His Brother's Bride

“But it’s your free time,” Laurel said, frowning, slipping her feet out of her sandals. “Surely you had something in mind.”

He didn’t say anything, just pulled into the fast lane to pass a semi.

With both feet up on the dash, Laurel ran her hands along the white slacks that had been ironed and crisp that morning. “What do you do in your free time?” she asked. Scott had said so little about his life. The only thing she really knew was that the woman he loved didn’t return his feelings—didn’t even know about them.

That was still gnawing at her.

“I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“You have to have days off.”

He shrugged.

“You still ski every chance you get?”

“Not really.”

“When was the last time you went up?”

“I don’t remember.”

Frowning, Laurel got a queer feeling in her stomach. “Approximately.”

“A year or two, maybe more.”

“How many times have you been up since Paul died?”

“I don’t know.” He shifted in his seat and glanced over at her. “Maybe none.”

Something was wrong.

“More like, for sure none,” she said.

“Maybe.”

“What about your bike?” she asked. “You still riding in marathons?”

“Not lately.”

“When was the last time you did that?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said, his voice edgy. “Why the inquisition all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know.” She deliberately repeated what he’d been telling her. “What about skydiving? You been up anytime in the last three years?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“How about climbing? Canoeing? Camping?”

“No.” His jaw tight, he slouched back, one hand on the wheel, as though trying to appear relaxed.

“Scott?”

“Yeah?”

She waited until he glanced over at her. “Do you do anything you love to do anymore?”

“I love my job.”