three days she’d gone grocery shopping again and was slowly replacing the brands of food he recognized with her own selections.
He blew out a harsh breath and slammed the cupboard door, which did nothing to calm his escalating temper.
“Kane?”
He spun around and glared at the woman responsible for spinning his world out of control and wreaking havoc with his emotions. The day’s accumulation of stress, combined with frantic fears he couldn’t name, caused something within him to snap. “I can’t find anything in this house anymore! By the time you’re done rearranging and decorating everything, will I have anything to call my own?”
Her eyes widened at his outrage and she took a step back, confusion etching her features. He was glad for the distance his anger put between them, but he hated himself for hurting her. Damn, he didn’t know what to do or feel anymore.
“I only thought I’d add some of my stuff to the house. If it bothers you…”
Her words faded as his gaze drifted to the stack of banded letters she clutched against her chest. Prickles of apprehension raced down his spine, and his legs turned to jelly. Terror, cold and clammy, gripped him. Oh, God, no…
He started toward her and grabbed the letters, his movements rough enough to startle her. “Where did you get these?” he demanded. But he knew the answer. Knew, too, that she’d discovered more than just these unopened letters. Bile rose into his throat until he thought he might be sick.
Her gaze narrowed, as if she was trying to figure him out and analyze his radical behavior. He didn’t like her scrutiny. Not one bit. He deepened his scowl in an attempt to discourage her silent probing.
“I found them in our bedroom,” she finally said.
In his closet, buried behind other boxes and old sweaters on the top shelf. Swearing vividly, he charged past her and halted abruptly in the living room, dread squeezing his chest like a vise. The box he’d stashed so carefully in his closet was open, the contents spilling across the coffee table. Unopened letters and correspondence, his parents’ marriage and death certificates, a few pictures of his parents and sister, and most telling, Andrew’s kindergarten and first-grade workbooks.
The room spun, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Memories rushed in on him, taunting him, forcing him to remember all the nights he’d stayed up late, tracing letters and words in Andrew’s workbooks, not knowing what any of it meant.
He felt violated and too damned vulnerable. Like she’d glimpsed the deepest, darkest part of him. Slowly, he turned and looked at her. He trembled, not with rage but with a panic that caused his heart to triple its beat. “What the hell were you doing going through my personal things?”
She moved forward, the first inkling of irritation creasing her brows. “I found the box while I was cleaning.”
“You had no right to go through it.” He dumped the workbooks into the box, hating them and everything they represented. Everything he’d never have. Like his own cabinetry business. Like a promotion to purchasing that would stimulate his mind more than his boring, monotonous job of unloading logs and guiding them through scaling and cutting machines.
“I have every right.” She pulled on his shirt sleeve, hard, until he glowered at her. And wished he hadn’t, because there was so much gentleness in her gaze he wanted to purge himself of the humiliating truth. He clenched his jaw. Her irritation and anger he could deal with, but this… Damn, didn’t she realize her tenderness had the ability to bring him to his knees?
“Kane, I’m your wife,” she said, her voice a shade away from a plea, her eyes the softest shade of blue he’d ever seen. “If you can’t trust me, then we don’t have much of a marriage.”
He pulled his shirt from her grasp, ignoring her and the dull ache throbbing near the vicinity of his heart.
She dragged a shaky hand through her loose hair, then pressed her fingers to her lips, watching as he set the banded letters on the table and gathered his other possessions.
She picked up the stack, and when he tried to take it back, she stepped away, defiantly holding it out of reach. He could have sworn he saw tears shimmering in her eyes, but she blinked, and something hard and determined replaced the moisture.
“These letters are from your sister,” she said evenly. “Why haven’t you opened and read them?”
Taking the letters from her, he tossed them into the box with the rest of his personal belongings. “It’s none of your business.”
“Yes, it is my business,” she returned heatedly. “No secrets or lies, remember, Kane?”
But he did have a secret, a devastating one, and lies were the only way to keep the truth from driving her away. But wasn’t he doing that now?
“Like I said, it’s none of your business,” he said harshly. He picked up the box and walked away, muttering, “Can’t a person have a little privacy?”
He was back to avoiding her.
Sitting on the front porch swing late at night, Megan huddled into the warmth of Kane’s sheepskin jacket. Unfortunately, nothing could chase away the chill that had settled deep inside her. Three days had passed since her argument with Kane, three days since he’d touched her or talked to her other than polite, necessary daily conversation.
She stared at the barn, as she’d done the past three nights. A warm glow of light spilled out the door, and occasionally she saw her husband’s silhouette pass the window.
His withdrawal hurt, but not as much as the fact that he didn’t trust her with certain aspects of his life. Recalling his harsh words about not being able to find anything in his house anymore and not having anything to call his own since she’d added her possessions, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was already regretting their marriage and her intrusion into their lives.
Closing her eyes, she swallowed the huge lump lodged in her throat. Was she moving too fast, making too many changes when he wanted to stay in charge? He’d been alone for so many years. She never stopped to think that maybe her direct approach threatened him.
The unopened letters she’d found from his sister and his strong reaction to them and the contents of that box still puzzled her. She thought about the comment Diane had made about Kane never answering any of her letters, yet when she’d confronted Kane with that he’d gotten angry and defensive, then stalked away. And she still had no answers.
Shivering from the cold evening and an aching loneliness that wouldn’t go away, Megan leaned her head against the linked chain holding up the swing. She missed the warmth of her husband’s arms around her, hated his reserve and politeness when she’d experienced just how tender and giving he could be. He was like a stranger again, cool, distant and unapproachable.
Whatever was wrong with Kane, she wanted to make it better, but he wouldn’t let her get close enough to understand his pain or those shadows she occasionally glimpsed in his gaze. Those damned walls of his were up and secured, and she suspected if she went to him or touched him, her efforts would be rejected. As difficult as it was, she had to wait for him to come to her. Like she’d told him, without trust, they had no marriage.
Knowing tonight would be a repeat performance of the past three, with Kane remaining in his workshop until well past midnight when he assumed she was asleep, she sighed and went inside the house. She changed into a pair of old sweats, crawled into bed and snuggled beneath the covers to generate some warmth.
A shiver chased through her body and wrapped around her heart. It was going to be another long, cold, lonely night.
Megan sat in the corner of her and Kane’s bedroom where she’d set up her desk and computer for writing. Setting the first draft of her new book aside, she picked up the handmade book Andrew had created out of construction paper, colored markers and his drawings. He’d won first place with his essay book,
She hoped that would change after tonight’s dinner with Patricia and Harold. Guilt pricked her conscience. She
