The Borrowed Bride. Susan Wiggs

hers. She looked up at him, and he down at her, at the sheen of moistness on her lips.

      The sheen of tears in her eyes.

      “Isabel?” His voice was low and rough.

      “I can’t believe you’d do something so cruel.”

      He dropped his arms to his sides. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

      She drew an unsteady breath. “You’re just trying to manipulate me. To make me feel unfaithful to Anthony.”

      “What about being faithful to yourself?” He pivoted away, furious at her, furious at himself for wanting her. “I guess you never learned that, did you?”

      She caught her breath as the dart struck home. Though Dan knew it wasn’t her fault, she had turned away from the part of her that was like Dan—the Native American part.

      “I moved on, Dan,” she said. “I moved past that. It’s known as growing up.”

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t find you again to hurt you. I did it to ask you for a second chance.”

      She brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It’s no good. I can’t. You—you bring up a darkness in me. I get all twisted around inside when I’m with you. I can’t live like that.”

      “There are those who say you should seek out your darkest places. Explore them. Find the sunshine that will burn the shadows away.”

      “Don’t you see? That’s what I’m trying to do.”

      “You’re running away, Isabel.”

      She crossed to the door and went out onto the porch to stand, glaring at a magnificent view of Mount Adams. “It’s my choice.”

      He came out and stood behind her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. She didn’t pull away.

      At length, she said, “Take me back to the city, Dan.”

      “I’ll take you back this instant,” he said, “if you can say you really mean it when you tell me it’s all over between us.”

      He turned her in his arms. He saw the truth written all over her face. She had been just as aroused by the kiss as he had.

      But he could see that she was close to breaking. It was time to back off, to give her space, to let it all sink in.

      “I have to feed the horses,” he said. “They’ve got internal clocks that tell them exactly when five o’clock rolls around.”

      “I can’t believe you have horses. You wouldn’t even keep a goldfish in your apartment in Seattle.”