LITMIR.BIZ

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bothering her. Why were there no sketches of the boy’s mother?

      Using her cane, she walked about the large room, thinking she’d run across one or two. Not even on the easel. Feeling as if she were invading his privacy, she hobbled down the hallway and peeked into the other bedroom, staying in the doorway. No pictures or sketches on the high six-drawer dresser or on the nightstand.

      The closet door was open and, just as she’d suspected, no woman’s clothes hung alongside Sean’s. She’d assumed as much when he’d loaned her his mother’s clothes rather than his wife’s. She returned to the central room, her mind filled with questions.

      Why had he removed all traces of his wife, yet kept his son’s room as it probably was when the boy had been alive? Interesting. Had they been divorced before the boy and mother died? Or had he loved his wife so much he didn’t want any reminders around?

      Wandering over to the couch, Laura sat down, drawing her legs up in order to rest her ankle. Having finished eating, Max was already snuggled into several pillows at the far end.

      No, the scenario about loving his wife so much didn’t compute because he obviously loved his son and kept lots of reminders around. She wondered if his home in Scottsdale also had some of the boy’s things in it, a room dedicated to Danny’s memory, but all traces of the wife erased. Probably not that unusual a thing to do, but it didn’t seem altogether healthy.

      Stretching out, she decided that Sean’s problems were his own business and she was certain he wouldn’t appreciate her meddling in them. Glancing down, she saw her handbag on the floor, remembering that Sean had brought it in last night when he’d rescued Max. Maybe something inside would trigger her memory of why she’d felt compelled to leave Scottsdale in such a hurry.

      Rummaging through, she found the usual things: her checkbook, her wallet, sunglasses, a small makeup case, which she really ought to make use of, a notepad with a couple of phone numbers scribbled on it. Her keys were missing, probably still in the ignition. There was a small bottle of aspirin, some tissues and two pens plus her birth control pills. Laura dry-swallowed one right away.

      Still poking around, her fingers found a card, which she drew out to study. Marc Abbott, Sales Consultant, Commercial Division, Marshall Realty.

      Staring at the card, Laura wondered how long it had been at the bottom of her purse. She felt a chill just looking at his card. She and Marc had divorced two years ago, so the card had to have been in there quite awhile. How peacock proud he’d been of his position at her father’s company. Leaning her head back, she wondered all over again how on earth she’d fallen for Marc’s glib charm.

      Because she’d been needy. Because he’d been charming and attentive, and Laura had felt admired and desired for the first time in her life. He was a good con man, she’d give him that, and in her naiveté, she’d totally misread him. Even now, years later, she still chafed at how foolishly trusting she’d been. An easy mark for a man like Marc, a polished smoothie.

      Despite the fact that she’d been graduated and out of college for two years when she met Marc, she’d been surprisingly innocent by today’s standards. He’d been handsome and funny with an engaging personality that made him fun to be with. He’d joined Marshall Realty, a very ambitious young man with big plans for his future that he kept under wraps as he started moving up the company ladder.

      Laura ran into him at a company meeting, only later learning that he’d maneuvered the whole thing, that Owen Marshall’s only daughter and heir was very necessary to his plans. They started dating, and to say he overwhelmed her would be putting it mildly. She’d never had a serious relationship before, so quite naturally, she fell hard and fast. In short order, well aware that her father would disapprove, they eloped.

      Eventually Owen came around, putting Marc in charge of commercial acquisitions, and he even began building a home for them in Paradise Valley not far from his own. Laura continued her work for the company, but her personal happiness was short-lived. It wasn’t long before Marc was seldom home in their small apartment, using business as an excuse. She began to wonder if she’d married a workaholic like her father.

      The first night he came home quite drunk with lipstick on his collar was a harsh awakening for Laura. When he sobered up, she confronted him. Marc explained that he’d bumped into a married friend whose wife had kissed his cheek and missed. Because she desperately wanted her marriage to work, she’d forced herself to believe him.

      But there was a second incident not long after, and a third truly ugly one that occurred when Laura went out to dinner with her two college roommates on a night Marc was supposedly closing a big deal. They were scarcely seated when they spotted Marc across the room sitting close to a curvaceous redhead, holding her hand, nibbling her ear. Oblivious to those around them, they sipped champagne and smiled at each other seductively. Hurt and humiliated, Laura threw him out of their apartment that same night, tossing all his belongings onto the lawn.

      Marc approached her the next day, pleading and contrite. But her father had come through for her for the first and only time in her life in a way she hadn’t suspected he would. Owen informed Marc that Laura was filing for divorce and he was to clean out his desk. By the look on Marc’s handsome, crestfallen face, she came to the conclusion that losing his job at Marshall Realty hurt more than losing Laura. It wasn’t until the following week that she learned he’d cleaned out their two bank accounts.

      By then, she was not even surprised, nor did she care overly much. It was worth it to get rid of Marc Abbott once and for all. She found it very difficult to go back to work where everyone knew of Marc’s betrayal, but she disliked cowardly behavior. So, holding her head up high, she’d shown up at her office, vowing never to be taken advantage of by a man again.

      Trusting blindly had cost her dearly, and not just monetarily. The residual effects were still alive within her. As soon as the divorce was final, she bought a spacious condo in Old Scottsdale and took back her maiden name, wanting no reminders of her brief marriage.

      Deliberately, she tore Marc’s former business card in half, then again and once more. No ashtray on the end table so she tossed the pieces into her purse and got up. A headache was beginning just above her eyes—perhaps from remembering such an unpleasant episode or maybe because she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

      Using the umbrella cane, she went to the kitchen and made herself a piece of toast. Nibbling on it, she looked out the window and caught a glimpse of Sean at the side of the house splitting logs. She hoped the exercise would chase away the sadness she’d seen on his face at the mention of his son. Everyone, it seemed, had problems, some worse than others.

      Peeking into the refrigerator, she found an assortment of vegetables and several cuts of wrapped meat in the drawer. Sean would undoubtedly be cold when he came in and maybe hungry. Laura loved to cook, much preferred a homemade meal to eating out. Setting the makings for soup on the counter, she hobbled about the kitchen, amazed at how convenient it was with all the latest new appliances. Sean had done a remarkable job.

      She found a large pot and put it on the stove, then began cleaning vegetables. So the man was a doctor with an undoubtedly busy practice, a sketch artist who probably could sell his work if he put his mind to it, and he also built this house. There seemed very little Sean Reagan couldn’t do.

      Impressive, talented and handsome, as well. Gazing out the window over the kitchen sink, Laura wondered what had gone wrong in his marriage, because she had a feeling something terrible had. He seemed more angry than grief-stricken. A story there somewhere, she was certain.

      On the porch, his hands inside his gloves nearly numb, Sean stomped snow off his boots before going inside. The clock on the mantel told him he’d been out well over an hour. No wonder he was cold. He tugged off his gloves, hung up his coat and pulled off his boots. After slipping his feet into the moccasins he’d left by the hearth, he brushed snow out of his hair and stood warming his hands.

      Pulling in a deep breath, he became aware of a delicious smell.

      Glancing toward the kitchen, he saw Laura stirring a big pot on the stove. Had to be soup or stew,

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