The Wrong Man Page 8

  He didn’t want to look, but as if drawn by a magnet, his eyes focused on the couple.

  “Why is that man kissing her?”

  In the cold mountain air, Trent suddenly went hot.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not Miss Cameron.”

  “Yes, it is. See? She’s turned around.”

  The man had an arm around Libby’s waist. They were deep in conversation, laughing, talking. Oblivious.

  Kylie jumped up and down, waving her mittened hand. “Hi, Miss Cameron!”

  Now. Now was the time for a whiteout. Anything to avoid the proof right before his eyes. Libby and a man. Someone who obviously adored her.

  Libby waved. “Hello, Kylie. Are you learning to ski?”

  “I’m good!” Kylie responded, triumph evident in her voice.

  “Wonderful!”

  Trent gave a halfhearted wave, then watched as Libby and the man headed for the lift. “C’mon, Kylie. Let’s go.” Walking fast, he steered his daughter to the lodge.

  No matter how sweet and creamy, the hot chocolate would be bitter on his tongue if he had to watch that guy kiss Libby again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DOUG’S BREATH stirred Libby’s hair. “One of your students?”

  Libby had only time to nod before the chairlift circled and hoisted her in the air, leaving the two figures—a man and a girl—shrinking beneath her. It wasn’t so easy dismissing them from her mind, however. The joy in Kylie’s greeting. The stunned hurt on Trent’s face, as if he had some claim to her. It was enough she was required to interact with him professionally, but there would be no repeat of the pizza night.

  “You okay?” Doug’s arm settled around her shoulder.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You’re a million miles away. Have I worn you out with too much skiing?”

  She sighed, aware of a bone-numbing weariness. “I am a little tired. How about this run being the last?”

  “Suits me. I’ll take you home so you can revive with a nice hot bath before tonight.”

  “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

  “I’ve made dinner reservations in Big Fork.”

  The skiing had been fun. Good exercise. Doug had been accommodating in every way. The weather ideal. Why should the prospect of dinner seem an obligation rather than a lovely romantic conclusion to their day? Summoning enthusiasm she didn’t feel, she murmured, “Nice.”

  On her final run, Libby had difficulty concentrating on the snowpacked trail. How could a mere glimpse of Trent cast such a pall over her mood? She could not permit him to affect her this way. He was living in Whitefish. She would, of course, bump into him. But neither Trent Baker nor anyone else was going to threaten the tenuous peace she’d made with the past.

  Beside her, Doug snowplowed to a stop. “Hey, beautiful, ready to head for home?”

  “That bath sounds divine.”

  He kissed her, lightly at first, then more deeply. When he pulled away, he traced her nose with his finger. “Need any help washing your back?”

  Instinctively she drew away, wanting to protest, but knowing he had every right to ask the question. She couldn’t hold him off indefinitely, not if she “maybe” loved him. “Not today, thanks,” she said, mustering a tired smile.

  Later as they walked across the parking lot toward his car, he picked up her hand and tucked it under his arm. “I had a great time.”

  “So did I.”

  “Would you do me a favor this evening?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wear that sexy red dress. You know, the one with those little straps.”

  Her stomach catapulted. Did he have something in mind? Well, why wouldn’t he? She’d held him off for weeks. “Okay.”

  They made small talk on the ride to her house. After he left, his farewell words lingered in her mind, prompting uncomfortable questions. “This was a special day, Libby. I want to make tonight even more special.” Or was she reading too much into what had probably been intended as flattery, not seduction?

  She closed the door, stripped off her clothes, then hurried to draw a hot bath. Pulling her hair into a topknot, she sank into the welcome heat of the steaming water, which she’d perfumed with lavender bath oil. As she laid her head back against the cold porcelain, she let out a deep sigh. She had some decisions to make. If not tonight, then soon. Very soon.

  The problem wasn’t Doug at all. It was her.

  “MAYBE THAT DUMB BUTT Bart won’t make fun of me anymore.” All the way home, Kylie had been exultant over her newfound skill.

  “Language, please.”

  “What’s wrong with dumb butt? That’s what he is.”

  “Maybe, but how about calling him an ignoramus instead?”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Trent bit his lip. He’d started to say dumb butt.

  “Someone who’s really stupid.”

  She tested the syllables. “Ig-no-ra-mus.” Then he caught her grin in the rearview mirror. “I like that. And he’s such an ig-no-ra-mus, he won’t even know what it means.” She giggled.

  The word aptly applied to himself, Trent thought grimly. A red-hot flood of jealousy had inundated him when he’d watched that guy kiss Libby. For cripe’s sake, he hadn’t seen the woman in over a decade, yet he could no more control his body’s reactions than fly! And most of those reactions involved physical sensations he’d thought had died with Ashley. Chad had tried to warn him. Weezer, with her keen eyes and intuitive heart, had questioned him closely. What if he did still have feelings for Libby?

  What if?

  Ignoramus. You do.

  So now what?

  After supper, Trent invited Weezer over to the guest cabin. They watched a bit of TV, and after Trent tucked Kylie in bed, Weezer told her a bedtime story. Scout lay in the doorway of Kylie’s bedroom, as if guarding her. When Weezer returned to the living room, Trent poured her a cup of spiced cider, then one for himself. She sat on the sofa, legs crossed, and cupped the mug in her hands, studying the depths as if intent on divination. Trent relaxed in the lounge chair.

  After a long silence, Weezer raised her head, her sharp eyes focused on him. “Well?”

  “There’s a man,” Trent said simply, knowing he didn’t have to explain the context.

  Weezer said nothing, just waited for him to continue.

  “We saw them at Big Mountain. He kissed her.” Saying the words aloud pierced him almost as much as the incident itself. He set aside his cider, untasted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Weezer’s expression softened. “You didn’t ask.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Doug Travers. He and his family moved here shortly after you left. He’s an insurance agent. His father is the hospital administrator and his mother is Libby’s principal.”

  Trent groaned. “Of course. Mrs. Travers.” It made perfect sense. Libby belonged with people like the Traverses. Solid citizens. What was he thinking? That he could just step in, take up where he left off? Maybe ruin Libby’s life in the process? “How serious is it?”

  Weezer shrugged. “They’ve been seeing each other off and on about six months.” She leaned forward, as if to caution him. “He’s a good man, Trent.”

  He should have been glad to hear it. Relieved to learn this Doug wasn’t a Class A jerk. Somehow, though, that knowledge made things worse.

  “But so are you, son.”

  His mind tried to put the pieces together to form a picture of Libby contentedly married to some guy with a desk job, nice parents and probably plenty of money. A happy made-for-magazine-ads family. No selfish bastard of a husband who had run from his responsibilities. He cushioned his head with his hands and sat staring into the fire, aware only of his chaotic thoughts and Weezer’s quiet breathing. Finally he said, “Is it too late?”

  “I don’t see any ring on her finger.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “That’s not for me to say. Your head and heart are lo
cked in combat. You can wallow or you can act. It would appear the stakes are high.”

  He stood, walked to the window, then stared out at the snowy spires of pine and hemlock, incandescent in the bright moonlight. Before this Doug had entered the picture, he had entertained the idea of trying again with Libby. But now, after seeing them together, did he have any right to interfere? You can wallow or you can act. He faced Weezer. “I don’t want to impose, but could you stay with Kylie awhile?”

  Her all-knowing look bored into him. “I can.”

  He grabbed his parka off the peg by the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Take as long as you need.”

  He crossed the room and laid a hand on her silver head. “Thank you.”

  “Be ruled by wisdom, son.”

  When he stepped out into the cold night air, he drew a deep breath, then looked up at the stars. Ashley, if you’re there, forgive me, but I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore. Libby could always reject him. But not before he had made one thing perfectly clear.

  A part of him had always loved her. Loved her still.

  HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. A new-model Suburban sat in Libby’s driveway. The porch light cast a warm glow over the front yard, and from the house, one small lamp illuminated the living room. Trent ground his teeth. He couldn’t control his runaway imagination. Was there soft music playing? A cozy fire in the hearth? Warm cognac dissolving inhibitions? He pictured Libby’s midnight-blue eyes glistening with passion, her breath coming in whispers, her breasts heavy and peaked with desire. Remembering, he could almost smell her tantalizing musky fragrance.

  Damn it! He slid lower into the seat, ashamed of his thoughts, embarrassed that he sat in his parked truck behaving like the worst kind of voyeur. Who did he think he was? Sir Galahad riding to the rescue of his fair lady? In his gut he knew Libby would not welcome his attention. Why should she?

  He’d been an unbelievably insensitive husband. Infantile. How on earth could he persuade her he’d changed?

  He had no answers. Only the certainty that he needed to try.

  Just then, the front door opened and Doug Travers emerged. Trent watched dry-mouthed as Doug turned, framed Libby’s face in his hands and kissed her. The man’s body shielded Libby. Only when he stepped away did Trent catch a glimpse of her in a sensational red dress that accentuated each and every curve of her sexy body.

  Stifling a groan, he watched helplessly as she placed a hand on Doug’s cheek, then leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. At last the guy stepped away and started for his vehicle. Libby, outlined by the hall light, stood in the doorway watching him depart. Only when the Suburban backed into the street and drove off did she slowly close the door and turn off the porch light.

  Overcome with self-disgust, Trent smacked the flat of his palm against the steering wheel. He’d been thinking only of himself. And Kylie. From all indications, Libby and Doug had a good thing going. After so many years of being single, she deserved the best. Who was he to cause complications?

  Weezer had been right on target. His head and his heart were at war. Be ruled by wisdom, the wise old woman had advised.

  Wisdom dictated he should start up his vehicle and drive away.

  Instead, he pocketed his ignition key, climbed from the truck and walked doggedly toward her house.

  In this case, no amount of wisdom could control the wild yearnings of his heart.

  AFTER DOUG LEFT, Libby kicked off her high heels, removed her earrings and sank into the familiar depths of her rocking chair, studying the tongues of flame in the fireplace. Mona crept out from under the sofa, where she’d taken refuge, and hopped into Libby’s lap. But even Mona’s rhythmic purring couldn’t calm Libby’s jittery nerves. Maybe she was just tired, but Doug’s pleasure in their day together and his excited plans for next weekend exhausted her. She wanted to share in his enthusiasm, to feel her heart race each time he kissed her, to contemplate with joy the future he increasingly hinted at. She appreciated the protective cloak in which he wrapped her, the thoughtful way he always made sure she was having a good time, but something was lacking. Something important.

  She closed her eyes, remembering long ago nights…her body stirring with unfulfilled desire. Could she settle for a passionless marriage?

  The knock at the door startled her. Flustered, she pushed Mona to the floor, then rose to her feet. Had Doug forgotten something? She calmed herself. That had to be it. No one else would be on her doorstep at this time of night.

  She flipped on the porch light and put her eye to the peephole. Beneath her, the floor seemed to sway. Trent. Her heart started to race. What evil spirits had conjured him from her shameful recollections of their nights of tempestuous lovemaking? Smoothing the fabric of her dress with trembling fingers, she stepped back and opened the door.

  He stood, one hand braced on the jamb, his expression serious, his hair ruffled by the cold wind.

  Barring the entry, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  She almost laughed. Since when did Trent Baker initiate serious conversation? A man of action, he’d always said talk made him nervous, that their problems had been better solved in bed. The sudden unwelcome image caused her to stammer. “I…I can’t imagine what about.”

  “May I come in?” His eyes found hers, the plea apparent.

  “I think we’ve already covered everything that needs to be said.”

  “Please.”

  Whatever it was he wanted, she needed closure. Shrugging, she stepped aside. “Since you’re here…”

  “Thank you, Lib.” He stepped across the threshold and into her living room.

  She closed the door behind him, but paused for a moment in the entry, calming her runaway breathing. Lingering in the air was the outdoorsy, masculine smell of him. Despite herself, a lick of fire lapped at her belly.

  Damn him. He had no business reentering her world. Not now. Not when she was on the verge of falling in love with Doug.

  Trent had ruined her life once. He would not do it again.

  She walked into the living room and settled back in the rocker, stony eyes fixed on the man she had once loved. “Okay. So talk.”

  TRENT REMAINED STANDING. Now that he was here, doing his best not to ogle her body in the formfitting dress, he had no idea how to begin. “I couldn’t stay away,” he began lamely.

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  Hell, he was making a botch of this. He’d stayed away twelve years, hadn’t he? “What I mean is, I needed to see you tonight.”

  She made a show of glancing disapprovingly at the cuckoo clock. “What on earth could possibly be so urgent at this hour?”

  “I want to know about Doug Travers.”

  “What about him?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, then perched on the edge of the couch, leaning toward her, hands clamped on his knees. “How seriously are you involved?”

  “What possible concern is that of yours?”

  She had him there. Even to himself, he sounded like an idiot, charging in here and demanding access to her private life. “I’d hoped it could be.”

  “Trent, I am the teacher of your child. Beyond that, we have no relationship.” Her eyes flickered, then she looked down. In that slight gesture, he found a kernel of hope.

  Mona slunk from beneath the couch and rubbed against his leg. He leaned down and scratched her head. “You always did like cats,” he said. He remembered the sleek black kitten they’d found outside a grocery store all those years ago. “Whatever happened to Beelzebub?”

  “He lived to a ripe old age, then I had to have him put to sleep.”

  “Remember how he loved to curl up inside my ski boot?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late for auld lang syne?”

  He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and grasped her hands in his. “Is it?”

  In her eyes he read a history of sadness, much of it his fault
. He waited, aware of the rise and fall of her chest and the cleavage that tempted him to bury his face in her lush breasts. To beg forgiveness.

  After a heavy silence, she stood, dropping his hands and turning her back. Her spine stiff, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders as if to ward off a chill. “Please go,” she whispered.

  A log cracked above the thudding of his heart. More than anything, he wanted to put his arms around her, memorize the curves of her body, inhale the fragrance that was hers alone, suckle the tender skin beneath her ear. Convey somehow that he wanted to take care of her. Promise her he would never again run away from his commitments. From her. He raised one hand toward her, then let it drop impotently to his side. “If that’s what you want. But I’ll be back.”

  She whirled around. “Why? Haven’t you done enough to me?”

  He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, fiery under his touch. “That was then. This is now.”

  “Nothing’s different,” she said.

  “Only this.” He stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes widened, but surprisingly she made no move to push him away. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, Lib, but none greater than letting you go.” He felt the pressure of her breasts against his chest, heard her startled gasp. “I came to ask you to give me another chance.”

  Before she could reject him, he lowered his lips and, as if coming home, plunged into the wild sweetness that was her mouth. With one hand he raked through her rich dark hair, which smelled of spring flowers, then skimmed the familiar contours of her body with the other, losing himself in a riot of sensations. He couldn’t get enough of her. Unbelievably, her fingers twined in his hair and her hips moved against him seductively.

  Before he could take encouragement from her response, she tore her lips from his and stepped back, eyes blazing. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  He couldn’t back down now. “Hopefully giving you something to think about.” He picked up the jacket he’d thrown on the arm of the sofa. “I’ll go now.”