Chapter 21

DAKOTA

I SAT in the living room among our new furniture and waited for Sam. Nervous butterflies twittered in my stomach. It felt like a first date instead of a married couple going out for dinner. We spent more time apart than together these days. I missed him terribly, the tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes lit whenever he saw me. For the tenth time, I went to the mirror in the hall and checked my outfit. The filmy dress flattered my cleavage and skimmed over the thickness of my waist. The bright blue color brought out the aqua flecks in my eyes. I smoothed a hand over my hair.

A glance at my phone showed it was after nine. This wasn’t like Sam at all. He hated tardiness. I tapped out a quick text and waited for his response. Maybe his flight was late. Maybe he’d hit traffic. Maybe he was on a conference call that ran long. A million excuses ran through my head but didn’t lessen the anxiety squeezing my chest. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.

“Hi, Dakota.” Xavier’s clear, confident voice greeted me. “Sam’s been delayed with some business issues. He wanted me to let you know he’s sorry, but it’s going to be another hour before he can get there. He’s not going to make dinner. He said you could go on without him, or he’ll see you at home later.”

Another hour? I’d never make it. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute. My emotions wavered between disappointment and irritation. It wasn’t the first time he’d cancelled our personal plans for business, but it was the first time I felt second to his work. “It’s okay. I’m tired. Tell him I’m going to bed, and I’ll see him later.”

My footsteps thundered up the staircase and echoed down the hall. Inside the bedroom, I removed my dress and hung it in the large walk-in closet. The more I thought about the evening’s turn of events, the more hurt I became. In short, jerky movements I pulled on a cotton nightshirt, one smattered with pink kittens chasing a ball of yarn. Through the open windows, the expanse of Laurel Lake loomed dark and gloomy. On the opposite shore, house lights twinkled. I imagined the happy families inside, laughing and enjoying the night together.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Dakota. I tried to reason away the thoughts of insecurity and annoyance. I’d married a high-powered executive, one who worked long hours and excelled at his job. I knew, going into this marriage, the type of man Sam had become. His work consumed his life. That dedication had made him successful. It didn’t mean he loved me any less.

I tossed and turned on the expansive bed but couldn’t find a comfortable position. Was this the way it would be for the rest of our lives? Would I always be at home waiting, raising our children alone?

After a few more restless minutes, my stomach growled in protest. I threw back the covers and wandered downstairs. Stillness floated on the air. I missed the city sounds of sirens, car horns, and the occasional shout from a drunken pedestrian. This place would suit our children, though.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen and ran smack into a tree. No, not a tree, a wall of male muscle. My scream echoed around the room. Strong fingers wrapped around my biceps. I raised a knee into the intruder’s crotch. He dodged to the side but didn’t release his hold.

“Mrs. Seaforth, please.” A familiar voice cut through the darkness.

“Chandler?” My heart pounded furiously against my ribs. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” He eased back a step, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I saw that the alarm wasn’t set. I came to check it out.”

I flipped on the overhead light. Chandler shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and moved another pace away. A deep rose blush climbed into his high cheekbones. Disheveled hair curled at the nape of his neck. A tight-fitting wife beater T-shirt clung to the dips and swells of a torso taut with muscle. I’d never really looked at him before. I was always too busy ignoring him to notice that he was quite attractive.

“Is everything okay?” I crossed my arms over my chest, realizing that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” He lifted his chin, a mask of professionalism chilling his features. “I didn’t mean to be creeping around your kitchen. I thought you were upstairs.”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I’m starving.” Mrs. Pittman’s roast beckoned to me from the refrigerator. “I’m going to heat up some leftovers.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He backed toward the shadows of the hallway.

This stranger lived in my house and knew the most intimate details of my life, but I knew nothing about him. Not his last name, where he came from, nor how he’d gotten a job with Sam. Before I could overthink my choice, I called out his name.

“Are you hungry?” I asked as I opened the refrigerator and drew out the roast. “How about a sandwich?”

“Um, I should probably head to my room.” He gazed longingly at the plump roast, perfectly browned and speckled with spices.

“Please stay. I hate eating alone, and this place seems so big when it’s empty.”

“Well, okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind.” He smiled for the first time since I’d known him and slid into a barstool.

I heated up the roast and found a loaf of fresh baked bread for sandwiches. Not only was Mrs. Pittman a militant housekeeper, she was also a skilled cook. As the flavors of rosemary and garlic burst over my tongue, I reconsidered my former opinions of her. At my urging, Chandler heaped his plate with two sandwiches and a mountain of salad. He moaned in appreciation after the first bite.

“This is really good,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve had a decent meal since I moved here.”

“Oh really? Where are you from?” I settled into a barstool next to him and loaded a baked potato with butter and sour cream.

“Montana.”

“Montana’s a long way from Laurel Falls. I bet your family misses you.” I nudged the plate of potatoes toward him.

“My parents are there. And my brother and sister.” His shoulders drooped at the mention of his relatives.

“So how’d you get to Laurel Falls?” Seeing his crestfallen expression, I changed the subject.

He cocked his head and gave me a sidelong glance, as if I should already know the answer. “I came here to work for you.”

“Seriously?” The idea that anyone would relocate in order to follow me around all day came as a shock. “Why?”

“The chance to guard Samuel Seaforth’s wife is a huge honor, ma’am.” Under the warm glow of the overhead lights and surrounded by buttery yellow walls, he seemed to relax. “I get a nice place to live and to travel—all expenses paid—and the salary isn’t bad, either.”

I had no idea what Sam was paying Chandler and made a mental note to dig into our financial status a little deeper. Sam always told me not to worry about such things, that we had accountants to handle our expenses. The secrecy festered inside me like an infected splinter. If Sam truly trusted me with his money, the status of our accounts shouldn’t matter. Even after Sam’s financial crisis, everyone seemed to think we were loaded. I didn’t care one way or another, but it would nice to know where we stood. The better part of my life had been spent pinching pennies. If I didn’t have to worry about money, it would be one less concern to cloud my days.

“So, how did you get into this line of work?”

“I was injured in Afghanistan and honorably discharged from service.” With his left hand, he rubbed his ribcage, as if soothing an ache. “Special Forces. My girl left me a few months before I came home. When this opportunity came up, it seemed like a good way to start over.”

“Thank you for your service,” I said. On impulse, I covered his hand with mine. He seemed too young to have sacrificed so much for his country. My heart ached for his loss. His confession put me in my place and gave new perspective to my problems. I had everything going for me, and aside from a few inconvenient hiccups, my life looked pretty good.