cool, patrician tone hadn’t invited familiarity, while Duncan’s mother, who, only a bit warmer, had informed Cassandra that she hoped for grandchildren.
Something that definitely hadn’t been in their plans. At least not in the near future. After all, it would have been impossible to care for a family while they were both chasing to all corners of the globe at a moment’s notice.
After Cassandra returned to New York from Egypt, Angela had called again late one night, but apparently the “functional” part of Duncan’s mother’s drinking problem hadn’t been in full operational mode. After five minutes of listening in on the painful rambling, Duncan had taken the phone away from Cassandra, calmly informed his mother they appreciated her call, and hung up.
And that had been that.
Despite everything she’d witnessed as a correspondent, Cassandra was, at heart, an optimist. She might have lost the ability to hope and dream, but there were more and more times, like now, when she could feel a flicker of spirit that had managed to survive.
After Egypt, she’d been so badly broken she hadn’t been certain that she’d ever be able to put herself back together again. But she had and she was growing stronger every day. Three months ago, she hadn’t even been able to leave Sedona’s apartment. Two months ago, she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever get back on a plane. Especially by herself. But she had gotten on that plane and come here today, divorce papers in hand, certain that her marriage was irrevocably broken.
Now, after his unexpected declaration, she was confused. And conflicted.
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Duncan suggested as her eyelids grew heavy. “Then later, maybe if you feel up to it, since scrambled eggs is pretty much the height of my culinary expertise, we can drive into town and get a late lunch or early supper at the pub.”
“As lovely as breakfast was, I am capable of feeding myself,” she said, not wanting him to think that just because the spark was still there between them she was going to leap into the flames.
“Of course you are. But you have to eat. And I have to eat. And if you could see the contents of my refrigerator, you’d understand why I’m suggesting letting someone else do the cooking.”
She could go to the market herself tomorrow, Cassandra decided. Meanwhile, with more important issues to deal with, this was not a hill to die on. Except…
Having dinner with Sedona and her friends in a familiar place was one thing. Going out in public with a man who drew attention wherever he went was a challenge she wasn’t sure she was prepared for.
“While you’re catching up on sleep, I’ll go track down something resembling a story for Winston,” Duncan suggested as her weary mind debated with her heart. “We can talk about what to do for dinner when I get back.”
As he carried her bags down the short hallway to the bedroom, Cassandra decided that as much as she wanted—needed—to settle matters, waiting until she was better-rested made sense.
After all, not only was Duncan stuck here for a month, she could work from anywhere, and it wasn’t as if she had a hard deadline. Dan Gagnon had been more than willing to take her stories whenever she turned them in.
The bedroom was as charming as the rooms she’d seen thus far. The interior stone walls had been painted white, the floor lake-blue. A black iron bed echoed the simple black frames of the photographs of local landscapes and children adorning the walls. A blue and white quilt on the bed had been turned down to reveal white sheets.
After stripping off her travel-rumpled clothing, Cassandra slid between those sheets that carried the clean, fresh scent of line drying she remembered all too well from their honeymoon, then fell like a stone into sleep.
8
U nreasonably distracted by his wife sleeping—alone—just down the hallway, Duncan headed into town to see what he could discover about the mythical
Something that definitely hadn’t been in their plans. At least not in the near future. After all, it would have been impossible to care for a family while they were both chasing to all corners of the globe at a moment’s notice.
After Cassandra returned to New York from Egypt, Angela had called again late one night, but apparently the “functional” part of Duncan’s mother’s drinking problem hadn’t been in full operational mode. After five minutes of listening in on the painful rambling, Duncan had taken the phone away from Cassandra, calmly informed his mother they appreciated her call, and hung up.
And that had been that.
Despite everything she’d witnessed as a correspondent, Cassandra was, at heart, an optimist. She might have lost the ability to hope and dream, but there were more and more times, like now, when she could feel a flicker of spirit that had managed to survive.
After Egypt, she’d been so badly broken she hadn’t been certain that she’d ever be able to put herself back together again. But she had and she was growing stronger every day. Three months ago, she hadn’t even been able to leave Sedona’s apartment. Two months ago, she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever get back on a plane. Especially by herself. But she had gotten on that plane and come here today, divorce papers in hand, certain that her marriage was irrevocably broken.
Now, after his unexpected declaration, she was confused. And conflicted.
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Duncan suggested as her eyelids grew heavy. “Then later, maybe if you feel up to it, since scrambled eggs is pretty much the height of my culinary expertise, we can drive into town and get a late lunch or early supper at the pub.”
“As lovely as breakfast was, I am capable of feeding myself,” she said, not wanting him to think that just because the spark was still there between them she was going to leap into the flames.
“Of course you are. But you have to eat. And I have to eat. And if you could see the contents of my refrigerator, you’d understand why I’m suggesting letting someone else do the cooking.”
She could go to the market herself tomorrow, Cassandra decided. Meanwhile, with more important issues to deal with, this was not a hill to die on. Except…
Having dinner with Sedona and her friends in a familiar place was one thing. Going out in public with a man who drew attention wherever he went was a challenge she wasn’t sure she was prepared for.
“While you’re catching up on sleep, I’ll go track down something resembling a story for Winston,” Duncan suggested as her weary mind debated with her heart. “We can talk about what to do for dinner when I get back.”
As he carried her bags down the short hallway to the bedroom, Cassandra decided that as much as she wanted—needed—to settle matters, waiting until she was better-rested made sense.
After all, not only was Duncan stuck here for a month, she could work from anywhere, and it wasn’t as if she had a hard deadline. Dan Gagnon had been more than willing to take her stories whenever she turned them in.
The bedroom was as charming as the rooms she’d seen thus far. The interior stone walls had been painted white, the floor lake-blue. A black iron bed echoed the simple black frames of the photographs of local landscapes and children adorning the walls. A blue and white quilt on the bed had been turned down to reveal white sheets.
After stripping off her travel-rumpled clothing, Cassandra slid between those sheets that carried the clean, fresh scent of line drying she remembered all too well from their honeymoon, then fell like a stone into sleep.
8
U nreasonably distracted by his wife sleeping—alone—just down the hallway, Duncan headed into town to see what he could discover about the mythical
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