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Chapter One
The tires made a crunching sound in the crusty, packed snow along the edge of the plowed road. Crossing the highway overpass, Jonas Concannon felt the grip of nostalgia at the sight of the picturesque village nestled in the valley. A patchwork of roofs rose ahead of him, the snow melting where the chimneys were perched.
The white church spire was almost lost against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains and fields. Garlands of snow draped the trees, the full evergreens and the bare branches of the maples alike.
At the top of the small hill just before the center of town, the traffic light turned red. The car protested the forced stop on the slope of the icy street. Jonas frowned.
The light changed to green and the tires spun uselessly for several seconds. He couldn’t go forward, couldn’t go back. He put the car in first gear and gained enough traction to get over the top of the hill. There was a touch of cynicism in his half-curved smile.
Nothing had changed. At least on the surface it seemed that way. Vermont had been covered with snow when he had left it ten years earlier. Everything in the village of Randolph appeared exactly as it had then.
But it couldn’t be the same, Jonas thought. Not after ten years, no matter how much it looked like a picture postcard.
Turning onto the main street of downtown, he drove slowly across the bridge into the business district, glimpsing a few familiar faces among the bundled figures on the sidewalks.
He wondered why he’d come back, then mentally answered the question. Because he needed a respite from city life and the demands of the hospital clinic where he was completing his residency and working the longest shifts. He’d known that would happen when he’d signed on, and he was sure as hell giving it his all—but he was on the verge of burnout. Maybe it was obvious. He’d been granted time off without anyone asking too many questions.
Jonas saw an empty parking space and maneuvered the car into it. He’d told Bob and Evelyn Tyler that he would drive up on Friday, and had made good time. They wouldn’t be expecting him until late afternoon. He had plenty of time to walk around the town.
Snow was shoveled in a mound near the curb. He had to force the door into it to get out, stretching his long legs for a minute, which were cramped from hours of driving. His breath formed a vapory cloud as he stepped into the chilly air and he reached back into the car for the fleece-lined jacket lying on the passenger seat.
Shrugging into it, Jonas slammed the car door and stepped over the snow pile to the sidewalk. He didn’t bother to button the jacket. Instead he shoved his hands deep in the pockets to hold the front shut and began walking down the street.
Impervious to the freezing temperature and the overcast skies, he wandered aimlessly past the stores, gazing into shop windows and at the people he met. Several people he recognized, but he made no attempt to renew acquaintances.
A snowflake floated in the air before him, large and crystalline, and his hand reached out to catch it, triggered by a long-forgotten habit, something he used to do with Bridget. He stopped abruptly, the muscles working along his jawline as he stared at the white flake melting in his palm.
Face it, he told himself sternly, she’s why you’ve come back. You’re wandering the streets on the off chance that you’ll see her. His hand closed into a tight fist, as if to crush the snowflake and the memories it evoked.
He began walking again, more slowly, hands clenched in irritation within the pockets of his jacket. During the ten years he’d been away from Randolph, he hadn’t tried to keep in touch, not after Bob had written him that first year with the unwelcome news that Bridget was married.
It was purely by accident that he’d run into Bob and his wife in Manhattan shortly before Christmas. The giant tree at Rockefeller Center had been found and cut down in Vermont that year, then transported to New York on a flatbed trailer, arriving with the usual fanfare and news coverage. The Tylers had decided to be there for the great moment when it was lit up, officially marking the beginning of the holiday season. Jonas had been hurrying past the windswept plaza, but he’d had to squeeze through the crowds lining the sidewalk. Then a gloved hand caught him and Evelyn’s pleased squeal of recognition stopped him in his tracks. The three of them had gone out for dinner in midtown afterwards, taking in the dazzling holiday windows of the Fifth Avenue stores first.
It had been a brief reunion, with Jonas insincerely promising to come for a visit. He had never intended to come. December, January, and February passed in a blur of patients and problems … then March arrived, and his resolve weakened. The pressures of work had gotten to him in a big way. A senior physician had tactfully recommended that he take time off and Jonas hadn’t argued.
Couldn’t go forward, couldn’t go back. The line of his mouth thinned at the way he had deluded himself into believing the only reason he was returning to Randolph was for rest and relaxation. This past week when he had contacted Bob to let him know he was accepting his invitation, Jonas had carried the self-deception further by insisting no one know of his visit. And he’d specifically asked that there be no welcome-home party.
“Damn!” Jonas muttered beneath his breath. He had nothing against parties, but he hadn’t wanted to take a chance of meeting Bridget amidst a crowd of people, especially not with a few of Bob’s famously stiff drinks clouding his mind. But that was why he was here—to see Bridget again. He cursed silently in frustration, hating the inner weakness that had brought him back.
Pausing in front of a shop window, Jonas stared at his reflection framed in a pane partially steamed over. What was the saying? That you never quite get over your first love? Maybe he had returned to deal with his disappointment at last, he reasoned, or at least to find out what had happened to her. He shouldn’t even care by now.
Since he had learned she’d married within a year of his leaving, he’d tried to imagine her with three or four kids hanging on her, twenty pounds heavier, with a husband … but Jonas didn’t know the man she had married. He had even blocked the man’s name from his memory. The mere thought of that stranger lying next to Bridget, touching her silky skin, totally depressed him. A wintry frost entered his gray-green eyes.
A hand touched his shoulder. “Excuse me, but aren’t you—”
Jonas turned around. “You must be mistaken,” he snapped without sparing a second to identify the elderly woman.
Ashamed of his rudeness, he walked quickly away. Long, impatient strides carried him to the end of the block. Instead of crossing the street, he turned up the side street, wanting to avoid the traffic and people and the risk that someone else might recognize him.
Slowing his steps, Jonas raked a hand through his thick, tobacco-brown hair. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the cold air while trying to check the tide of emotion flowing through him. His nerves and muscles were stretched taut.
Looking around to get his bearings, he glanced at the shop nearest to him. Magnetically his gaze was drawn, caught by the gleam of chestnut hair on the other side of the plate glass window. For a moment his breath was stolen by the shock of recognition.
Bridget.
He’d know her face, her profile, anywhere, even blurred by the foggy shop window. He had expected that when he saw her again after ten years, he would feel curiosity and, perhaps, the pangs of long-ago desire. Actually seeing her, he felt shaken. He hadn’t anticipated such an intensely physical response or this fiery leaping of his senses. Just one glimpse of her brought back memories that were tender, sexual, and overwhelming.
She moved, disappearing from his view. Jonas knew he had to see her more closely without the distortion of the fogged glass. Through it, she had seemed unchanged, no different than when he had left ten years ago. He didn’t want that. He wanted to see her changed into someone he no longer loved.
