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~ Excerpt ~

She rounded the corner to her house, and for an instant, she was thrown back into a treasured past.

On her front lawn, the man who had been her life played football with the boy who had been their precious, unexpected gift.

Her heart bloomed like roses after rain, the sweet redolence intoxicating, almost too rich to bear.

Then Malcolm turned, and she saw the silver in his hair, the lines on his face.

And with painful clarity, Cleo crashed back into the present.

He was not her love anymore. And that was not their love child.

But he'd kept her drawing.

Worn out from the emotional tug-of-war, she stopped in the driveway and emerged from her car.

Benjy tore across the lawn, shouting, "Nana, look! Me and Gramps are playing football."

She knelt on the grass, and Benjy hurtled into her embrace. She inhaled the tangy smell of little boy and closed her eyes to savor the feel of his arms around her neck, his weight against her.

Then she opened her eyes, and there was Malcolm. His dark gaze was as haunted as the hollows of her heart.

Oh, Malcolm, where did we lose it? Why did we let it go? Why couldn't we comfort one another?

Her lips parted, the words thick and full and aching in her throat—

"Nana, I made a touchdown! Gramps couldn't catch me. Could you, Gramps?"

Malcolm's gaze jerked away. "Too fast for me, sport." He grinned, eyebrows waggling. "But I'm feeling lucky now." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Let's see whatcha got, big guy. Bet you can't do it again."

Benjy tore off in a flash.

Malcolm helped her rise, his touch achingly familiar. Those moments in his office had paralyzed both of them.

"Snow—" he began.

"Come on, Nana," Benjy called out. "Mom can be on my side and you can be with Gramps."

It was then that she noticed Ria standing on the porch. Ria stared at Malcolm's hand on her elbow. In her eyes was not the scorn Cleo expected. Instead, Ria seemed almost...wistful.

"Gramps, you ready? Nana?"

Cleo glanced away from her daughter. "Benjy, I'm sorry. I have groceries in the car, and Aunt Cammie's waiting for them."

"We'll help," Malcolm said. "We've got work to do, my man."

He reached inside the car and parceled out bags, saving the heaviest load for himself. Cleo held the front door, watching him turn and shove the car door closed with his foot, and once more, memory assaulted her.

Ria was bigger and Benjy smaller than the boy and girl who had once performed this chore. The man had silver in his hair and was no longer her husband.

But for a moment, it all felt so normal. So...right.

Malcolm stopped before her, nodding for her to precede him. "Beauty first, Snow."

Once she would have lifted to tiptoe and kissed that cheek with its five o'clock shadow. That she could yearn to do it now rattled her as nothing had in a very long time.

So she shook her head. "No. Go ahead." She took a step backward and stared at the ground.

Malcolm started through, then paused, as if about to say something.

Cleo wanted him to speak almost as much as she wished he would go away.

"Daddy?"

They both jolted at Ria's voice. Malcolm was so close that Cleo could inhale the scent of him, once so beloved and reassuring.

"Would you stay and have supper with us? Aunt Cammie says there's plenty." Ria's voice sounded young. Uncertain. Pleading.

Malcolm cast Cleo a glance, granting her the final say.

"Mother? You don't mind, do you?" Her daughter's too-slight body tensed for disappointment.

Cleo didn't know what her answer would have been. Before she had a chance to respond, Malcolm did. "I'm sorry, Ria. I wish I could, but—"

He didn't have to speak the words. Suddenly, the young, beautiful woman Cleo had never met rose like a specter filling the room. Reminding her that all their memories were only that—old times ground into dust, ashes scattered on the wind.

Ria's shoulders drooped.

Cleo's back straightened as she wrangled her voice into brisk unconcern. "We'd better not monopolize any more of your time. Ria, why don't you take one of these bags and I'll carry the other, so Malcolm can go."

Malcolm's hand stopped hers as she reached for the sack nearest her. She was desperate to get out of the room that had abruptly turned airless.

"I'm sorry, Ria." His words were directed at their daughter, but his gaze was squarely on Cleo, commanding her to look. "I really wish I could." He held her fast, dark eyes searching. And seemed truly remorseful.

Cleo dragged a breath into her starved lungs, fighting what he made her feel. Resenting that she, too, longed for him to stay. Despising the treacherous lure of their past.

Malcolm had his life, and she had hers. Ria's arrival had disturbed the order, and they would have to adjust, but they were both reasonable people, and they would.

Right now, though, she needed to be alone. Away from Malcolm's scent, from the pull of his dark eyes.

"Perhaps another time," she murmured.

With careful steps, Cleo headed for the kitchen.