A Warm Heart in Winter(89)

“That sounds healthy,” Qhuinn said softly.

“Luke was the one who helped me see it that way. We would have coffee after class. He was a total gentleman. He never . . . he never took things further than that, and neither did I. But that time with him, it changed me. After the class was finished, we continued to meet at restaurants or libraries. We would talk for hours and I lied to my husband about where I was. I told him I was taking another class. I’m not proud of that, but I knew what he was doing on his own time. I guess that made it . . . easier.”

Anna Sophia smoothed the handkerchief on her knee. “It went on for a year. Until I told Luke I was getting a divorce. I’d finally decided to talk to my husband and just . . . be real about where we were. Basile put up a fight, but not for long. I think he was relieved? It was hard on us to keep pretending everything was okay in front of our girls.” She looked up sharply. “I told Luke I had no expectations about him and me. I didn’t need rescuing. He seemed surprised by my announcement, but we set another date for a week later . . . I waited for two hours at the restaurant. He never showed up.”

“When was this?”

“It was August. Three and a half years ago.”

Qhuinn looked at Blay. The raids, he thought as his mate nodded back.

“It wasn’t like Luke. I phoned him. Several times. But I never heard back. No texts, no calls. That was it . . . I figured I spooked him. That I was good enough when I was uncomplicated, but two kids? Newly divorced single mom? Too much.” Her eyes dropped back to the handkerchief. “The next day, I became convinced that something had happened to him. I had no idea where to find him other than his phone, though. I called St. Francis Hospital, feeling like a stalker, a paranoid stalker. They could tell me nothing. I searched the papers and the news. Nothing. But it turns out . . . I was right, wasn’t I. Something had happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” Qhuinn cursed as he heard his words in the tense air. “That’s so fucking lame to say, though.”

“What else can anyone do?” Her sad stare lifted again. “And I return the sentiment. I’m sorry for your loss as well.”

They held eyes for a long moment, and in the mutual mourning, there was again that strange relief to know that his suffering was not solitary—although that was bullshit, wasn’t it. Everybody back at the mansion, and Blay, as the male sat beside him, was grieving. But it was different for him.

Different for this woman, too.

“How exactly did it happen?” she asked. “His death, I mean. You said it was natural causes. Was it a heart attack? A stroke?”

For a moment, Qhuinn felt like he did owe her the full truth. But then the species divide reared its proverbial head. How the hell could he explain Lash, and the Omega, and the Lessening Society? And as for the details of what Luchas had chosen to do? He was going to spare her them.

“His heart gave out,” Qhuinn said. “His heart . . . just stopped.”

Anna Sophia pressed the handkerchief into her face for a minute. When she lowered her hands, her eyes were even more bloodshot.

“He brought so much to my life.” She shook her head. “And then after he was gone . . . I just became so lost and I haven’t cared about much since then. I am ashamed of my failures with my girls, but I can’t seem to resurrect myself. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I did need rescuing.”

Qhuinn reached into his jacket. “I have some things he asked me to give you.”

Anna Sophia stiffened. And then she breathed in on a gasp as he leaned forward with the three letters and the little ball of tissue and Scotch tape.

“These are for you,” he said.





An abiding sense of peace and completion came over Qhuinn as the woman took the letters and the little present. At first, she just held on to them. And then she looked at each one in turn.

“Where did these come from?” she murmured.

“He hid them.” When she glanced up, he rephrased. “Saved them. For you. At the time of his death, he was working to get to a place where he could present them to you personally, but he never . . . I don’t believe he ever got there. And I’m truly sorry for the delay. I didn’t actually find all this myself until very recently.”

In the quiet that followed, while she took the time to examine each of the envelopes and the tightly wound ball, he imagined the Luchas she had known, strong and tall, handsome and well-spoken, a male in his prime.

“I’m scared about what is in these.” She glanced up. “Will you stay while I open them?”

“Of course we will.”

“Is there an order to them?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She nodded. And then she carefully opened one of the envelopes. Extracting the letter, she lifted the single fold of creamy high-quality stationery. As she absorbed the words intended for her, her eyes went back and forth slowly.

Her tears dropped onto her jeans.

That was the way of it. One after the other, she read each of the three letters, her eyes moving faster and faster. When she finished the last one, she sat back. The tissue paper ball was in her hand, but she seemed to have forgotten everything around her.

Qhuinn didn’t move. Neither did Blay.

He wasn’t sure any of the three of them were breathing.