Page 90 of Summer Weddings
Karen had been furious with him. He tried to explain that he was going to find something better. Accounting wasn’t for him—he should’ve realized it before. He’d been thinking about a job more suited to his talents.
She wouldn’t give him a chance to explain. Ranting and raving, she’d started flinging whatever she could lay hands on. Matt had ducked when she’d sent her shoes flying in his direction. The saltshaker had scored a direct hit, smacking him in the chest.
That had given her pause, he recalled, but not for long. Braving her anger, he’d advanced toward her. She’d refused to let him near her. When she ran out of easy-to-reach ammunition,she’d walked across the top of the sofa and leapt onto the chair, all the while shouting at the top of her lungs and threatening him with the pepper mill.
It hadn’t taken much to capture her, and he’d let her yell and struggle in his arms for a few minutes. Then he did the only thing he could to silence Karen—kiss her.
Soon, the pepper mill had tumbled from her hands and onto the carpet, and they were helping each other undress, their hands as urgent as their need.
Afterward, he remembered, Karen had been quiet and still. While he lay there, appreciating the most incredible sex of his life, his wife had been planning their divorce. Less than a week later, she moved out and he was served with the papers.
The smile faded as the sadness crept back into his heart.
He modified his wish. He didn’t want Karen to be miserable. If someone had to be blamed, then fine, he’d accept full responsibility for their failure. He deserved it.
He missed her so much! Never more than now. Whatever happened in the future with this lodge and the success of his business venture seemed of little consequence. Matt would go to his grave loving Karen.
Like his grandmother before him, he would only love once.
* * *
“You seem pensive,” Sawyer said as he sat on the edge of the bed and peeled off his socks.
With her back propped against the headboard, Abbey glanced over the top of her mystery novel. “Of course I’m pensive,” she muttered, smiling at her husband. “I’m reading.”
“You’re pretending to read,” he corrected. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?” she asked him with an expression of pure innocence.
“The one that says you’re plotting.”
Abbey made a face at him. How could Sawyer know her so well? They hadn’t been married all that long. “And what exactly am I plotting?” She’d see if he could figurethatone out.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll tell me sooner or later.”
“For your information, Mr. Know-It-All, I was just thinking about Thanksgiving.”
Sawyer cocked his head to one side, as if to say he wasn’t sure he should believe her. “That’s almost a month away. Tell me what could possibly be so important about Thanksgiving that it would occupy your mind now?”
“Well, for one thing, I was thinking we should ask Mitch and Chrissie to join us.” She glanced at her husband in order to gauge his reaction.
Sawyer didn’t hesitate. “Good idea.”
“And Bethany Ross.”
A full smile erupted on Sawyer’s handsome face as he pointed his finger at her. “What did I say? You’re plotting!”
“What?” Once more she feigned innocence.
“You want to invite MitchandBethany to Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Right,” she concurred, opening her eyes wide in exaggerated wonder that he could find anything theleastbit underhand in such a courtesy. “And what, pray tell, is so devious about that?”
His finger wagged again as he climbed into bed. “A little matchmaking, maybe? You’ve got something up your sleeve, Abbey O’Halloran.”
“I most certainly do not,” she said with a touch of righteous indignation.
“I notice you didn’t suggest inviting John Henderson.”
