Navy Wife. Debbie Macomber

apparently hoped to pass the baby off as Rush’s. Rush, however, hadn’t needed a degree in math to calculate the dates.

      It might have made things easier for him if they’d fought. He might have been able to release some of the bitter anguish he’d experienced over her infidelity. But instead he’d simply told her goodbye and walked away, the diamond engagement ring he’d intended to give her seeming to sear a hole through his palm.

      In the weeks and months that followed, his mind played crazy tricks on him. He tried to convince himself the baby was his, although God knows it was impossible. He heard from a friend that Cheryl married some poor schmuck fresh out of officer training within a month after Rush had left her.

      A couple of years later he’d run into her in a bar. Her big blue eyes had clouded with tears as she’d told him they’d let something good slip away. With a wedding band on her finger, she’d placed her hand high on his thigh and suggested they get together for old times’ sake. Rush had thought he was going to vomit, she repulsed him so completely.

      He never saw her again, never wanted to. Cheryl had taught him valuable lessons, ones destined to last a lifetime. She’d destroyed a part of him that could never be resurrected.

      The first faint light of dawn seeped into the sky, extinguishing the stars one by one, and still Rush couldn’t sleep. But the even meter of Lindy’s breathing as she lay sleeping on the sofa was a soothing balm and gradually he felt the rigid tension leave his limbs.

      They’d sat for hours, his arm around her, her head nestled over his heart. Neither had spoken—or wanted to. It was a time to remember. A time to forget. When she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, he’d gently slipped free of her hold and lowered her head onto the sofa.

      She was going to be all right now.

      So was he.

      Lindy squinted as the sun flooded the living room and seemed to rest, full force, on her face, disturbing her deep sleep. Her neck ached, and it was then that she realized that her only pillow had been the small flat decorative one from the couch. She felt disoriented until the memory of what had happened between her and Rush gushed through her mind like melting snow rushing down a mountainside during a spring thaw. She groaned and covered her face with her hands, embarrassed anew.

      Slowly, almost against her will, she sat up and opened her eyes. She felt empty inside, depleted. Shaky.

      A quick survey of the room told her Rush wasn’t anywhere in the immediate vicinity, and she sighed with relief.

      Coming to her feet, she brushed the mussed dark hair away from her face and stumbled into the kitchen. The coffee was made and a note propped against the base of the machine. Lindy reached for the slip of paper and blinked several times in an effort to clear her vision. Rush had duty and wouldn’t be home until late afternoon.

      Thank God.

      She wasn’t up to confronting him. Not now, anyway. What could she possibly say to him after she’d stripped herself emotionally naked and exposed her soul? Lord, she didn’t know, but she’d figure it out later. Right now she wanted a hot bath and some breakfast, in that order.

      By five that afternoon, she’d washed windows, baked a fresh apple pie and scrubbed the shower. Occupying herself with a dozen domestic tasks until she was forced into the inevitable confrontation with Rush.

      She was frying pork chops for dinner when she heard the front door open, and she tensed, instantly filled with dread.

      An awkward silence ensued when he stepped into the kitchen. Since she wasn’t sure how to begin, she glanced around nervously and offered him a falsely cheerful smile.

      Rush was frowning and she watched as his gaze bounced around the apartment, growing darker and more irritated with each passing moment.

      Despite her best efforts, Lindy felt completely unstrung, and still Rush just stood there, looking straight through her with those impassive blue eyes of his.

      “I baked a pie.” It was an absurd thing to say, but Lindy was quickly losing a grip on her determination to be cheerful and pleasant.

      “That’s not what I smell.”

      Lindy saw him wrinkle up his nose a couple of times, sniffing. “What are you?” she asked, forcing a light laugh. “A bloodhound?”

      Obstinately Rush refused to respond to her attempt at good humor. If anything, his face grew more marred by dark shadows and anger kindled in his eyes. “It smells like pine needles in here.”

      “Oh.” Why, oh why, couldn’t he play her game? He had to know how difficult all this was for her. “I scrubbed down the cupboards. I think I was supposed to dilute the cleaner more than I did.”

      Her back was braced against the counter, her fingers gripping the edge. She could feel a pulse come alive in her temple. She’d had all day to make up her mind what she was going to say to Rush, how she was going to act, but her conclusions had been vague and fearful. That was when she’d decided she wouldn’t utter a word about what had happened, praying he wouldn’t, either. She should have realized Rush wouldn’t let her forget it.

      “You’ve been busy.”

      She nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I decided to spruce up the place a bit.”

      Her efforts didn’t appear to please him. Damn, but she wished he’d say or do something to help her. He had to know what she was going through.

      “You said something about pork chops being your favorite dinner,” she offered next, almost desperate. All the while, her eyes pleaded with him. She’d just found her footing with this man, and now she was floundering again, her feet slipping out from under her every which way she turned.

      “That was thoughtful.” Still he frowned, his brow crowding his eyes, darkening them all the more.