The Husband She'd Never Met. Barbara Hannay
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‘I—I wish—’ Carrie began to chew at her thumbnail. After a bit, she said, ‘I wish I could remember meeting you. How did it happen? Did our eyes meet across a crowded room? Or did you chase me?’
She dropped her gaze to the gnawed thumbnail.
‘Did I flirt with you?’
Max recalled the amazing chemistry of that night. The glittering harbourside venue and that first heart-zapping moment of eye contact with Carrie. Her shining dark eyes and dazzling bright smiles … the electric shock of their bodies touching the first time they danced.
He couldn’t suppress a wry grin. ‘I reckon we could safely claim all of the above.’
The Husband
She’d Never Met
Barbara Hannay
BARBARA HANNAY has written over forty romance novels and has won the RITA® award, the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice award, as well as Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year.
A city-bred girl, with a yen for country life, Barbara lives with her husband on a misty hillside in beautiful Far North Queensland, where they raise pigs and chickens and enjoy an untidy but productive garden.
Thank you to all the wonderful readers who have helped me to turn a hobby into the happiest of careers.
Contents
THE SUITCASE WAS almost full. Carrie stared at it in a horrified daze. It seemed wrong that she could pack up her life so quickly and efficiently.
Three years of marriage, all her hopes and dreams, were folded and neatly layered into one silver hard-shell suitcase. Her hands were shaking as she smoothed a rumpled sweater, and her eyes were blurred with tears.
She had known this was going to be hard, but this final step of closing the suitcase and walking away from Max felt as impossible and terrifying as leaping off a mountain into thin air. And yet she had no choice. She had to leave Riverslea Downs. Today. Before she weakened.
Miserably, Carrie surveyed the depleted contents of her wardrobe. She’d packed haphazardly, knowing she couldn’t take everything now and choosing at random a selection of city clothes, as well as a few pairs of jeans and T-shirts. It wasn’t as if she really cared what she wore.
It was difficult to care about anything in the future. The only way to get through this was to stay emotionally numb.
She checked the drawers again, wondering if she should squeeze in a few more items. And then she saw it, at the back of the bottom drawer: a small parcel wrapped in white tissue paper.
Her heart stumbled, then began to race. She mustn’t leave this behind.
Fighting tears, she held the thin package in her hands. It was almost weightless. For a moment she pressed it against her chest as she battled painful, heartbreaking memories. Then, drawing on the steely inner strength she’d forced herself to find in recent months, she delved into the depths of the suitcase and made a space for the little white parcel at the very bottom.
There. She pressed the clothes back into place and snapped the locks on the case.
She was ready. Nothing to do now but to leave the carefully composed letter for her husband propped against the teapot on the kitchen table.
It was cruel, but it was the only way she could do this. If she tried to offer Max an explanation face to face he would see how hard this was for her and she would never convince him. She’d thought this through countless times, and from every angle, and she knew this was the fairest and cleanest way. The only way.
At the bedroom window, Carrie looked out across paddocks that were glowing and golden in the bright Outback sun. She smelled a hint of eucalyptus on the drifting breeze and heard the warbling notes of a magpie. A hot, hard lump filled her throat. She loved this place.
Go now. Don’t think. Just do it.
Picking up the envelope and the suitcase, she took one last look around the lovely room she’d shared with Max for the past three years. With a deliberate lift of her chin, she squared her shoulders and walked out.
* * *
When the phone rang, Max Kincaid ignored it. He didn’t want to talk, no matter how well-meaning the caller. He was nursing a pain too deep for words.
The phone pealed on, each note drilling into Max. With an angry shrug he turned his back on the piercing summons and strode through the homestead to the front veranda, which had once been a favourite haunt. From here there was a view of paddocks and bush and distant hills that he’d loved all his life.
Today