Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(78)

"How did your day go?" he asked as he headed into the bedroom, still holding her by the hand.

"Actually it was pretty quiet. Katie and I spent some time outside and then I paid a few bills." For obvious reasons she didn't mention she'd also written a letter. "Did you get the photographs you wanted?"

Jon pulled her into the room with him. "I got several that should work, but the whole time I was trudging through the forest I kept thinking how much more enjoyable it would be if you and Katie were there, too." He released her hand, then sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes.

"I've got leftover meat loaf," she said.

Jon looked up at her blankly.

"For your sandwiches."

"Sure, whatever."

Maryellen grinned.

"What's so funny?" he growled, jumping up and catching her around the waist again. He brought her down onto the bed with him and rolled over, trapping her beneath him. He ran his fingers through her hair and his eyes softened as he gazed down at her.

In that moment, she felt his love so strongly she wanted to weep. Pregnancy made her overemotional; she remembered that from before.

Sliding her arms around her husband's neck, Maryellen drew his mouth down to hers. Their kisses were slow and tender. After Katie's birth—when Maryellen realized how much she'd come to love Jon—he'd refused to make love to her. Those months had been agonizing, but now it seemed there was no satisfying him—or her.

"Come into the shower with me," he said between tantalizing kisses.

"It's the middle of the afternoon."

"So?"

"Jon..." Her protests were growing weaker by the moment.

"All right, all right...I'11 take my shower." He stood up and walked into the bathroom, shedding clothes as he did. The haze of desire didn't dissipate immediately. Maryellen got slowly off the bed and went downstairs. Times like this reminded her how fortunate she was to be loved by Jon Bowman.

She'd just finished making the meat loaf sandwiches when Jon skipped down the stairs, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair still wet from the shower. She froze when she saw that he was carrying the envelopes she'd left upstairs. Watching him carefully, she hoped he'd set them on the edge of the counter, where they usually put the mail, and leave it at that.

Her heart nearly stopped when the envelopes slipped from his hand and scattered across the floor. They both leaned down to retrieve them.

"I'll get these. Your lunch is ready," she said, hoping to distract him.

It didn't work. "Who's the letter to?" He straightened and held the unaddressed stamped envelope in his hand.

"A friend."

He stared at it for several seconds, frowning.

"Do you want your lunch or not?"

He ignored her question. "What friend?"

"No one important," she said, trying to squelch her panic.

"Maryellen, what friend?" he asked. "You look like a cat with feathers in your mouth. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"What's the big deal? Just someone who stopped by the gallery recently."

He studied her, eyes narrowed. "Do you mind if I take a look?" She knew he probably suspected another man; the truth was even worse.

She pressed her back against the counter, feeling her pulse hammer in her neck. She couldn't answer him.

"Maryellen?"

She turned away. "It's to your parents."

"What?" he exploded.

"Don't be angry," she pleaded, her eyes closed.

He was silent for so long she couldn't bear not knowing his thoughts. Tentatively she turned around, biting her lower lip, afraid her deception was about to destroy her happiness.

"What have you done?"

"Is this the first time?"

She shook her head.

He groaned with frustration. "I told you how I felt about my family."

"I know..."

He clenched his fists. "And you decided you knew better? You felt it was your duty to go against my wishes?"

"How did you know where to reach them?"

Maryellen took a calming breath. "I found their letters."

"Didn't I ask you to throw them out?"

"Yes—and I did." But until then, he'd kept the letters and that told her he still felt an attachment to his family.

"My father chose to offer me up as a sacrificial lamb. He betrayed me."

"He's so sorry, Jon. If only you'd talk to him, you'd see for yourself."

"Talk to him?" he shot back at her. "Talk to him! I spent seven years in hell because of my so-called father. I'll rot before I say one word to him again."

"You don't mean that! You can't have that much hatred in you."

"Obviously you don't know me as well as you think." He whirled around and dashed up the stairs.

Maryellen couldn't leave things as they were. She raced after him. "Please listen," she begged. "Your father isn't well. He's aged and he's frail and—"

Jon sat on the bed and jerked on his shoes. At her words, he grew still. "You've seen him?"

This was possibly a worse offense. She clasped her hands behind her and nodded. "They came into the gallery.... I didn't know who they were but your father wrote me afterward and asked me to act as a mediator between you."