A Little Secret between Friends. C.J. Carmichael
to this new affliction of his, suffering none of the same side effects herself.
She was the strongest woman he’d ever known. Throughout Beth’s illness, she’d never broken down. That must be why seeing her hurt and needing his help felt like an invasion of her privacy.
He went to her bedside and flicked on the reading lamp. “Sally? Can you wake up for a minute?”
He put his hand on her shoulder and was surprised how fragile and womanly that one, innocent body part felt. Even covered in flannel. He squeezed, then gave a gentle shake. “Sally?”
“What?” Her good hand let go of the sheet in order to brush the hair off her face. “Colin?”
She sounded startled, but not afraid.
“This can’t be true,” she murmured, her eyes suddenly open wide and staring at him.
Both pupils equal in size, he noted in the logical side of his brain. His emotional half wished he could fold this woman within his arms and crawl into bed with her. She looked…cuddly. Adorable.
Sally Stowe cuddly and adorable? Impossible.
He could tell the second Sally’s full consciousness returned. Her hand touched the sore spot on her head and her eyes gained their usual sharp focus.
“There are ten provinces in Canada, fifty states in America, and the Flames are in the running for the Stanley Cup this year. Can I go back to sleep, please?”
It was a relief to know she was okay. That she hadn’t seriously injured herself with that fall. Still, he wouldn’t have minded if the more vulnerable Sally had hung around for a while longer.
“All clear,” he said, resisting the impulse to touch her cheek. “Good night, Sally.”
She closed her eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep instantly. He paused, inexplicably reluctant to leave her alone in this room.
What if, he started to think. What if…?
But he couldn’t let himself finish that question, not even in his mind. To wish he might have had a future with Sally meant repudiating his years with Beth. And he could never do that.
EIGHT HOURS AFTER he’d left his ex-wife lying on her kitchen floor, Neil Anderson’s conscience began to trouble him. He’d just dropped off the young lawyer he’d taken to dinner. They’d had sex at his place after, but he hadn’t wanted her to stay the night. Even though Lara wasn’t with him this weekend, that was one of his rules. No women overnight. Ever.
Maybe that was harsh, but it wasn’t his fault he had to live his life this way. He didn’t want to be with a different woman every month or so, shuffling them out the door when the good times were over. He wanted what every man had the right to expect. His wife in bed with him at night and still there when he woke the next morning.
Sally.
Neil’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Full of resentment, he turned toward the Elbow Valley community.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her tonight, of course. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually shoved her that hard. That was all it had been, though—a shove. It wasn’t his fault she’d been stupid enough to touch the stove, or that her head had knocked against the stone counter. When he’d left her she was conscious. He was sure he’d heard her moan.
But in the past hour he’d started to worry. What if she’d been injured more seriously than he thought? You could never tell with trauma to the head. Since Lara was out for the night, Sally could end up lying on the floor until morning.
But as he turned onto her street, he saw that she wasn’t alone. There was an SUV he didn’t recognize parked in her driveway. What the hell was going on? He glanced at his dash. It was almost three in the morning. The lights were out in the house, so Sally wasn’t entertaining late.
Unless this was a party for two.
Neil pulled up next to the SUV. He got out of his car and touched the hood of the other vehicle. Stone cold.
He turned to the house, went to the window and peered inside. Couldn’t see anything except a faint light from the hall that led to the bedrooms.
Was Sally scared to sleep in the dark?
Or maybe she wasn’t sleeping.
He didn’t like the thought of that. Not one bit.
He considered sneaking inside—he’d made a copy of Lara’s house key shortly after they’d moved into the new place and Lara had told him the security code, too. But there was the dog to contend with. Before they’d bought that miserable animal, he’d indulged in the occasional late-night foray. Those days were over now. He couldn’t take the chance that the dog would bark.
Neil shoved his hands into his pockets, frustrated.
He was a family man. This house should be theirs not hers and he should be in bed with her right now, their three kids sleeping down the hall.
Instead, Sally lived on her own and he only saw his daughter on alternate weekends and every Wednesday.
Neil’s fingers closed around the key in his pocket. He rubbed it as if it was a charm, wishing he could somehow transport himself inside without the dog noticing. He was desperate to find out if Sally was sleeping with the guy who belonged to this SUV.
If she was, it was a big deal. Sally didn’t hook up with many men. He’d made it his business to keep tabs on her life, especially her love life. It was not only his right, as the only man who had ever been married to her, it was his responsibility. They had a daughter after all.
Lara. She was the proof that he and Sally belonged together. How could they not, when the combination of their genes had created someone so wonderful, so perfect.
Neil never stopped marveling over her. Their child was beautiful, smart and kind, and on top of all that, a talented athlete. With Olympic potential. Olympic.
You’d think Sally would count her blessings to have a daughter like that. But no, she continued to work—had done so since Lara was eight months old. And not only had she spurned her traditional role as a mother, she’d washed her hands of being a wife, too.
She’d tried to marginalize him. Him, the father of her child. It was a crime. And the bigger sin was this country’s liberal legal system that made it possible for women to get away with behavior like that.
Neil cast one more fruitless glance into the house, then finally gave up and headed for his car. Whatever was going on, at least he knew she wasn’t unconscious on the kitchen floor. Though now he almost wished she were.
“STILL TIRED after your sleepover?” Sally asked her daughter on Monday morning.
Lara said, “Not really,” and then she yawned, which made both of them laugh. “Maybe a little,” she conceded.
The weekend, like all of her daughter’s weekends, had been busy. After the sleepover, Lara spent Saturday afternoon training with her ski team. On Sunday Sally had driven Lara and her friend Jessica to the ski hill at Sunshine for what would probably be their last ski outing of the season.
Sally had sipped hot chocolate in the lodge while the girls skied like mad all morning. By mid-afternoon the snow turned slushy. They’d left early, dropped Jess at home then had cheese fondue for dinner, followed by a hot bath and bed.
Now, as Lara ate her breakfast, Sally slathered cream cheese on bagels for both of their lunches and cut up fruit.
She worked awkwardly, favoring her left hand. The bandages were off, the exposed skin puckered and tender. But at least the stitches on her head were healing nicely and the headache had cleared. She felt almost normal again, and in the sunlight, with her daughter slouched on a stool at the kitchen counter, and the prospect of a regular workweek ahead of her, it was tempting to chalk up her experience with Neil on Friday as a very bizarre, frightening anomaly.
Neil