Sydney shook her head.
“Then, yes, we’re done here.” Sam walked out the door, his own words ringing in his ears. They had so many meanings.
He wanted to look back, see Sydney’s face. Would she come after him? He didn’t know. His car wasn’t far. His walk turned into a jog and then a sprint. He got into his car and shut the door.
He didn’t look to see if Sydney was behind him. Nope, he looked only ahead.
Ahead to Denver. He’d go to the airport, wait for all the flights from Branson, and he’d have it out with Roy Buchanan once and for all.
Driving to Denver was usually relaxing, full of natural scenic beauty. He hardly ever saw another vehicle on the country roads. Normally Sam loved driving through the canyons, loved the fresh aroma of pine. Today he appreciated none of that. His nerves were on edge. He wasn’t sure what he’d do to Roy when he saw him. His fists itched to pummel the bastard, but he’d have the boy with him. Sam had to think about Duke.
Duke.
His son.
His and Sydney’s son.
If only things had been different. If Sydney had told him. Perhaps they could have started their life together five years ago, and today Duke would be their son. Maybe they’d have had another.
Who knows?
He’d never know.
He loved Sydney. She touched a part of him that no other woman had. Making love to her was like a beautiful symphony. It was perfection.
But they could never be together.
Love without trust was nothing.
Nothing at all.
The semitruck came out of nowhere. To avoid collision, Sam, at eighty miles per hour, drove off the two lane road into the ditch. His windshield shattered, and a loose board from the fence he hit broke through it, scattering shards of glass all over him. Barbed wire from the cattle fence poked through and gouged his face and eyes.
Searing pain shot through him.
Move. I’ve got to move.
Then nothing.
* * *
“Sam! Oh my God, Sam!”
The country road was dead. Sydney had been driving to Denver to find Sam. Where else would he have gone? To the airport to find Roy and Duke.
Fear had overwhelmed her when she saw the white sedan in the ditch on the empty road halfway to the city.
It’s not Sam. It can’t be Sam.
But the white sedan was none other than Sam’s rental car.
He was pinned in the driver’s seat. A pool of shattered glass surrounded him. One of his eyes was lacerated and bleeding.
Sydney gulped back nausea. God, he can’t lose his eye.
The rest of his face and arms were covered with lacerations from the glass and barbed wire. She checked the pulse on his neck.
Weak, but there.