straight off the ground. Chairs would scrape as people hurried out of Soren’s way, and with a mighty heave, he’d launch the guy right out the door. Or worse, right through the window of the saloon.
Oh, God. He wouldn’t. Would he?
A glance to her right showed her Soren’s face, the scariest shade of red she’d ever seen.
Jesus, she could see it all now, right down to the hush that would fall over the bar as the glass shattered. The crowd in the saloon would gasp. The pianist would break off midnote, and the referee on the television screen would raise both arms in a mute call.
Touchdown!
She pictured Soren dusting his hands off and everyone backing up a step or two. Then Jessica — good old Jessica — would hurry the pianist into another tune and invite everyone to drink a discount round. It wouldn’t take long for everyone to focus back to their drinks, but it wouldn’t take long for the police to show up, either. Probably just as they were all kicking back and counting up the profits from the night.
“Well, that might have gotten us our new bathroom,”
Janna, ever the optimist, would say.
A cool breeze would whisper in around the jagged edges of glass hanging in the front windowpane.
“Minus the shower, maybe,”
Simon would add.
Then the toothy fragments of glass would flash red and blue as a police car pulled up outside, and when the cops asked Soren what he’d thrown out the window, he’d answer in a flat voice.
“Trash,”
she could imagine him grunting.
“Trash.”
A scenario she really didn’t want to see unfold, so she pointed the customer to the exit. “Have a nice night.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
She put a hand on Soren’s arm and felt the tension coursing through him. Closing her eyes, she sent him calming thoughts, because Soren was Soren, and though he had a long fuse, she sure didn’t want to see him get anywhere close to the limit.
She thought of the golden grove of aspens on the way up Cooper’s Hill. The whispery sound of snow tumbling off pine boughs. The taste of honey, nibbled right off a chunk of honeycomb in summer. The soul-nourishing energy of sunlight pulsing over a south-facing meadow swaying with wildflowers. And slowly, surely, she felt the pent-up frustration bottled under Soren’s skin ease.
The bar faded away — the crowd, the din, the malty smells — until it was only her touching him. Soren turned his forearm and slid it back until his fingers tangled with hers and played across her palm. For an instant — the briefest of instants — they were like one. The way she sometimes imagined it, when the boundaries between her and him melted until there was only
them
. A perfect, limitless unit of two.
“Uh, Sarah, you ready to ring up this bill?” Janna asked, cutting into her reverie.
As Sarah jerked back to reality, her hand slipped out of Soren’s and went to her belly instead.
Soren’s gaze followed, and for a moment, his armor slipped. His eyes locked on hers, so wistful yet so full of pain and longing that she could have cried.
I never cheated on you,
she wanted to protest.
Except, of course, she had, in a roundabout way.
I never wanted anyone but you,
she nearly cried out. But if she had, he could easily retort with something like,
Then why the hell are you pregnant?
And then what would she say?
His eyes asked her exactly that question as he took her in. Begged her, almost.
Did he really want to hear? Did he really want to know?
She wanted to take his hand — to stop everything, there and then — and hold it close.
Please,
she’d beg him.
Please let me explain.
She’d wanted to do so ever since her first day but never quite got the words past her lips. Even now, she couldn’t quite push them out. So she thought it, as hard as she could.
Please. Please let me explain.
Soren’s eyes swirled at her, and for a moment, she thought he’d say,
Yes. Yes, please explain.
But then a customer called for another drink, and Soren shook his
Oh, God. He wouldn’t. Would he?
A glance to her right showed her Soren’s face, the scariest shade of red she’d ever seen.
Jesus, she could see it all now, right down to the hush that would fall over the bar as the glass shattered. The crowd in the saloon would gasp. The pianist would break off midnote, and the referee on the television screen would raise both arms in a mute call.
Touchdown!
She pictured Soren dusting his hands off and everyone backing up a step or two. Then Jessica — good old Jessica — would hurry the pianist into another tune and invite everyone to drink a discount round. It wouldn’t take long for everyone to focus back to their drinks, but it wouldn’t take long for the police to show up, either. Probably just as they were all kicking back and counting up the profits from the night.
“Well, that might have gotten us our new bathroom,”
Janna, ever the optimist, would say.
A cool breeze would whisper in around the jagged edges of glass hanging in the front windowpane.
“Minus the shower, maybe,”
Simon would add.
Then the toothy fragments of glass would flash red and blue as a police car pulled up outside, and when the cops asked Soren what he’d thrown out the window, he’d answer in a flat voice.
“Trash,”
she could imagine him grunting.
“Trash.”
A scenario she really didn’t want to see unfold, so she pointed the customer to the exit. “Have a nice night.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
She put a hand on Soren’s arm and felt the tension coursing through him. Closing her eyes, she sent him calming thoughts, because Soren was Soren, and though he had a long fuse, she sure didn’t want to see him get anywhere close to the limit.
She thought of the golden grove of aspens on the way up Cooper’s Hill. The whispery sound of snow tumbling off pine boughs. The taste of honey, nibbled right off a chunk of honeycomb in summer. The soul-nourishing energy of sunlight pulsing over a south-facing meadow swaying with wildflowers. And slowly, surely, she felt the pent-up frustration bottled under Soren’s skin ease.
The bar faded away — the crowd, the din, the malty smells — until it was only her touching him. Soren turned his forearm and slid it back until his fingers tangled with hers and played across her palm. For an instant — the briefest of instants — they were like one. The way she sometimes imagined it, when the boundaries between her and him melted until there was only
them
. A perfect, limitless unit of two.
“Uh, Sarah, you ready to ring up this bill?” Janna asked, cutting into her reverie.
As Sarah jerked back to reality, her hand slipped out of Soren’s and went to her belly instead.
Soren’s gaze followed, and for a moment, his armor slipped. His eyes locked on hers, so wistful yet so full of pain and longing that she could have cried.
I never cheated on you,
she wanted to protest.
Except, of course, she had, in a roundabout way.
I never wanted anyone but you,
she nearly cried out. But if she had, he could easily retort with something like,
Then why the hell are you pregnant?
And then what would she say?
His eyes asked her exactly that question as he took her in. Begged her, almost.
Did he really want to hear? Did he really want to know?
She wanted to take his hand — to stop everything, there and then — and hold it close.
Please,
she’d beg him.
Please let me explain.
She’d wanted to do so ever since her first day but never quite got the words past her lips. Even now, she couldn’t quite push them out. So she thought it, as hard as she could.
Please. Please let me explain.
Soren’s eyes swirled at her, and for a moment, she thought he’d say,
Yes. Yes, please explain.
But then a customer called for another drink, and Soren shook his
Similar Books
