He could have lost her today, finally and irrevocably. And he could have lost a son or daughter he’d known about for less than twelve hours.
Who would try to kill Cassie and why? He needed to know what she knew—why was the old lady upset before her death? A premonition? And why did Cassie say she wondered if she should have done things differently? What, exactly?
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t hear the shower go off and was surprised when the door opened and Cassie emerged, a towel wrapped around her head, a white robe, compliments of the inn, belted above the baby bump.
His hand closed around the little box and he slipped it into his pocket as he got to his feet. With everything that had happened, the miracle of being in the same room with Cassie was hard to grasp. For several seconds he just stood there staring at her until he finally mumbled, “I’ll take a short shower, then we can hit the hay.”
“What about dinner? Aren’t you hungry?”
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