her body. This morning, she felt disillusioned and uncertain of his motives. “What business brings you here, Ford?” she asked, giving him one last chance to make amends.
He stopped in the middle of the room, his entire demeanor tensing. Shadows clouded his gaze, concealing truths, and her heart wrenched painfully.
“No more lies, Ford,” she whispered around the ache in her throat. “I know about the house out at Cutter Creek being yours. My father found out from Sheldon at the bank. You’re FZM, Inc.”
He released a deep, harsh breath and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw.
After a long, strained moment, he said, “Yes, I’m FZM, Inc, which stands for Ford Zachariah McCabe. The house out at Cutter Creek is mine, and I’m here to give the house one final walk-through before the carpet and tile are installed and the furniture delivered. In about five weeks, I’m moving in.”
She stared at him, the hurt and devastation coursing through her excruciating in its intensity. “You lied .”
A muscle in his cheek ticked, his eyes turning dark and unfathomable. “I hadn’t meant for you to find out this way.”
That was it, just a flat, emotionless excuse that made a mockery of their night together. He offered no other explanation, and what pride she still had left kept her from demanding a more credible answer.
Tears burned her eyes, but she valiantly blinked them back. She’d hoped this time around would be different for them, but she no longer trusted his intentions, or his purpose for returning. She couldn’t even be sure what they’d shared last night had been real for him.
Lifting her chin, she clung desperately to what little was left of her composure. “I think it would be best if I took you back to the Hampton Inn.”
He didn’t argue or object. Didn’t attempt to deny her request. It was as though he’d closed himself off to her emotionally. Instead, he nodded curtly, a virtual stranger, then turned to retrieve the rest of his things from her bedroom, leaving Grace to endure the same heart-breaking loss she’d experienced when he’d left her eleven years ago.
Except this time, her grief was tinged with Ford’s deceit.
Chapter Four
“T hat nasty flu bug still hasn’t gone away?”
Grace glanced up as Dr. Randal Chase walked into the examination room of the medical office he shared with her father, her medical chart in hand. “Unfortunately, no.” She gave him a smile as wane as her body felt. “The nausea seems to come and go in waves. It’s strange, really. One moment I feel fine, and then the next I feel like I’m going to lose what’s in my stomach. I’ve been light-headed as well, and my body feels achy.”
He adjusted the gold wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and offered a warm, sympathetic smile. “While I do a quick, routine examine, I’ll have Marcie pull your lab report to see what the tests we did a few days ago reveal. Hop up onto the examination table.”
Grace did as he ordered, sitting on the edge of the narrow table covered in a thin layer of tissue paper. Setting her chart on a nearby counter, he poked his head out the door, gave Marcie instructions to bring him Grace’s lab report, and returned to his patient. Using his stethoscope, he listened to her heart and lungs, proclaiming everything clear and in order.
“Stick out your tongue and say ahhh,” he said, withdrawing a tiny flashlight from his white lab coat pocket. Flattening her tongue with a wooden depressor, he checked her throat and tonsils. “Everything looks fine. Lie down on the table and I’ll check your stomach.”
Marcie delivered the requested report, setting it on the counter, then disappeared again. Grace reclined back on the stiff table, and the doctor slipped his hands beneath her blouse to continue his examination. “Have you been feeling bloated?”
“A little,” she confessed, then sucked in a breath when his chilled fingers touched her belly.
“Sorry
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