How would he stand it when she was gone forever?
“You’re very quiet today,” Mark commented, glancing at Dean from behind the wheel. “Arm bothering you?”
Dean drew his gaze away from the side window, through which he’d been staring at nothing. “No,” he said. “Just thinking.”
“Nothing else has happened since your accident, has it?”
“No. A few people stopped by to make sure I was okay, which I thought was very nice, but no word from the Peavys, if that’s what you’re asking. If they did hire someone to warn me off, they probably assume their message was received.”
Mark changed the subject. “I hear Cara’s enrolling Casey in school next week.”
“Did Cara tell you?”
“No. I ran into the school principal at the café. She told me.”
“Ah, yes, the Destiny grapevine.”
Mark sighed. “Cara doesn’t tell me anything. Every time she sees me, she all but runs in the opposite direction. You know, if she keeps this up, I’m liable to get my feelings hurt.”
Dean smiled. “Give her time, Mark.”
Mark shook his head. “You probably think I’m nuts, but—well, hell, this has never happened to me before. I mean, I took one look at her and, pow! It’s weird, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since, even though she’s done everything but wear a sign that tells me she’s not interested. Anything like that ever happen to you?”
Dean thought of Anna. The way she haunted his thoughts. The way his chest tightened every time he was close to her—along with other vital parts of his anatomy. The constant need to see her, hear her. Touch her. Even though he knew it couldn’t be.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something like that.”
Mark glanced sideways
again. “Your ex-wife?”
“No.”
“Someone since?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything come of it?”
Dean exhaled. “We have... irreconcilable differences.”
“I’m not trying to pry, you understand. Just thought maybe you’d have some words of advice to offer. I mean, not only have I never been married before, I’ve never even been in love before. It just hasn’t happened for me. Damn it, I don’t even know if this is—”
Mark broke off, his cheeks suspiciously flushed. “Hell,” he muttered. “I sound like a schoolkid.”
Dean chuckled faintly. “You sound like a bewildered male. And trust me, pal, I know the feeling.”
He couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that Mark thought Cara was unattainable. At least she was alive.
But dark humor didn’t help. Telling himself how pointless it was didn’t help. Nothing helped.
Dean was in love with Anna—whoever, whatever, whenever she was. And it wasn’t something he was ever going to get over.
BILL WATSON was eighty-five years old, gravely ill and confined to a bed for the past three years. His mind, they were told, was as sharp as it had ever been, his disposition as sour.
“So the Peavys lied about his mental condition, too,” Mark muttered. “Looks like they have something to hide, after all.”
“And that Bill Watson knows something,” Dean agreed.