The Christmas Cradle. Linda Warren

of her.

      From a distance he could tell she’d changed, but he wasn’t prepared for the impact of seeing her face-to-face. The young girl he remembered had matured into a beautiful woman. His eyes made a quick, thorough assessment of her, taking in the ash-blond hair around her oval face, the dark eyes that shimmered like brown satin, the delicately carved facial bones and the soft curve of her mouth. His appraisal missed nothing, not the beige linen dress and matching jacket, nor the way she nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. A provocative gesture he remembered well.

      She was beautiful; he’d thought that years ago, too. Bitterness quickly filled his mind, reminding him what a fool he’d been—a stupid, infatuated fool. Her beauty was only a facade. She was not beautiful on the inside.

      “Marisa Preston?” Her name erupted from his lips and came out as a question, and he couldn’t imagine why, because he definitely knew who she was.

      “YES,” SHE ANSWERED with a quaver in her voice, feeling as if her knees were going to buckle. “It’s been a long time. Do you live in Dallas now?”

      His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

      She shrugged, not knowing how to answer. She’d only been trying to make the best of an awkward situation.

      “What are you doing here?” he asked.

      The bluntness of the question took her by surprise, but she answered without a pause. “I work here.”

      He frowned. “Work? Here?” He made no attempt to hide the incredulity in his voice as his eyes slid over her again.

      “In the executive office,” she amended.

      “The executive office?” The frown deepened. “I assumed you’d be playing in concert halls all over the world by now. Isn’t that what your mother planned for you?”

      “You know I never wanted to do that,” she answered almost inaudibly, wondering if that was what he’d believed—that she’d left him to pursue her career as a concert pianist.

      “I never knew what you wanted,” he said in a harsh tone. “I never knew you at all.”

      Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t expected him to be so cold, so angry. After all these years, she’d expected idle curiosity about why she’d left him, but he didn’t seem too concerned with her reasons for leaving. Her head began to throb and she lightly touched her temple to ease the ache.

      His eyes caught the small gesture. “What’s the matter? Do thoughts of the past upset you?”

      If he only knew. Feelings of guilt mounted inside her. “Some thoughts,” she acknowledged, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “But that was a long time ago, and I was very young.” The statement sounded inane even to her own ears, so she tried again. “I made a lot of bad choices that I’m not proud of, but I’ve managed to put them behind me.”

      “How convenient for you,” he muttered, urging himself to walk away. He couldn’t do it, though. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just leave? It had to be the shock of seeing her, of knowing what she’d done to his life. She’d ruined him for other women. After her, he couldn’t trust a woman again. He’d tried, but he couldn’t, and he couldn’t fully love again, either—the way a man should love a woman. Not even for his daughter had he been able to do that. All because of this woman.

      She called it a bad choice, said she’d been young. Was he supposed to accept that and now have a pleasant conversation with her? Her gall was unbelievable! He mentally shook himself, fighting to keep his emotions under control.

      MARISA HAD IMAGINED this meeting a thousand times, but she was unprepared for this hostile stranger, especially since he’d married Shannon four months after Marisa had left him. Her mother was glad to tell her the details. So why would he still be so angry with a young girl who’d broken her promise of marriage?

      She blinked nervously under his hard stare, unable to stop herself from asking, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? After all, it was a long time ago.”

      “Overreacting!” he repeated, his voice sharp as a whiplash. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

      How dare he ask her that? He was a married man. He had no right to judge her without knowing the truth. The truth. She suddenly knew she had to tell him that truth, the truth that had tortured her for years.

      “Yes, it bothered me for a while,” she began, lifting her chin, meeting his icy gaze as she struggled for the right words. “But as I said, I was young and—”

      “Oh, please,” he cut in. “Spare me your pretty speech. Why don’t you just admit that you were a spoiled rich girl who couldn’t handle responsibility or commitment, so you ran home to mother?”

      “It wasn’t like that,” she denied, hating the picture he held of her in his mind.

      “It was just like that. Tulley warned me. Shannon warned me, but—”

      “Please,” she begged, her head beginning to ache in earnest. “You don’t understand.”

      “No. I’ll never understand.”

      “If you’d just listen, I can explain.”

      “It may surprise you, but I’m not interested in anything you have to say—now or ever. I’ve moved on.”

      “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, hoping for a weakening in his implacable attitude. He quickly disillusioned her.

      “No, of course not,” he replied in a scornful voice. “You never thought about me or my feelings. You just left.”

      “Please, listen—”

      “I told you I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I had a feeling you were trouble the first moment I met you, but you seemed so different from the other girls who hung around the rodeos—or so I thought. You had me wrapped so tight around your little finger, I couldn’t see the real woman behind the beautiful face.” His eyes slid over her, sending a tiny shiver through her body. “It’s hard to imagine I ever considered myself in love…with you.”

      “Mr. Kincaid, your packages are ready,” a woman called from the gift-wrap counter.

      Colter whirled toward her.

      “Daddy,” a little girl shouted, running up to him with a pair of low-rise jeans in her hands. Rhinestones glittered on the pockets and around the hem. “Can I have these? I really like them.”

      Colter grabbed his packages and turned to face the child. “You’re too young for jeans like that.”

      “But all the girls in my class are wearing them.”

      “Ellie—”

      He and Shannon had a daughter—a beautiful little girl with blond hair and green eyes. The Kincaid green eyes. She appeared to be around six or seven, and Marisa couldn’t look away. Through the panic rising in her, she realized Colter and Shannon had started a family very soon after she’d left.

      Before she could assimilate this piece of information, another child with blond hair came running up.

      “Daddy said I can’t have them,” the girl called Ellie told the other one.

      Marisa’s stomach tensed in pain. Colter has two daughters.

      “Go put the jeans back,” Colter said.

      “Aw, Daddy.”

      “Ellie.”

      “Okay, c’mon, Lori, we’ll find something else.”

      They ran off and Colter followed. He didn’t give Marisa a second glance.

      Colter stopped and put his arm around a woman who had her back to Marisa. Marisa couldn’t see the woman clearly, but it had to be Shannon Wells—Colter’s