neither of them moved. It seemed the air was so thick with anticipation, she had trouble drawing breath. He put his hands on the wheel and bowed his head slightly. Madeline examined his handsome, stark profile in the dim light.
âI regretted leaving you. More than youâll ever know. But I canât apologize for who I was then any more than I can say I regret what Iâve become. I needed to go and find my own way, Madeline. I was a kid. I didnât have anything to offer you.â
âI never asked for anything but you,â she said, staring blindly at the house in front of her.
He gave a dissatisfied grunt. âYou may have had a childâs dreams then, but youâre a grown woman now. Are you really going to punish me indefinitely for establishing a career for myself? I couldnât have done what I wanted to do in Lake Tahoe. Iâd have ended up doing rich peopleâs lawns for the rest of my life, like my dad.â
âDo you think I would have cared?â she exclaimed heatedly, turning toward him.
âNo. But I would have, Madeline. I would have. Do you understand?â
Her breath burned in her lungs in the seconds that followed. He exhaled suddenly, informing Madeline heâd been holding his breath, too.
âIt isnât as if I didnât try to contact you. I was miserable when I heard about your dad dying while I was doing my basic training,â he said gruffly. âI tried like hell to get you on the phone during those seven weeks. You were just as religious about avoiding me.â
She looked at her hands clasped in her lap through a haze of tears.
âI suppose you think Iâm a fool, still hurting about a boy I fell in love with when I was nineteen years old,â she said angrily.
He put his hand on her shoulder, but she continued to stare at her lap, not wanting him to see her tears.
âI donât think youâre a fool. Itâs hard to know when youâre that young that what was happening between us was such a rarity . . . something so special.â He stroked her shoulder. âI told you I came back for you, Madeline. Do you really think Iâd blame you for being set off balance at the sight of me? Iâm fucking thrilled about it.â
Laughter popped out of her throat at his wry tone. A tear spilled down her cheek, and she furtively dried it with her fingertips.
âMadeline?â
âYes?â
âWill you let me tell you now how sorry I am about not being here when your dad passed? I know how much he meant to you.â
A spasm of grief went through her. She hadnât realized until that moment how long sheâd waited to hear Walker say those words. âIâm so sorry about your dad, too,â she mumbled wetly.
She felt his fingertips on her cheek, drying tears that now flowed freely. âI wish you would have taken my calls back then. We might have avoided all this, Madeline.â
She shook her head as emotion clawed at her throat.
âI couldnât. It would have hurt too much to hear your voice, knowing you were gone.â
âShhhh,â he soothed as he took her into his arms. âIâm back. Iâm back now.â
After a minute she gained control over her upwelling of emotion. She became increasingly aware of the feeling of Walkerâs hard chest beneath her cheek . . . the steady, strong beat of his heart . . . the feeling of his chin resting on the top of her head and how he occasionally turned it to kiss her hair.
âAre you ready to go inside?â he asked.
She nodded. The pavement of the driveway felt cool beneath her bare feet. She glanced around the house curiously once heâd let her in the door and locked it behind them. Sheâd never shown the house but sheâd noticed it on the MLS listing for sale. Three bedrooms, a den and a lake view. If Walker had purchased it, he must be doing all right for himself.
He hung his keys on a hook in
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