Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch - B.J. Daniels [61]
She pulled in beside his patrol car and got out, seeming to hesitate. She was wearing a red fleece jacket, her dark hair tucked up under a navy stocking cap. A few strands whipped around her face as she stared at the cabin.
He opened the front door and stood looking at her. A small drift had formed just outside the door and now ran across the porch. The steps down had disappeared, the snow smooth and deep.
He met her gaze through dancing snowflakes, then reached for the shovel. But before he could clean off the steps, she was coming up them, all hesitation gone.
To his utter shock, she rushed to him. He took her in his arms, now truly afraid.
"I'm sorry." Her words were barely audible over the howl of the wind across the roof. "I'm so sorry."
He held her, his heart in his throat. He hugged her to him, breathing in the smell of her. God, how he'd missed that scent. But what could she possibly be sorry about?
Holding her felt so good, he hated it when she stepped from his arms and went inside the cabin. He followed, closing the door to the wind and snow.
She had walked to the fireplace. When she turned, he saw the tears. Dana crying. He could count on one hand the times he'd seen that. His fear escalated.
"Whatever it is, I'll help you," he said, wanting to hold her again but afraid to step toward her.
She let out a laugh at his words and shook her head. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. "I haven't killed anyone. Although it did cross my mind." She sobered, her gaze locked on his. "I talked to my sister."
His heart dislodged from his throat and dropped to his stomach.
She jerked her cap from her head, shaking off the snow as her hair fell around her shoulders. "She told me everything."
He didn't move—didn't breathe. He'd told himself that he'd come back here to learn everything that had happened that night but now he wasn't so sure he wanted to know.
"You were right. She lied. She was sent to the bar to drug you, get you out of there before the drug completely knocked you out and take you to her place. It was just as you suspected—" her voice broke, eyes shimmering with tears "—nothing happened. You were set up." A tear trailed down her cheek. "We were set up."
It took him a moment. So it had been just as he'd believed in his heart. No matter how drunk he might have been, he wouldn't have bedded Dana's sister or any other woman for that matter. He'd known it. And yet he'd feared that for that night, he'd lost his mind and his way.
"I'm so sorry I didn't believe you. That I didn't even give you a chance to explain."
He found himself shaking with relief and anger as he stepped to Dana and pulled her into his arms again. "I couldn't have explained it. That's why I left. I thought it would be easier on you if you never had to see me again."
"But you came back."
"Thanks to your sister."
Dana raised her head to look into his face. "Stacy sent you the note?"
He nodded. "I found the birthday card she mailed you, the one you'd thrown away. It was under the box of chocolates. I recognized the handwriting."
"So she was responsible for you coming back." She leaned into him again.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. Her hair felt like silk. Her body softened against his. He could feel his heart pounding. Nothing had happened that night. He closed his eyes and pulled Dana even closer, wishing he could turn back the clock. These wasted years apart felt like a chasm between them.
* * *
"I SHOULD HAVE trusted you." Dana hadn't believed that he'd been set up, that nothing had happened. She hadn't loved him enough. If she'd trusted him, if she'd even let him tell her his side of the story…
"Hey, there were times I didn't believe in my innocence myself," he said, holding her at arm's length to look into her face. "I thought maybe I'd lost my mind. Or worse, that I was about to become my father."
The blaze in the fireplace popped and cracked, the flames throwing shadows on the walls. She could hear the wind howling outside.