Dane's Storm(56)

“Audra?” Dane asked in confusion.

“I . . . when did you get that?”

He lowered his arm, glancing at it again before meeting my eyes. “I thought you saw it the other night.”

The other night. In my hotel room. We’d both been . . . naked. Very naked. I swallowed. Only, it’d been dim in the room and I’d been half out of my mind with desire for him. With the things he was making me feel. The colors bursting all around me. Inside me. I shook my head sharply. “No.”

A gust of wind blew, causing the flames to dance and flicker. Dane shivered, pulling his shirt over his head and putting his coat on. “I got it right before I moved to San Francisco.” He regarded me for a moment, something moving through his expression I wasn’t sure I could read. Or perhaps didn’t want to. “It was hard for me, Audra, to . . . leave him behind, not to be able to visit his grave whenever I wanted. This was a way for me to take him with me.” Oh. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, my throat tight. When I opened my eyes, Dane was watching me, his eyes filled with sadness. “But I knew,” he said, clearing his throat. “I knew you’d take good care of him and that made it a little bit easier.”

Oh God.

I knew you’d take good care of him and that made it a little bit easier.

If I’d been able to take care of him, he’d be alive.

“It’s hard to believe we’d have an eight-year-old now, isn’t it?” Dane asked very gently, almost cautiously.

Pain shivered through me and I wrapped my arms around myself. It felt like the cold had invaded my veins, was sinking into my bones, though the fire’s heat was right in front of me. An eight-year-old. Yes, of course I knew.

It’s his heart. I’m so sorry.

There’s no heartbeat. I’m so sorry.

Oh God, life changed so quickly it could steal your breath—your soul. How was it that I tried so hard not to think about what would have been and yet could still say in a moment how old he’d be today? Tomorrow. All my life.

Dane watched me closely, and I didn’t know what to do with the look of pure sympathy on his face. How was it that he had been expressing his own pain and his sympathy was for me? Why? But I couldn’t. I couldn’t come out from behind this wall of pain . . .

You set all the rules. How hard to knock at the door you locked yourself behind, when to leave you alone. Your rules, never negotiable . . . you didn’t have to spell them out in words. Your actions spoke louder than words. Stay away. I don’t need you.

I did need him, I did. But I’d been so hurt, so angry. And most of all, I’d needed to set him free. And that was all in the past . . . wasn’t it?

“Audra—”

“If I’m going to wash my hair, I guess I should do it before the sun gets any lower and before this storm kicks up any more than it is.” The snow was finding its way through the small breaks in the canopy of evergreen and swirling in the air.

Dane was quiet for a moment, looking as if he was considering something. But then he smiled and it was gentle. “Come on, let me help you. It’ll be quicker.”

I nodded. Something about letting Dane wash my hair felt overly intimate, vaguely dangerous. And yet the lure of clean hair was frankly too great. The lure of feeling halfway human again was too great. “Okay.” Dane took the water off the fire while I gathered my shampoo and comb.

“Sit in front of me and tip your head all the way back,” Dane instructed as I knelt on the garbage bag I’d used earlier and he came up behind me. He put a dry shirt around my shoulders to protect my jacket and the back of my neck, and then began pouring the water over my hair. The wet heat felt incredible against my scalp and I moaned very softly. “Feel good?” he asked.

“Ahh, yes.”

Dane made quick work of using the shampoo to work a lather through my hair, using his fingertips to massage my scalp. I almost moaned again, louder and more blissfully, but held it back, instead closing my eyes and relishing in the sensations. I’d always loved my scalp being massaged. When we were first married, we’d taken baths together and Dane had washed my hair, just like this. I wondered if he remembered, wondered if this brought up memories of that time for him like it was doing for me. He’d been an unselfish lover, even as a young man, taking pleasure in pampering me as part of our foreplay. I didn’t realize until then how much I’d missed being touched. Dane’s touch had always melted me. Always. My stomach felt fluttery and my muscles felt languid, despite the frigid air. And despite that I’d been so tense only minutes before.

Dane rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and then rubbed a small amount of conditioner through, massaging my scalp again, finally rinsing that out as well. He used the shirt on my shoulders to rub my hair dry, his hands gentle yet strong as I rotated my neck. I remembered back to the way my body had ached in agony after the crash and a wave of gratitude washed through me. I laughed softly, somewhat surprised that there was anything to feel grateful for in this situation. But there was. Oh, there was. Fire, loose muscles, clean hair . . . and not being alone.

“What?” Dane asked, dragging the comb through my hair.

“I was just thinking of the things I’m grateful for right now. I was being very optimistic—not like myself at all.”

Dane laughed. “It only took being stranded on the side of a mountain in winter to bring out the Pollyanna in you?”