corner of the room. Caroline had been right when she said she hadn't brought much with her. He could well imagine that she had acted on impulse, on the whim of a moment, running off into the jungle without regard for the dangers she might encounter.
He should be furious at her for defying him. But to his astonishment he found that her willful independence delighted him. It was so much a part of who she was. Would he ever get used to her capricious, headstrong nature? He doubted it, but he didn't doubt that he'd enjoy the effort.
He smiled to himself, then frowned as fear rocked his composure. When had he lost the restraint he always exercised over his emotions? She made him happy, made him glad to be alive, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He hadn't let another human being into his heart since Peggy. He'd vowed never to do so, and he'd kept that promise for twenty years—until now, until Caroline.
In truth, he hadn't let Caroline into his heart. She'd burrowed through his defenses, despite all his efforts to prevent it. Now he found himself thinking about her when he wasn't with her, craving her touch, yearning to tell her that he loved her and hear her say that she loved him, as she had in the dream. But the risk was too great. What if he opened his heart to her and she rejected him? If he admitted he cared, she would want to delve deeply into his soul, and he could never allow that.
Yes, he wanted to be near her. Yes, he wanted to hear her laugh and smell her perfume and make love to her. He wanted to know her deepest thoughts, the desires of her heart, but he couldn't do that and keep her at arm's length at the same time.
She stirred his blood like no woman he had ever known. Her outer confidence housed a deep well of vulnerability, along with the core of strength that made her who she was. The combination of the two—vulnerability and strength—made her feminine and independent at the same time. He wondered if she needed him nearly as much as he needed her, and the thought stilled him.
When had he come to need her? How? He had to stop this, stop it now before she betrayed him, as she was bound to do.
He opened the medical bag to put the bottle of witch hazel away. A bundle of papers caught his eye—letters. He hesitated, a twinge of guilt piercing his conscience. These were private, none of his business, but whatever they were, whoever they were from, they meant enough to Caroline that she'd brought them all the way from New Orleans. She kept them in her precious medical bag, of all places.
Curiosity stirred inside him. These letters might hold the key to knowing her as deeply as he desired without having to reveal anything about himself. Glancing furtively around the small room, he fought a moral battle within himself. She wouldn't be back for some time; she'd never know.
No, he wouldn't. He couldn't read someone else's mail.
But he couldn't help lifting the bundle of papers out. They were letters all right, but they weren't addressed to her. Without warning, his heart began to pound as a chill crawled over his body.
They were addressed to Derek. What in hell was she doing with letters addressed to Derek? As shocking as that discovery was, there was something else, something just beneath his consciousness.
The writing, the script. It was his own handwriting.
Realization dawned. Somehow Caroline had acquired private letters he'd written to Derek. But how? Anger and confusion suffused his brain, both giving way to humiliation as he realized that she must have read them, and he remembered some of the things he'd told Derek in those letters.
For reasons he didn't understand any more now than he had at the time, he'd written those letters with more candor than he'd shared with any other person in his life. He'd written of things he hadn't meant for anyone else to know, certainly not his curious, meddling wife who thought she could come into his world and change it and him.
Of all the emotions vying for dominance in his soul, fury won out, a blinding, boiling fury that coursed through every nerve in his body.
How, damn it? How had she come by these private letters? The question rolled over and over in his mind, pushing all other thoughts out.