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If he had the energy, he’d rip off her nightgown, but he didn’t. Instead he just held her and wondered vaguely what the hell he was doing.
She said nothing, and after a while he heard the door close and the dark envelop them. The last thing he remembered was her scent and her soft breathing at his side.
Hours later when he awoke she was gone. Of course. In God’s name, what had he been thinking?
The gray light outside the window told him it was already dawn. The baby must be fed and changed, apologies made to Winifred.
He gritted his teeth and rolled away from the light. He couldn’t face any of it just yet. He shucked the rest of his clothes, gulped the now-cold coffee and ate the last slice of toast. Then he crawled beneath the quilt and closed his eyes.
Zane slept around the clock. Winifred kept the baby downstairs with her so her hungry cries would not wake him. Sam retrieved the tray of coffee and Yan Li made more for her breakfast. Both of them urged Winifred to eat something, but she couldn’t.
She’d spent half the night beside Zane, but she knew he would never remember any of it, or the things he had said. He’d been up two straight nights; he must have been only half-conscious.
With a start she plunked down her coffee cup. She would never forget any of it. She would never forget how she felt when Zane touched her skin, unpinned her hair. She’d felt shaky inside, and so happy it was...it was like a strange and beautiful dream.
She must not feel such things for this man! He was her sister’s husband, her brother-in-law. Such relationships were impossible.
Late in the morning Zane finally came downstairs, his shirt rumpled and his uncombed dark hair falling into his eyes.
Winifred heard his voice from the library where she sat on the floor next to Rosemarie in her basket.
“Sam?”
“You call, Boss?”
“Any coffee left?”
“Oh, yes. Fresh pot. Also good eggs Yan Li cook.”
Zane collapsed into a dining chair and let Sam and Yan Li fuss over him. Winifred had breakfasted hours ago, but she came in from the library and sat down across from him.
“Dr. Graham stopped in an hour ago. He says Mrs. Sorensen is doing well.”
Zane nodded. “I’d still like to shoot that sonofa—”
He broke off as the doorbell rang. Sam streaked to the entry hall, and Winifred heard his voice, then the voice of Charlie Kincaid, the stationmaster.
“Telegram for Miss Von Dannen.”
Winifred half rose from her chair as Sam laid it in her hand. She ripped it open with shaking fingers and felt the blood drain from her head.
Zane looked up. “What is it?”
“Millicent, my fellow professor at the conservatory—she has had an accident. Her wrist is broken and she has committed to a concert in ten days. She wants me to play in her place.”
“Can you do that? Just step in at the last minute?”
“I—I will have to try. But it means I must return to St. Louis as soon as possible.”
“There’s a train for the East every day at noon,” Zane said. “I’ll drive you to the station.”
Winifred was packed and ready in an hour. Leaving this time was more difficult than she’d expected. Sam pressed a packet of cheese and cold chicken into her hand, and Yan Li hugged her, sniffing back tears.
But the worst part was Rosemarie, who cried and clung to her neck until Yan Li pried her arms free and cuddled her against her shoulder.
Winifred closed the front door against the baby’s wails and walked resolutely down the porch steps. Everything in her screamed “stay,” but of course she could not. She had professional obligations to fulfill.
And there was something else. While she adored her niece, she knew she had no business being in Zane’s life.
He handed her into the buggy and wrapped a fur robe about her knees. They rode in silence down the hill to the station, and he went inside to purchase her ticket.
She watched his tall form disappear into the station house and felt a queer heaviness settle under her breastbone. He was a good man. A wonderful man.
She would miss him.
They waited for the train without speaking. As before, Zane paced up the tracks and back, his hands jammed in the pockets of his overcoat, the wind ruffling his dark hair. Each time he returned to her side he held her gaze, his gray eyes somber.
At last the locomotive whistle sounded. Winifred started forward, but Zane stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Winifred, about last night...”
“It’s all right, Zane. I understand. You were exhausted, and I—”
