Three

He’d done everything in his power to forget her. It had never been enough.

Yet here he was.

Warren didn’t dare to contemplate what workings of fate had brought him to this moment, standing with the heat of the fire at his back and tension in every cell of his body as he watched Honey bustling about with quick, efficient movements.

Anger still flashed in her eyes every time their gazes accidentally caught and held. But her anger couldn’t hide her anxiety. She was nervous.

Dammit, so was he.

Nervous, confused, and fighting hard to control his arousal now that he was alone with her.

Passion had never been a problem between them seven years ago. Honey had been a sweet, vivacious young woman, just coming into herself after growing up a tomboy hellion with her twin brother. And Warren had been an optimistic young man just out of college with his sights set on the future.

No. Desire hadn’t been a problem. It had hit them both like lightning from the start.

Perhaps Warren had been naive to think something deeper and more lasting came along with it.

When he got the urgent notice that his father was unwell, he’d packed up without a second thought. Frederick Reed’s heart had never been very strong, and Warren had feared the worst. He hadn’t been wrong, and he never regretted leaving Montana to be at his father’s side when he died.

What he did regret, for a while at least, was leaving Honey behind with the vow to return for her as soon as he was able. He should have taken her with him to Boston right then.

Of course, then he never would have discovered the fickle nature of her heart or just how easy it would be for John Freeman to step in and claim her.

Freeman had been a local land baron in Montana, owning just about every parcel worth owning and still wanting more. He had been a frequent presence at Randolph Brighton’s modest ranch, doing all he could to get Warren’s uncle to sell his property.

The man was a bully.

After Warren left, he had also become Honey’s husband.

That thought still managed to send an arc of raw pain through his insides. It was the kind of pain that had nearly suffocated him. He’d saved himself back then by throwing himself into his studies and then his work at the research hospital in Philadelphia.

It was only recently that he had begun to think of his time out West without the old heartache tearing through him. He remembered instead the way he’d been awed and inspired by the grandeur and power of the Rockies. The way the mountain air had stirred his soul and the great, expansive wilderness could spread around a person for miles. He’d begun to crave the wide-open spaces, the sunshine, and the meadows.

He’d come out West again, seeking that feeling of freedom. He had not expected to see Honey. He’d convinced himself he never wanted to.

It was the biggest lie he’d ever told himself.

With gritted teeth he turned away, then downed the last of the coffee, welcoming the bitter path it took down his throat.

Shoving thoughts of the past out of his mind, he strode down the hall to check on his patient. The bullet had not hit an artery, though it had torn an angry path into the biceps femoris muscle that ran down the back of Luke’s thigh. Assuming he recovered from the blood loss and managed to avoid infection, there was still a possibility his muscle would not retain its full capability.

At present, Luke slept soundly. His breathing remained even and his body was not raging with fever. Yet.

Warren didn’t care when they intended to bring him back to town; he wasn’t leaving until he was certain the threat of infection had passed. After making sure there was no further bleeding from the wound site, he ventured back out toward the front room.

Honey was sitting at the end of the sofa by the fireplace with a cup of coffee wrapped in her hands, staring into the flames. She had added some wood to the fire and sat huddled, her legs tucked beneath her, her skirts drawn close over her feet, a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

Warren stopped in the doorway to watch her.

More than this, he soaked in the sight of her.

He wanted to hate her for marrying Freeman within only a few months of his leaving. But he could understand why she may have been seduced by the security and wealth Freeman offered.

Honey’s father had been a miner until he died in a tunnel collapse when she was a young girl. Her mother was a frail woman, susceptible to lung ailments, and though Mrs. Prentice had done what she could to provide for her two children, the small bit of income she earned from sewing was not enough. Honey and Luke both had to help out from a young age. And with Luke rebelling every chance he got, Honey was often left to make up the difference.

The first time Warren saw her was out behind the laundry where she worked most days. She had been hanging clothes on the lines to dry, and there was something so beautiful in the way the summer breeze lifted the gold-blond strands of her hair, falling free down her back. And the way she smiled as she hummed a tune he could barely hear. It was that smile that initially drew him nearer, but it was her warm brown eyes and the light constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks that had him sticking around to strike up a flirtation.

She had been reserved and wary at first, but Warren had drawn her out, and soon she was teasing him for his city-slicker ways and what she called his “fancified” manners.

Their mutual attraction had been instantaneous and intense. Within a few weeks, he knew he wanted to marry her. A few weeks after that, she gifted him with her innocence on a night filled with romance and youthful passion.

Honey Prentice had completely stolen his heart that summer, and as he stared at her now, seven years later, he admitted to himself that despite her callous disregard, she held it still.

That realization was like a fist to the gut. But it was no less true. He felt it in every living cell of his body. Despite everything, he still loved her.

“Why are you here?”

Her softly muttered words jolted him out of his unexpected revelation. She didn’t turn to look at him when she spoke, and he wondered how long she had been aware of his presence.

“Your brother’s men—”

“No,” she interrupted sharply. “I mean, why did you come back out West?”

How could he explain that the land had called to him? That the only reason he had stayed away as long as he had was to avoid her. Avoid the memories.

“I wouldn’t have come, if I’d known you would be here.”

She flinched at his reply. Her shoulders curved inward and her chin dropped a notch before she forced it back up.

Warren wondered at the reaction. He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. Then again, maybe he had. A part of him wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him.

He came forward to retrieve his coffee cup and refilled it from the pot on the stove. Then he turned back to her, trying to remember his manners. “Would you like more coffee?”

She looked down at her cup before nodding silently and holding it out toward him.

“I will watch Luke through the night, if you want to get some rest,” he said as he replaced the pot and took a seat in one of the side chairs. Sharing the sofa with her would be far too intimate.

“I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” she answered.

She kept her focus trained on the flames as she sipped her coffee. Then, still without glancing his way, she asked, “I am surprised your wife would so willingly move out to the wilderness.”

“I have no wife.”

His reply brought her gaze flying to meet his. The sudden connection sent arcs of electric awareness through his body. She was surprised by his answer.

“Did she die?” she asked, her voice tight.

Warren frowned. “I never married.”

Her breath seemed to catch in her chest and distress spread across her features. Before he could question her reaction, she rose to her feet and walked to the corner of the kitchen, as far from Warren as she could get.

Confused, he did the only thing he could. He followed her.