A Family Homecoming Read Online Free Page B

the door open with his toe. “Sara. How’s it going with you this morning?”
    She ran off as if he had growled at her.
    The fist squeezed his heart again. If he’d been at home the past two years, would his kid be afraid of him even after her ordeal? He knew the answer was no.
    From deep inside, the pool of emotion he hadn’t realized existed until he’d gotten that letter from Danielle shifted and churned bleakly. He finished shaving and went to the room where he’d stored his luggage.
    Five minutes later he entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said softly.
    His wife spun about, fear on her face, determination in the set of her mouth. He watched her take in everything about the situation—him, the distance between them, the threat of danger. She was as edgy as a startled cat.
    â€œRelax,” he advised and pushed a smile on his face with an effort. “Okay if I have a cup of coffee?”
    Danielle gestured with her left hand toward the pot. “Help yourself.”
    Her right hand, behind her and hidden by an old flannel shirt that he recognized as another of his, dropped to her side. She flexed her fingers as if they were stiff.
    â€œI’m making oatmeal,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Do you want some?”
    â€œPlease.”
    She nodded without looking at him and busied herself toasting English muffins and stirring a pot. A longing to go over and bury his face against the sideof her neck, to breathe her fragrance into his starved body, speared right through him, churning up the dark pool. Regret rose to the surface. He would never have that right again.
    â€œSara, breakfast,” she called.
    He took a drink of coffee, studying his wife as she stood at the stove. The hot need that flooded his body took him by surprise. He fought the urge and conquered it. Control was important. It was all he’d had going for him many times in his life. It would get him through the present.
    He had already accepted that his return wasn’t going to result in conjugal bliss, so he’d thought he had the hunger under wraps. His libido was showing him otherwise. He carried the cup to the table and took a seat. His jeans were tight and uncomfortable.
    â€œSo, Sara, are you in third grade yet?” he asked his daughter when she entered and perched on her stool in thick pajamas that covered her from neck to toes.
    She looked startled. Her glance darted toward her mother, but Danielle was busy elsewhere. Sara shook her head, slowly at first, then more firmly.
    â€œWell, you’re in first grade then,” he teased.
    This time she was a bit more self-assertive. She shook her head immediately.
    â€œOh, of course, you’re still in Tiny Tots.” He nodded as if remembering. “I used to drop you off at Miss Engles’s on the days Mommy had to open the library early. We would have doughnuts for breakfast at the diner and keep it a secret because Mommy thought we should eat cereal.”
    â€œSara is in kindergarten,” Danielle interjected, bringing their bowls to the table. She frowned at him.
    â€œKindergarten?” he said as if amazed. “That old? You must be…” He pretended to search for an answer.
    Finally Sara held up one hand, palm outward, fingers and thumb splayed. Relief eased the soreness inside. His daughter had responded to him.
    â€œFive. That’s right.” He smiled in approval.
    Sara stared at him with an unwavering gaze and no answering smile. Danielle served them without a word. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
    â€œEat up,” she said. “It’s almost time to go.”
    She was speaking to Sara. He felt the chill of her rejection to his bones. Please let me know your thoughts on the divorce as soon as possible, her letter had read.
    Always the polite librarian. But she was also his secret delight—his enchanting, passionate lover, the calm center of his