The Stranger She Married

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 as a gasp, her lips parted beneath his, melting into the welcome-home greeting he’d been hungering for.

Damn, her skin was so smooth against his calluses, her scent so inviting. In the back of his mind, Matt knew that he’d missed her touch, the long hair that was even now fluttering against his throat.

She pressed against him, nudging his lips with hers. Matt’s body reacted instantly, stiffening. He moved his fingers down her face, her jaw, her throat. Her jasmine-mirage perfume teased his senses, filled his mouth with the warm tingle of comfort. Almost like a fine bourbon.

Suddenly, Rachel pulled back from him, as if realizing she was supposed to be angry with the old Matthew.

Every inch of skin above her neckline was as red as rage. “Damn you, Matthew,” she said, punctuating the curse by pressing her fingers over her lips.

Maybe she wanted to stop the throbbing, the pulsing he was feeling, too.

“That was more of a homecoming than I got earlier.” He tried to keep a straight face, but the very recent memory of the kiss pushed a grin across his mouth.

She lowered her hand, pointing a finger in his direction. “You think this is funny, don’t you? You find it amusing that I’ve had to endure all of this town’s gossip, that I’ve had to walk down the streets of Kane’s Crossing acting like I still had some damned pride? Do you realize that every time I’d walk into the Mercantile, Darla’s Beauty Shop or even Meg Cassidy’s bakery that someone would smirk or snicker or mutter something outright rude to me?”

She overimitated a Kane’s Crossing drawl. “‘So, Rachel, ya must’ve driven Matthew away with a cattle prod.’ Or, ‘Say, Rachel, it takes a lot to scare away a Kane’s Crossing boy.’”

Here she took a deep breath, and Matt’s heart clenched when he realized that she was on the edge of tears.

But she continued. “You have no idea what it’s been like without you, Matthew. And your coming home hasn’t made things much better so far.”

Her words stung, but he deserved it. For being cheeky, for being two years late for dinner, for being her husband.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ll say it a million times if I need to.”

A sharp laugh was her prelude to an answer. “Then start now. But a million apologies won’t even begin to cover the damage you’ve done to your daughter.”

Part of him wanted to remind her that he—this man he was right now—had no idea what he’d done to wrong his wife and child. Yet he had the feeling she already knew that. So he decided to stand there, to take the brunt of her pain, to suffer for the other Matthew’s sins. There was no other way around it.

She watched him, arms akimbo, eyes flashing. Her chest heaved with the aftermath of her tirade, and her lips were still red and swollen from his kiss.

Damn, he wanted her.

But he backed away to a safe distance, creating a polite buffer. “You might want to take a seat while I complete those I’m-sorries. It could take years.”

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as she flung up her arms. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

He was definitely full of suggestions, but he chose to keep them at bay. Instead, he sat on the couch.

Rachel followed him, honoring that physical safety zone between their bodies. She sighed, then softly said, “What makes me angrier than anything is that I need your help.”

Matt almost fell off the couch. Was he about to get a reprieve?

Rachel shook her head, and it took Matt a moment to realize that she wasn’t answering his silent question, but that she was going to tell him the reason she needed him.

Needed him. He grinned just thinking about it. Then he sobered when he realized that he didn’t want to be needed. Couldn’t be needed in his current state of nobodiness.

“Do you remember Peter Tarkin?” she asked.

Matt shrugged, trying to counteract his still-thumping, kiss-aftermath heartbeat. “All I get are feelings, and they’re not good ones.”

“All right. Trust your instincts, because they just might help.” She sighed. “Your father left you this farm in his will, along with the feed business in Louisville. You used to spend a lot of time up there, working. You loved the challenge. In fact, it took more of your attention than Green Oaks did. Anyway, one thing you inherited right along with this farm was Peter Tarkin, your father’s partner, a sixty/forty relationship. Tarkin is a real businessman, a bottom-line kind of guy. If a mare is sickly, if she takes away any profit whatsoever, Tarkin goes for the insurance money, has the horse put down.”

Anger ripped through Matt. “This man is a partner? Why didn’t we buy him out?”

Rachel seemed to brighten a little at the word we. Maybe she felt that Matt considered her a partner, too.

“We tried buying him out, but that’s when you disappeared with all our savings. I couldn’t afford it anymore. Now Tarkin wants the whole farm, and I’ve been under such financial pressure with the loss of a miscarried foal that I’ve been thinking about selling. But I’ll be damned if I lose to a greedy jerk like Tarkin.”

Matt tried to meet Rachel’s eyes, to connect like they had during that kiss. But she averted her gaze, biting her lip. Her withdrawal felt like a physical blow.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

He thought she’d shoot right back at him with “I’m not your girl.” But she didn’t say anything.

As they stayed silent, he could hear her breathing becoming more uneven every moment. His own heartbeat was even speeding up, matching his breaths to hers.

It was an erotic pause, making him think of the quiet of night, his palm sliding over her belly, up her rib cage, cupping a breast.

His gaze fell to her shirt, the gape of it revealing a tanned patch of skin, the swell of her breasts. Her nipples hardened under that shirt, telling Matt that she was aware of his thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest.

He girded himself for the truth. “What kind of husband was I?”

Rachel’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening with the lack of words.

“Mommy?”