A Distant Summer Read Online Free

bond between his heart and hers. He didn’t know if it had been forged in a long-forgotten moment or if it had bloomed into being within the past hour, but he didn’t doubt its existence, and he didn’t doubt that Kristina was aware of it, too.
    “I’ll phone you.”
    The husky tone of his voice sent a sweet unrest rippling through her composure. She didn’t protest. She simply turned from the dusky determination in his eyes and stepped inside a waiting taxi.
    Tucker came forward to close the door, leaning down to offer one last promise. “Tomorrow.”
    The cab pulled from the curb into the flow of traffic, and Kris knew he watched until her taxi rounded the corner.
    Only then did she let her head drop back against the cushioned seat.
    Only then did she rub the tension from her forehead.
    Only then did her shoulders slump and the quiet panic swirl helplessly inside her.
    She had broken the cardinal rule, the one absolute in her life: “Don’t look back.” Today, for reasons she didn’t completely understand, she had. And the consequences stretched before her like a deserted highway on a misty night. She couldn’t see him again; she couldn’t not see him again.
    A trembling finger relived the brief caress of his kiss.
    Tomorrow. He would call tomorrow.
    What was she going to do?
     

Chapter Two
     
    There were no messages waiting for Kris when she returned to the hotel the next afternoon. She had left early and spent the day out. By three o’clock she had walked past the courthouse twice, fighting a private battle of her own. At last, she’d decided not to complicate one mistake by making another. If Tucker phoned, she’d tell him she wasn’t interested in furthering their acquaintance.
    But Tucker hadn’t phoned. The room clerk checked and said there were no messages. Standing at the front desk, Kris breathed a sigh of relief. But as she stepped inside the elevator, she admitted a definite splinter of disappointment.
    She loosened the tension of her braided chignon with a restless fingertip and glanced around the confining cubicle. She was alone. The thought slipped through her mind; the feeling settled inside her. She was often alone. By choice, for the most part, but still alone. Perhaps it was a deeply ingrained defense left over from a childhood smothered in abundance but deficient in meaning.
    The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out, determined to leave her sudden attack of self-pity behind. What was wrong with her? No messages , her heart answered. Maybe it was time to think about going home.
    Home. Even in silence it sounded good, soothing and geared to forgetfulness. She had sometimes thought she would have drowned in the impersonal atmosphere of the world outside the Maple Ridge city limits. She had gone there in search of a hiding place and found a home and friends and, in many ways, a family.
    Kris inserted her key and opened the door of her hotel room. It looked nice, neat, but it offered only a token welcome. What was she doing in a lonely hotel room in Denver, Colorado? Her friend Ruth insisted a yearly vacation was necessary for sanity, and usually Kris returned from a trip in total agreement. But not this time.
    After tossing her purse on the bed, she slipped off her shoes and curled wearily into a chair. If she canceled her plans and went home a couple of days early, was there any possibility of avoiding Ruth’s probing questions? No. Kris knew her tongue would run like a river the moment she heard Ruth’s perceptive “You met someone, didn’t you?”
    She hadn’t met someone, though. She’d met Tucker, and that was the reason for her longing to run home, to seek a hiding place. Kris sighed and reached for the entertainment guide on the dressing table.
    When the knock came, her heart jumped in startled surprise and the booklet slid from her hands to the floor. Who could—Tucker?
    No.
    But it might be—
    No. Disordered thoughts scrambled for recognition; a confusion of emotions