Angel's Peak by Robyn Carr Page B

that, I couldn’t leave it alone anymore—we ended badly and I couldn’t believe it was what either one of us really wanted. So I called you. You didn’t call back, so I tried again—the cell phone was shut off. Your e-mail bounced back—undeliverable. After another few months of licking my wounds I called your mother’s house to see if she’d put us in touch with each other and she was gone. Phone disconnected. House sold. Moved away. None of your best girlfriends were around at Luke AFB anymore and I couldn’t remember their last names, so I had no one to ask.”
    “You couldn’t remember their names?” she asked.
    He grimaced. “Last names. Shoot me. I didn’t know there’d be a test. So, you didn’t respond and had disappeared. I thought maybe you got married or something. I quit looking. But it never felt right—the way we broke up. It shouldn’t have happened like that.”
    “Oh?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
    “We were both too stubborn. Angry. I wanted to find you and tell you that we should talk about our situation some more. Sanely.”
    “Have you changed your mind about commitment? About family?” she asked.
    “I was committed before,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, definitely annoyed. “I didn’t need some document to prove that. That’s why we should talk.”
    She sat back in her chair. “I can’t see what there is to talk about,” she said, exasperated. “That’s why we went our separate ways. I want the document. I want a family—you don’t.”
    “I wanted another chance,” he ground out. “I wasn’t happy with you forcing the idea of getting married before I felt ready, before I felt it was my idea, too. But I was a lot less happy once you were gone.”
    “Then why didn’t you say that in your messages?” she asked.
    He tilted his head, gave her a hint of a smile and lifted the eyebrow over the good eye. “The messages you never got?” he asked.
    Oh, he was good. Great choice for a spy-plane pilot. He was quick and cagey. “Okay, I got them. They were so generic, there was nothing to respond to. Not, ‘I’m sorry and I want to try again,’ or ‘I can’t live without you,’ but just, ‘Shouldn’t we keep in touch? Babe?’”
    He leaned toward her. “Well, what do you want from someone who’s talking into ether, not knowing what kind of mood you’re in? Or wondering who else might listen to your messages? Like maybe a brand-new boyfriend or husband! I wanted to talk to you, not make life tough for you! You were pretty specific when you laid down the guidelines—it was marriage or you were out. For all I knew—” He stopped. He took a breath. “For all I knew you found someone who liked that idea. And settled down.”
    It was very tempting to just blurt everything out right then, right there, but Franci held her tongue. She did have to lower her eyes over her coffee cup to keep him from seeing the tears there. It all rushed back—how bad the breakup had felt, and remembering that he couldn’t bear the idea of being stuck with her for life. Then came the fear that he’d like another chance, but they would probably only go back to the way they were. Or, he was ready for more now and would never forgive her for what she’d done. Franci’s mind was churning.
    “I’d given you a lot of opportunities, Sean. A lot of time. You didn’t budge—you’d gotten as serious as you were going to get. I didn’t want to find myself in a relationship as tenuous as that for a long time, for as long as it took you to say you’d had enough and didn’t want me around anymore.” She swallowed. “I didn’t want to give my best years to a man who couldn’t make a decision.”
    He leaned toward her and his look was earnest, though battered. “What did I ever do or say to make you think I was just playing around? Weren’t we a couple? A serious couple? Didn’t we practically live together? You thought I’d just do that for a few years and then dump