Page 89 of Confessions

“The way I remember it, you don’t think we should talk about anything!”

“Fair enough.”

“Good. Because we—or at least I—have a wedding to attend.” The brisk air crackled between them and he didn’t reply. Again, the silence was deafening and it was all she could do to stand her ground under his hard, uncompromising gaze. “Are you always this rude,” she asked impulsively, “or did the army teach you how to be a jerk?”

“You just seem to bring out the best in me.”

“I don’t remember handing you an invitation to bulldoze your way over here and insult me. This time, Ben, you’re doing the crashing.” She turned, intent on leaving him, but he moved quickly, reaching out, his hand clamping firmly over her elbow. He spun her back to face him with such force that his cap fell into the snow. For a breathless second she remembered him as he had been: impetuous, young, bold, sought after by most of the girls who had attended Tyler High. And she, Carlie Surrett, had been flattered that she’d caught his attention—even if she’d had to chase him a little to get it.

His gaze settled on her mouth. The breeze seemed to die and they were alone. Two people, man and woman, lost in a swirl of snowflakes and icy air. In the span of a heartbeat she thought he might kiss her, and her lips felt suddenly dry. How could she even let one single memory of the love they once shared into her heart? It had all been so long ago.

“I’m surprised you’re back,” he said roughly, his eyes narrowing, his warm breath fogging in the cool air. “I heard you were married.”

Her spine stiffened slightly. “For a while.”

“Didn’t last?” He raised a dubious black eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Irreconcilable differences,” she said, ignoring the little bit of pain that still remained when she thought about her short-lived marriage. “I believed in monogamy. He thought it was a drag.”

Ben’s skepticism was etched on his face, but she told herself she didn’t care. What Ben Powell thought of her didn’t matter. Squaring her shoulders, she was determined to change the subject. “What about you, Ben? What’re you doing back in Gold Creek? Unless things have changed, there’s no army base for hundreds of miles.”

“I’m through with the mil

itary.”

She eyed the buttons of his uniform, the medals decorating his chest. “Doesn’t look that way.”

“The wedding was news to me when I got back to town. Didn’t have anything to wear. The trunk with my tux hasn’t arrived yet.”

So he still had a sense of humor—cynical though it was. And his eyes, angry and smoldering, were staring at her with an intensity that caused the chilly air to be trapped in her lungs.

She had to remind herself that she wasn’t going to fall for his sex appeal again. Not now. Not ever. Quickly she yanked her arm from his. “We’ll be late.”

“You shouldn’t go, Carlie. Not after what happened.”

She felt like dying. All the old pain and shame ripped fresh holes in her heart.

“My old man, if he sees you...” Ben’s brows drew together.

“He’ll get over it,” she said, though she didn’t know if she was up to facing the censure and accusations in George Powell’s eyes. “This is Nadine’s day. If we’re smart, none of us will do anything to spoil it.”

Backing up, she nearly stumbled, then turned and strode briskly back to her vehicle. She could feel him watching her as she climbed into the Cherokee, twisted on the ignition and pumped the gas. The engine turned over and in a plume of blue exhaust, she drove away from the little campground by the lake, away from the ghosts of the old legend and away from Ben Powell, a man she’d loved with all of her naive heart and a man who had all but destroyed her.

Had it really been eleven years? A decade of carrying around a load of guilt she should have unstrapped long ago? She switched on the defroster, clearing the suddenly misty windshield.

“Forget him,” she told herself angrily. He was wrong for her then, even more wrong for her now. Not that she wanted him—or any man for that matter. It had taken a while, but she’d grown up to be her own independent woman.

She wiped at the fog the old defroster couldn’t make disappear. Her fingers came away from the windshield wet and cold. Forgetting Ben Powell was easier said than done. She’d already spent so many years trying and had obviously failed. Why else would she care what he thought of her?

Gritting her teeth, she took a corner a little too fast, the Jeep’s tires skidded and spun and she slid into the oncoming lane. From years of practice negotiating the icy roads in Alaska, she turned into the slide and guided the Cherokee back to the right-hand lane. Her heart was pounding, her hands tight around the steering wheel and she couldn’t help remembering Ben and how much she’d once loved him.

It had been summer when she’d crashed that party, a warm July night filled with the sound of crickets and thick with the scent of honeysuckle. She’d been young and reckless and anxious to experience all that life had to offer.

Because of Ben Powell. Ben with his irreverent smile, his intense hazel eyes and his promises.... Dear God, why couldn’t she forget him? Why did just the sight of him inspire memories that she’d kept locked away in a dark corner of her heart and promised herself that she’d never open?

As an old Fleetwood Mac song about the chains of love filled the interior of her vehicle she hummed along.

Despite all Carlie’s vows to herself, her mind circled backward in time to the hot summer nights that had changed the course of her life forever....