At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,78

pair of lungs on her a hog caller would envy. "Help!"

"Sophie?" A male voice rang out from one of the cubicles.

That voice... . Sweat broke out on Gracie's brow. It couldn't be. God wouldn't possibly play a trick like this on her. She heard footsteps. She knew that rhythm, hard right soft left hard right soft left. The rhythm of his walk, the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin—they were all part of her soul's language. She put the little girl down. Every instinct told her to run but she couldn't move. She had been running for eight years and she couldn't do it any longer.

Chapter Twelve

The woman stood in the middle of the front office. Her tall, slender body was hidden inside a jacket that was easily three sizes too large for her. Her face was obscured by a hood that made her look like the Ghost of Christmas Future. Sophie, soaking wet, extremely angry, and inexplicably barefoot, stood next to her.

"Sit down over there," he ordered Sophie, pointing toward the chair against the wall. "I'll deal with you in a minute." She muttered something dark and terribly English but did as she was told. He wasn't fool enough to think compliance meant anything at all

"Thanks," he said to the mystery woman. "I'm going to have to put a bell on—"

"Hello, Noah."

He knew before he knew, if such a thing was possible. There was an instant before the realization coalesced into thought when he registered her presence with his very skin.

"Gracie?"

She shook off her hood in a gentle arc of raindrops and the years fell away when he saw her again. Damn you. He couldn't control the anger that ripped through him. Damn you for leaving.

"I didn't know you were back in Idle Point," she said, all cool and calm as if they'd seen each other the day before yesterday. "How long have you been here?"

So this is how you're going to play it, like you didn't walk out on me on our wedding day. "A few weeks. What about you?"

"Last night."

"You know about Ben and Laquita."

"That's why I came home."

"To try and stop it?"

"To be Ben's witness."

She had lived a life he knew nothing about, would never know anything about. "Things are okay with you and your father?"

She nodded and her hair, the same soft shiny brown he saw in his dreams, drifted across her cheeks. "We've come a long way."

That was good. He was a father now; he knew how much it mattered. He wanted to tell her that, but he was choking on his anger. It was always you, Gracie. There's never been anyone else.

She glanced toward Sophie. "She kicked me."

He nodded. "She does that."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Sophie," he said. "She's my daughter."

Gracie looked like she'd been stabbed. Of all the things he could have said or done, nothing could have hurt her more deeply than this living proof that he had loved somebody else. He couldn't wish Sophie away, though. He wouldn't. She was the one shining triumph in eight dark years.

Noah watched her carefully. His words had found their mark. He could see the pain in her eyes and he was glad. That's how it feels, Gracie. Now you know.

"She's beautiful."

He nodded his thanks. "She's having trouble adjusting. Mrs. Cavanaugh put her on a two-day suspension."

"Kicking?"

"Biting."

"She sounds English."

"Her mother is from London."

"Oh." Her gaze swept the room. "Is your wife here?"

He shook his head, pushing away the question, the conversation. "I can't do this, Gracie."

Her brown eyes filled with tears—her emotions had always been so close to the surface—and for a moment he almost loved her again the way he used to love her, back in the days when he thought they could have it all.

"Neither can I," she said. "Take care, Noah."

"You too."

She was gone before he had the chance to change his mind and ask her to stay.

#

Gracie made it halfway down the block before she realized she couldn't breathe. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pull enough air into her lungs to make a difference. The ground rolled beneath her feet. The horizon tilted at a crazy angle. She leaned against the window of Samantha's Bridal and prayed she wouldn't vomit.

He had a wife. That little girl was his daughter. Noah and his wife had created that beautiful bad-tempered little blonde she'd found running barefoot in the rain. Noah and his wife had held each other and loved each other and out of that