about you?” She much preferred that the topic of conversation be about him rather than her.
She’d also realized that despite the fact that they were seated at a picnic table in a storage room, there was a sense of intimacy that made her even more uncomfortable.
“I definitely believe in the institution of marriage for other people.” Shadows fell in his eyes. “But like you, I feel like I had my chance at it and it didn’t work out.”
“I heard that you’re a widower. Was your wife sick?”
“Yeah, she was.” His eyes shuttered completely, indicating that he wasn’t willing to speak about it anymore. He placed one of the empty cartons into one of the large bags he’d carried in.
“Looks like you’re going to have enough leftovers for another meal,” she said.
“You’re welcome to take whatever is left home with you,” he replied.
“That’s okay. You go ahead and take it.” It was lame that their conversation revolved around who took home the remaining Chinese food. She didn’t even know anymore how to have a casual conversation with a man, she thought with disgust. “You mentioned your dad’s retirement. What about your mother?” she asked, feeling desperate to talk about something while they finished the meal.
“Mom passed away five years ago from cancer.”
“I’m so sorry. It sounds like in the last five years you’ve had more than your share of heartache.”
His dark blue eyes appeared to grow darker. “I have. It’s been a rough patch, but lately I’m feeling like I’m crawling out and looking forward to life again.” He tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “Don’t you get lonely, Marlene?”
The question caught her by surprise. She pushed her plate to the side, her gaze not quite meeting his. “I don’t think about it much. I have the store and my sisters, and I guess that’s enough for me right now.”
“But I’m sure you’re going to see less of Roxy now that she’s involved with Steve, and eventually Sheri will fall in love and get married or whatever and when that happens that doesn’t leave you with much.”
She raised an eyebrow as she gazed at him once again, this time with a hint of suspicion. “Is this some sort of a ploy of yours to get me to agree to a date? Point out how lonely I’ll be when my sisters are married and I’m all alone?”
He laughed, the sound a low rumble that echoed warmth through her. “Actually, it wasn’t a conscious ploy, but now that you mention it, it sounds pretty good to me.”
There was no way Marlene would tell him that even through her two-year marriage there had been a core of loneliness inside her, one that had only grown deeper, more intense since her return to Wolf Creek.
But it was a hole inside her that she knew nothing would fill, one that she deserved. “I think maybe it’s time we load that rocking chair so I can get home,” she replied. She began to pack up the last of the food and place it in the bag so he could take it with him.
She had always thought of him as a distant, slightly stern man, but the person she’d just eaten with had a nice sense of humor and if she spent any more time with him she might decide a date with him wouldn’t be a terrible thing. Definitely time to send him packing.
He tore off a piece of one of the empty container lids and scribbled something on it. “Here, it’s my phone number. Just in case you change your mind. I’m just looking for a little companionship, Marlene, nothing more.”
He held out the piece of cardboard toward her and she hesitated, but then took it and tucked it into her pants pocket. She would toss it away when she got home. She had no intention of allowing Frank to get close to her on any personal level. She didn’t intend to allow anyone to make his way into a heart that no longer existed.
As they returned to the front of the store, he stripped off his suit jacket to expose a short-sleeved white shirt and his holster and gun. When he lifted the chair to carry it to the front door, it wasn’t the gun in the holster that captured her attention, but rather the big guns his biceps sported.
An unexpected warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach as she found herself wondering what those muscles would feel like wrapped around her. She mentally shook herself. That was the last thing she wanted, and even the fantasy of wanting to be held by Frank felt fraught with the aura of danger.
Just like the night before, he insisted he see her to her car after she’d locked up the store. Driving home, she couldn’t get him or his final question out of her head.
Was she lonely? Absolutely. But her isolation was her own doing. She’d come home from Pittsburgh with such a wealth of guilt, a Pandora’s box of secrets that forced her to keep people at bay.
She wore a mask and feared that if anyone got a peek beneath it they’d see the monster she was, the sins she’d committed that had made her unfit for anyone.
Frank was not just a hot, handsome man—he also seemed like a nice man, and if he was ready to begin life anew, he deserved somebody better than her. He deserved a whole woman, and she would never, ever be whole again.
By the time she arrived home she was unusually exhausted, haunted by thoughts of her past and faintly depressed as she contemplated her future.
Maybe in the morning she’d drive over to her aunt’s house and bake several things. There was both pain and pleasure at the thought—the pain of Aunt Liz’s absence and the pleasure of creating something delicious that she could take to the store for customers to enjoy.
Although she often baked in her tiny apartment, if she wanted to do more than one goodie she usually headed to her aunt’s place, where Liz had the best equipment to create culinary magic. Surely working on some special cupcakes and maybe cinnamon rolls would take her mind off Frank Delaney. Just a little companionship—he’d said that was all he was looking for—but she knew companionship could quickly change to something deeper and she just wasn’t willing to open herself up ever again.
The sight of the new solid door at the top of her stairs gave her a sense of welcome relief as she fit her key first into the doorknob lock, and then the dead bolt lock.
She opened the door and walked inside, a white envelope sliding in beneath her feet. It must have been on her threshold and she’d kicked it in when she’d entered.
She stared down at it. What now? Maybe it was a note from Minnie, she told herself as she leaned down to pick it up. There was no writing on the front, nothing to indicate where it had come from, although it was sealed tight.
Her heart began to thud a rapid rhythm as she slid her thumbnail under the seal. She wasn’t sure why, but even before she got the envelope open she felt an overwhelming, inexplicable sense of dread.
Inside the envelope was a single sheet of white paper, neatly folded. She pulled it out and opened it, then gasped and allowed it to drop from her fingers.
Stumbling backward, she fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the small piece of cardboard Frank had given her. She fumbled her cell phone from her purse and punched in the number. “Frank, could you come over here? I think I have another problem,” she