Page 73 of Confessions

“You’ll like this one,” he guaranteed.

“Hayden, I don’t think—”

“Humor me. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed.”

* * *

HE WAS RIGHT. Three hours later, as the Jeep rounded a final curve through the pine trees in the mountains, Nadine held her breath. Lights glowed through the windows of a rambling, three-storied lodge. Built of cedar and pine, with a wide porch, the building was settled in a thicket of pine trees and nearly twenty miles from the nearest small town.

Inside, the walls were raw wood, aged dark without a hint of varnish and covered with paraphernalia of the Wild West—saws, wagon yokes, axes and picks, even a full-size canoe. Wagon-wheel chandeliers offered flickering light. “I was afraid you were going to take me somewhere stuffy.”

“Me?” he laughed. “Never.”

They were seated near a bay window decorated with a cedar garland and sprigs of pine and mistletoe. Soon a waiter poured the wine Hayden had chosen, then took their orders. A hurricane lantern flickered on the cloth-covered table and reflected in the glass. Nadine sipped her wine and talked with Hayden before noticing, through the window, snow beginning to fall in thick, heavy flakes.

“If this keeps up, we could be trapped here all night,” Hayden teased.

“I don’t think so.”

“Would it be so horrible?” he asked, the light from the lantern reflecting in his warm blue eyes.

“I’m a mother. I have responsibilities.”

“The kids are with their dad. And your answering machine’s on. If there’s a problem, you’ll know about it.”

“Why Mr. Monroe, I think you’re trying to seduce me,” she teased, and her pulse jumped.

“Count on it.” Her throat went dry as he touched his glass to hers with a soft clink, then finished his wine in one swallow.

They talked through courses of Caesar salad, French onion soup, stuffed trout and raspberry mousse. Hayden told her he’d found a buyer for the sawmills and that he was considering the offer. Her heart felt as if it had been pierced by a sharp needle as she considered the fact that he might soon be gone, perhaps before the first of the year. A coldness settled in her stomach and seeped through her limbs. All along she’d known that he would leave, of course, but she’d never let herself think about the date; it had seemed a long way into the future, some indefinable time that she would worry about come spring...or maybe summer. But now? She managed to pretend that his talk of selling the sawmill didn’t bother her, that she was sophisticated enough to deal with the inevitable fact that they would soon be separated by time and distance, but the small puncture wound in her heart seemed to rip a little more with each of her breaths.

She didn’t notice the time passing, nor did she observe the snow that had accumulated on the ground around the lodge. She concentrated totally on Hayden, the inflexible line of his jaw, the angles of his cheekbones, the way his lips barely moved as he spoke.

By the time they’d finished coffee, two inches of snow had fallen. “Looks like we’re here for the night,” Hayden observed as he paid the bill and glanced outside.

“Doesn’t your Jeep have four-wheel drive?”

His grin crept from one side of his mouth to the other. “Yes, but it would be a waste not to take advantage of the room I’ve already paid for, don’t you think?”

“What I think,” she said, standing as they left the table, “is that you should have asked me first.”

He pulled her into a shadowy corner near the lobby. “All right. I’m asking.” His eyes held hers. “Will you spend the night with me?”

She swallowed hard and considered all the reasons she should tell him to take her home. Staying would only prolong the heartache and keep the pain alive, and yet she couldn’t resist. “Of course I’ll stay with you,” she whispered, knowing that he didn’t realize she meant for the rest of her life.

* * *

THE ROOM SPRAWLED across most of the top floor. Lustrous hardwood peeked out from beneath thick Oriental carpets and the furnishings of the suite were crafted to look antique. A hurricane lamp sat on the corner of the mantel in the bedroom occupied by a queen-size canopy bed.

A bottle of champagne stood chilling in a stand, and through the French doors leading to a private deck, Nadine noticed steam rising from an outdoor hot tub in a thick cloud, reminding her of the morning fog on Whitefire Lake.

“This is quite a place,” she observed, running her hand over the curve of the bed frame.

“It’s nice.” He struck a match to the fire and lit the lantern before turning down the lights.

“You’ve been here before?” Why it mattered, she didn’t know, but she didn’t want to be just one in a long line of the women he’d brought here.

He nodded, watching her reaction in the beveled glass mirror over the bureau. She felt a jab of pain, but hoped he didn’t notice. In the firelight, his features seemed harsher, more male, and the thought of him with another woman... Oh, God, she loved him too much. “With whom?” she asked, her voice sounding oddly strangled.