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It hit her suddenly that Trent was planning to leave…and soon. His month was up. He’d be going back to Denver. Without her. She’d known it was going to happen…eventually. But she had deliberately closed her mind to the thought of it. It hurt too much.
She went to him and laid her head on his chest, circling her arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Trent.”
His hand came up to stroke her hair. Beneath her cheek she felt his heart thundering like a freight train. “Go to bed,” he said softly. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Twelve
Trent saddled his horse and headed out, following the route he and Bryn had taken to the cabin. But tonight Trent pushed his mount, skirting the edge of recklessness, trying to outrun the barrage of thoughts whirling in his brain. Every word of the damn letters was emblazoned in his memory. And it hurt. After all these years, his mother’s betrayal hurt.
And then there was Bryn. What was he going to do about Bryn? From the moment he’d set eyes on Allen, he’d been consumed by guilt. The kid was Jesse’s son, no question. Yet, six years ago they had thrown Bryn out in the street. Like she was some sort of sinner. And all along, Jesse had stood by and let it happen.
Dammit. What an unholy mess.
Trent couldn’t lie to himself any longer. He was head over heels in love with Bryn. And it wasn’t something that was going to magically go away. Hell, he’d been half in love with her for years. She was his heart, the very essence of who he was. And whatever it took, he couldn’t lose her.
He’d been an ass about Allen. He didn’t know much about children, and the fact that the boy was Jesse’s son hit Trent hard. He was only the uncle, but the bare truth was, he wanted to be the boy’s father. And if Jesse wasn’t Mac’s son… Good God.
And still he rode on, paying penance, seeking answers, looking for absolution.
Bryn barely slept. Every time she rolled over to look at the illuminated dial of the clock, only an hour had passed…sometimes less. Her whole life hung in the balance. For years she had assumed that her son would one day take his place as a Sinclair. And she had believed that such a moment would cement the fact, once and for all, that the ranch would always be her home, no matter where she actually chose to live.
Deep in her soul she recognized a connection to the land here. Perhaps it was unwarranted. Her parents had been no more than hired help on the Sinclair ranch. But that reality couldn’t change the way she felt.
And Trent…dear, complicated Trent. She loved him beyond reason. Loved him enough to know that no other man would ever measure up. She didn’t want to spend her life alone, but it would take a long, long time to forget the imprint Trent had made on her soul.
Jesse might have been the one who took her virginity, but Trent had showed her what it meant to be a woman.
An early morning walk calmed some of her agitation and made it possible for Bryn to greet her son and aunt across the breakfast table with some degree of equanimity. Beverly and the nurse carried on a lively conversation. Mac’s mood was jovial, and no one remarked on Trent’s absence. An empty cereal bowl and coffee cup were evidence that he’d been up early.
Allen finished off his pancakes and turned, bright-eyed, toward his mom. “What are we going to do today?”
Bryn had thought about letting him explore the attic—she’d loved doing that as a child—but she worried that the dust might aggravate his asthma. He wasn’t going to be content with puzzles and board games now that he was feeling better. Inspiration hit her. “Come with me,” she said. “I have a surprise for you.”
With Allen bouncing along beside her, she went to the large family room and opened the cabinet that stored all the leather-bound picture albums. Gage, Mac’s second son, had developed a passion for photography early in life, and Mac had indulged him with fancy and expensive cameras, lenses and developing equipment. Mac could never have imagined in those early days how Gage’s love of photography, combined with a strong wanderlust, would take him to far-flung places across the globe.
Bryn opened one of the early albums and spread it in Allen’s lap. Her throat tightened as she recognized a long-forgotten photo. It was one of the rare instances where Gage was actually “in” the picture, and Mac had been the photographer. Five children, four boys and a girl, sat on the top corral rail, their legs dangling. The three older brothers bore a striking resemblance, though Trent, probably twelve or thirteen, stood out as the eldest.
