What Might Have Been (6 page)

It was the kind of history, the kind of loving memory that Ainsley didn't have. She couldn't imagine her father staying up all night to console her about anything, let alone rock a crying infant back to sleep. He hadn't had the patience.

Or the caring nature.

Ainsley just sat and watched Gran leave, certain any denial she might utter would sound completely false—it did in her own head. And knowing that any excuse for her behavior would sound petty and selfish—because it was.

She might have had good reasons then for what she
did…but there was certainly nothing keeping her from revealing the truth now.

Nothing but her fear that Luke would hate her and never forgive her.

Not that it mattered. When the sale was complete they'd go their separate ways and probably never see each other again.

“Second chances don't come around often, Ainsley.” Gran paused and turned back to look at her. “Trust me when I say, fifty years from now you'll regret it if you throw this one away.”

And then she was gone. Her words ringing in Ainsley's ears and echoing hollowly through her body.

As much as Gran might like to think so, this was not a second chance.

It was a goodbye.

S
HE WAS SITTING IN THE KITCHEN,
a cup of tea cradled between her hands. For some reason, after her conversation with Gran, she'd needed the warmth.

She hadn't bothered with the full trappings of tea, unable to eat anything even if it was bite-size or loaded with sugar.

That's where Luke found her. He startled her when he entered the room, keys dangling from his fingers.

“I'm heading into town. Do you want to come?”

She wanted the escape, more desperately than she'd realized until it was offered. But she was worried about leaving Gran and they only had three hours before they needed to be at the funeral home for the viewing.

“Gran's sleeping. I left her a note and asked Mitch to check in on her in case she wakes up before we get back. I don't expect she will, though. Come on, Ainsley. It'll do you good to get away from here for a little while.”

It was precisely what she needed to hear. There was so much to be done—early summer was one of their busiest
seasons. But they had excellent people working for them and Mitch, their operational manager, and his men knew what they were doing. They could survive without her for an hour or two.

Without really answering Luke, she got up from the table, set her half-filled cup into the sink and walked to the front of the house. She felt a little guilty for leaving the dirty cup there. But she knew it would wait for her. Right now she needed an escape from this place, from the weight of the loss of Pops and from the memories that Luke's presence had stirred up.

Besides, it had been weeks since she'd been to town just because. Summer was a busy time on the orchard and with Pops's illness and death…

She could hear the tread of Luke's feet behind her, heavy and close. He kept bouncing his keys in a way that made her want to whip around and snatch them from his hand.

The ride into town was uneventful. He drove fast, faster than she'd have liked but even she couldn't deny the burst of adrenaline through her body as they'd zoomed away from the house and the responsibilities waiting for her there.

While part of her fought against the panic that always came with driving fast down country roads, she could tell from the way Luke handled the wheel that he knew what he was doing.

But then, she'd thought Logan had, as well.

And he would have been fine, if they hadn't been
arguing. It was the one and only time they'd ever fought. And that day it'd been over Luke.

Over whether she should tell him about Alex. They'd only found out where Luke was a few days earlier. Until then the option had been closed to her.

Logan had wanted her to let Luke know about the baby, but she hadn't been ready to change the way she'd built up the pregnancy and raising her child in her mind. Without Luke. She wasn't prepared to let him back in. Not after he'd left her so easily. Not then.

And after that it had no longer mattered.

Luke pulled up in front of the county courthouse. She wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to her, but she'd never imagined this was his destination.

“I need to run inside. Do you want to come?”

She most certainly did not. Whatever he was doing most likely had to do with the sale of the orchard, and while she'd resigned herself to the inevitable, that didn't mean she'd support him on the decision.

“No. I'll pop into a couple of the stores down the street.”

He just nodded and walked away.

She wandered, allowing the early-afternoon sunshine to warm her bare shoulders and the top of her head. She spent quite a bit of her time outdoors, but usually she had an agenda. Right now, she had no responsibilities, no pressures, no expectations to meet. She felt liberated and a little anxious, not quite sure what to do with herself.

There were several quaint little shops along the strip.
Old brick buildings with as much history as the farmhouse.

There were antique stores, an elegant-looking interior design firm, a photography studio and the cutest toy store she'd ever seen.

She stood outside the display window, watching the toys. There was a model train set up, complete with moving drawbridge, tiny houses and miniature trees. Off to one side, they'd even erected a peach orchard, paying homage to the area's livelihood. She stared as the train went round and round the track and was embarrassed to feel tears sting her eyes. Alex would have loved something like this.

She could just see him, seven now, bouncing up and down on his knees as he manipulated the controls of the train. In her mind she saw long, masculine legs cross the scene to rescue the overturned train from the wreck her rambunctious son had caused. And realized it wasn't Logan in the scene in her head, but Luke.

Blinking away the vision of what might have been, she was startled to see Luke standing beside her, his reflection in the window watery and weak.

Spinning around, she put her hand to her thumping chest. “You startled me.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. You seemed so engrossed in watching the train.”

She shook her head, swallowing the lump of tears that was lodged in her throat.

“Are you ready to go?” Luke asked.

“Absolutely.”

He fell into step beside her as they headed to the car.

“What were you thinking about back there?”

As much as she wanted to outpace him, and the future they'd never have—she knew she couldn't. His legs were so much longer than hers.

“You looked so sad.”

“I was thinking about…Logan.”

She'd almost told him, the combination of the powerful image still lingering in her mind and Gran's words making her tongue loose.

But this wasn't the time. Or the place.

“Logan.” Luke's voice was suddenly gruff. And hard in a way that made her shiver.

His face closed down, going from optimistic and happy to thoughtful and displeased in the blink of an eye.

“Did you get what you needed?” She hadn't realized until the expression was gone, but he'd certainly looked content with whatever he'd found in the courthouse.

His only response was a nod.

She slipped back into the welcoming leather seats of his car. They rode in silence again, only this time instead of being pleasant and almost comforting, it was fraught with unsaid words and accusations.

Leaning her elbow on the armrest, she propped her head on her fist and stared out the window. The scenery was as familiar to her as her own body. And yet, she didn't even really see it.

She didn't realize what he was doing until he'd pulled off onto the shoulder of the deserted country road. There
was a patch of gravel, sprinkled just before the bridge across one of the local creeks. She supposed it was there for people who wanted to pull off and do a little fishing.

They were hardly here for a quick cast.

“What are you doing?”

Killing the engine and slipping the keys into his pocket—the pocket farthest from her—he said, “Tell me about Logan.”

She looked at him as if he'd gone crazy and for a moment wondered if he actually had.

“About your marriage.”

And in the blink of an eye she understood.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“No, you don't. You want to punish me. You want to hurt yourself. Why?”

He laughed, a sound that didn't come close to making her feel warm and fuzzy. “Maybe I'm a masochist.”

“Maybe you should let it go.”

With a growl, he pushed open the door and jumped out. He prowled to the hood of the car, his body taut with quiet grace and barely leashed fury.

She watched him. She couldn't stop herself. There was no denying he was beautiful. It would have been like trying to convince herself the sky was green. You couldn't dispute what was in front of your face.

She crawled from the car, as well. There was something about the lonely way he stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his back so straight and stiff she
wanted to reach out and smooth her hand down it. Smooth the tension away.

But she didn't touch him. She didn't think either of them could take that right now.

Instead, she stood beside him, staring into the same quiet abyss as he.

Finally, after a few moments, he turned to her. While his face was blank and smooth, his eyes were a storm of turmoil. A storm she felt inside her chest, threatening to rip her apart.

It was the torture in his eyes that made her speak, made her say things to him that she'd sworn she never would.

She quietly asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Did you love him?” The words burst from him in a rush, filling the air between them.

Ainsley closed her eyes and sighed. There was no easy way to balance self-preservation against soothing his wounds. Weeks ago she never would have expected to feel the need to reassure him. To tell him that she hadn't immediately turned to his brother—the person he'd been closest to in the world—for solace when he'd gone.

But now she realized she couldn't let him remain this conflicted, this angry, with his brother.

“Not in the way you mean. He didn't replace you. He couldn't.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, a question clearly there, yet one he left unspoken.

Walking over to the rusted pipe that framed the outer
edges of the small country bridge, Ainsley leaned her elbows on top of it and searched for the right words.

“I cared about him. I never would have married him if I hadn't, no matter what….” She trailed off, half-afraid that he might pick up on the subtext swimming between what she'd actually said and what she'd left unspoken.

But apparently he didn't notice.

“He loved you.”

It wasn't a question but a clear statement of fact. Some thing that he'd obviously known for years and years.

She answered anyway. “Yes.”

“He told me. When I called. I guess a couple months after the wedding. A week or so before he died.”

She nodded even though she knew he probably hadn't seen.

There was plenty of space between them. Dry, dusty dirt, the elegant lines of his empty sports car. But the physical space couldn't compare to the gulf of mistrust, misunderstanding and anger.

It didn't matter that they were talking; neither of them looked into the other's face, the other's eyes. Ainsley was afraid of what she'd see reflected back. As well as what she might inadvertently reveal. Luke had always been so good at reading her.

She wondered why Luke chose to turn away from her.

“He was angry. At me. He wouldn't tell me why, though. But I knew it had something to do with you. He told me to stay out of your life. That I'd made my choice
and we'd all have to live with it. I didn't understand what he meant, then. I still don't.”

But she did. Although it really didn't make much sense. Why would Logan warn Luke away one day and then try to convince her to talk to Luke?

Maybe his conscience had gotten to him. Not that he'd ever had anything to be ashamed of.

“I never knew it, but Logan loved me from the very start. He just never said anything while we were together.”

Blinded by her own obsession with Luke, she'd been completely oblivious to Logan's feelings.

And then Luke had left. And she'd been in trouble. And Logan had offered her the one thing he'd wanted desperately and she'd needed so badly. Marriage.

“Look, Logan was happy if that's what you're worried about. I didn't take advantage of him.”

That did get his attention. He took a single step toward her, but more than that he finally turned to face her, full on and looked into her eyes.

“I never thought you had.”

She supposed that was something.

“I might not have loved him, with the kind of all-consuming passion that you and I had, but I cared for him. A great deal. I would have done anything. If I could have, I'd have switched places with him in a heartbeat. You have no idea how often I wanted it to be me in the ground instead of him.” It certainly would have ended her guilt.

He took another step closer. “Don't say that. Logan wouldn't have wanted that.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn't make it better. He was there for me when I had no one, Luke, when I needed someone desperately. I owe him more than you'll ever know.”

He reached for her then. Gently unfurling her clenched fists from around the bridge post and turning her toward him. His arms went around her, a warm haven, the kind of support she'd rarely known in her life.

“But you didn't love him?”

Burying her head in his chest, she let his shirt gather her words. “No. And I think that makes it even worse.”

They simply stood there, her heart racing between them, his chest rising and falling on labored breaths. Even now, talking about his brother—her husband—they couldn't seem to shutter their physical awareness of each other.

They both knew it was there. At one point in time those moments of electricity had been the best part of her life. What she looked forward to most out of every day. And then their connection had been gone, and all that was left was the pain of memory and the yearning for something that was no longer hers.

And now, in the charged energy between them, that recognition and need was there again. It tempted her to do things she knew she shouldn't. The longer she spent close to him, the more she couldn't remember why giving in was a bad thing.

Her body was clearly winning.

After a few moments he pulled away, resting the palm of his hands on the swell of her hips and looking her squarely in the eyes again.

“I do have one more question. If you didn't love him, why did you marry him?”

How was she supposed to answer that? She couldn't tell him the truth. Wasn't ready to tell him the truth even if she'd thought it would make a difference. Not when they were finally starting to communicate without anger and unhappiness between them.