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A bell tinkled above his head as he opened the door and walked in. Bridget’s back was to the door, but she didn’t turn around. Jonas paused inside, staring at her and feeling the years roll away.
A bulky pullover in forest green gave an initial impression of shapelessness until his gaze slid to the tailored wool pants of winter white she wore. He couldn’t help but admire the slenderness of her hips and the rounded firmness of her buttocks.
Her figure hadn’t changed more than an inch in ten years. She turned slightly at an angle and Jonas corrected his assessment. Not even the bulky sweater could conceal the sensual fullness of her breasts under the heavy knit.
Fire spread through his veins and he swore inwardly at the desire the sight of her was arousing. It wasn’t what he wanted to feel. He wanted to be indifferent, distantly amused that he had once been attracted to her. He lifted his gaze to her oval face, hardening himself against its classic beauty.
Her complexion seemed paler, the innocence gone, only the freshness remaining. There was a strained look to her mouth, a forced curve to her lips as she smiled at the woman standing in front of her. Jonas remembered the way her hazel eyes used to sparkle. When he looked at them, he found them luminous and bright but lacking that certain something.
It was a full second before he realized Bridget wasn’t looking at the woman before her but staring beyond at something else. His gaze shifted to locate the object of her intense interest and encountered her image in a mirror placed in a corner so the shopkeeper could always see who entered the store.
Jonas realized that she had seen him almost from the instant he walked in. While he saw her reflection, Bridget saw his, the mirror locking their eyes until she sharply averted her head.
He waited for her to acknowledge him, to voice the recognition that had been in her eyes. But she gave not the slightest indication that she was even aware he was in the shop. All her attention was directed at the woman with her. The low, vibrant pitch of her voice that he remembered so well was not for him.
The impulse to force the moment of confrontation surged through him, but he checked it, steeling himself to wait. A frown creased his forehead when Bridget walked behind the cash register counter, entering the sale and packaging several skeins of yarn for the woman. It struck him only then that she worked in the shop.
“Don’t forget to call me when that dazzle yam comes in, Bridget,” the woman reminded her as she picked up her sack and turned toward the door.
“I won’t.”
At the last minute, Jonas realized he was blocking the exit and stepped to one side, nodding at the woman when she walked past him. She gave him a curious look and he wondered why, until it occurred to him that a yarn shop didn’t get a whole lot of men coming in. The bell above the door dinged briefly and the woman was gone.
All thought about Bridget working in the store vanished at the knowledge that there were only the two of them. There were no other customers. They were alone and Bridget couldn’t ignore him any longer.
“Hello, Jonas.”
So cool, so composed. Jonas seethed at her calmness. She could have been greeting a casual acquaintance instead of a man she had once sworn she would never stop loving. But, of course, she had stopped loving him.
That was evident by the gold wedding band she wore on her ring finger. A cold feeling seized Jonas, though he didn’t even know the man who had put it there. But that unknown someone was entitled to certain rights from Bridget that Jonas couldn’t claim.
“Hello, Bridget.” He walked to the counter where she stood.
“You’re looking well,” she offered politely without extending a hand in friendly greeting.
On second thought, Jonas decided that was best. A handshake would have been a farcical gesture considering their previous relationship. He kept his hands in his pockets, an elemental tension crackling through his body.
“So are you.” He returned the compliment, letting his gaze skim over her face and figure. Alert to what she might be thinking—was this encounter affecting her as much as it affected him?—he saw her stiffen slightly under his deliberately intimate inspection. Just as quickly she relaxed, tipping her head to a vaguely inquiring angle.
“What brings you back to Randolph?”
He watched her lips form the words and their final curve into a courteous smile of interest at his expected answer. He remembered their softness, their responsiveness beneath the pressure of his. Passion lurked beneath her calm exterior and he knew how to arouse it.
Hadn’t he been the one to awaken Bridget in that way? And hadn’t she responded like the woman she was? It was on the tip of his tongue to admit that she was the reason he had returned. Just in time, he remembered that another man was first in her life.
“I’m here visiting Bob over the weekend,” he explained.
“Bob Tyler? Yes, he mentioned that he saw you before Christmas.” Bridget nodded, her chestnut hair gleaming with a golden sheen from the overhead light. “He said that you’d promised to come for a visit, but I didn’t think you really would.”
“Didn’t you? Why?” challenged Jonas, not liking the insinuation he sensed behind the remark. Regardless of the doubt he had felt at the time, events had proved he’d been right to leave ten years ago.
The bell above the door chimed loudly a second before someone slammed it shut with a force that rattled its glass. Jonas pivoted toward the sound, startled by the interruption, but the two little girls paid no attention as they raced breathlessly past him.
“Mom, is it all right if I go over to Vicki’s house?” The request was issued by the smaller of the two.
Jonas froze, his gaze narrowing on the rosy-cheeked girl looking earnestly at Bridget. A wisp of sandy brown hair had escaped the striped stocking cap on her head, the trailing end wrapped around her neck.
It looked handknit, probably by Bridget, from warm brown yam that matched her daughter’s hair. Jonas understood in that instant how strong the bond between them must be—and felt guilty for coming back into his lost love’s life. He wasn’t entitled to be here. He wasn’t entitled to anything. She had a child, maybe more than one, and a whole life he knew nothing about. He looked again at her daughter.
