Already Mike was sprinting in the direction that the child had pointed, hoping no doubt to find the one family among many decked out in Hargreave wear.

  Afterward, she realized that both of them had overlooked some mysterious mother instinct. Within twenty seconds, a sweating, panting woman arrived in Taylor’s line of vision. Even the photo of Dylan on her shirt looked worried.

  “Brittany, honey, don’t move!”

  Behind her jogged an overweight guy whose complexion was the color of pickled beetroot, with three boys trailing him. Mike brought up the rear.

  After being helped down from the top of the pit box, Brittany was lifted by Mike over the barricade and into her mother’s arms. “Oh, baby, I was so worried about you.”

  “I couldn’t find you.”

  “She wasn’t on her own too long,” Mike Nugent said. “Taylor and Mike over there brought her here. And she was a real trouper and got up there like an eagle scout and spotted you all. Now you’ve been in the pit, you’re an honorary member of the team,” he continued, pulling out a Dylan Hargreave key chain and presenting it to the child.

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for looking out for my baby,” Alice Stiggant said, her breathing still ragged.

  “She’s a great kid,” Taylor said.

  “I didn’t tell them my name, ’cause they were strangers. Can I tell them now?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  “My name’s Brittany Stiggant.”

  “Hi, Brittany.” Taylor leaned closer. “I hope you get your new DVD.”

  “Will I still get my DVD? I was good, Mama. I didn’t mean to get lost.”

  Her mom hugged her tight. “Of course you’ll get your DVD. I’m so proud of you for being so brave.”

  She glanced up at Taylor. Sweat was sparking on her forehead and she appeared close to tears. “It’s your greatest fear as a mother.”

  Taylor nodded.

  “You were great. You must have kids of your own.”

  Her gaze went straight to Mike’s. She couldn’t help it. “No. Not yet.”

  “Let’s go get some ice cream,” the woman said to her family, her daughter still clutched tight in her arms. “Mommy needs to sit down.”

  After the relief and thank-yous, the family left. Taylor felt adrenaline seep away. “Phew,” she said. The entire drama hadn’t taken half an hour, but she felt as though she’d run a marathon.

  “Come on,” Mike said, grabbing her hand and pulling.

  “Come on where?”

  “I need to do a pre-race interview.”

  “With me?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes you are such a madman.”

  They walked back into the crowd, thicker now as the race drew closer. “I prefer the term eccentric,” he said, pulling out a steno pad and a pen.

  She watched him, wondering what was going on in his devious brain. “You’re interviewing me here?”

  “Mmm. Lots of local background noise.”

  “But you’re not taping.”

  He held up an imperious hand. “Please, leave the details to the professional.”

  She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her mouth. “I sometimes think you married me because I’m the only person who thinks you’re funny.”

  “Lots of people think I’m funny.” He raised his gaze to hers. “I married you for other reasons.”

  The crowds seemed to still, noise faded to silence. She hated the way he made her feel, as though she were part of him and he was part of her, especially when it was so spectacularly untrue.

  She dragged her gaze away and said, “Okay, fire away.”

  “How did it feel to save a child today?”

  “Like a tiny act of common sense. And don’t be so dramatic.”

  “It was good to see the family put back together, though, wasn’t it?”

  She recalled the moment when she and Mike had been linked by the child’s warm little hands and frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

  He flipped his notebook closed. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  “I’m not sure, I have to—”

  “I’m tired of asking and having you skate around the issue. It’s dinner. Not a life commitment.”

  “Why?”

  “I cannot believe I am uttering these words a second time, but I think we need to talk.”

  He was right, she realized. They did need to talk. She’d pushed him away the morning after Dy and Kendall’s wedding because she was so utterly vulnerable and so confused she couldn’t think straight, but he was right, of course. Neither of them could move forward until they’d made peace with the past.

  “All right.”

  “Excellent, let’s say seven.”

  “Fine. Where should I meet you?”

  “My place.”

  She blinked. “Why not a restaurant?”

  “Because ‘we need to talk’ and ‘waiters in your face every five seconds’ do not go together.”

  “So, you’re not planning to seduce me?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m planning to seduce you. I’m nuts about you and you’re sexier than ever. But you can say no if you want to be that crazy.” He must have seen that she was looking suspicious, for he added, “I’d try to seduce you in a restaurant, too.”

  A couple of memorable restaurant dinners came to mind and she knew he was right. If anything, she was probably less vulnerable in his apartment because she’d be expecting the move.

  “Okay, seven. Now I have to go to work.”

  “Have a good one.” He started to walk in the direction of the media center and she headed toward Hank’s pit.

  She turned back. “Oh. I need your address.” How odd to be a visitor in Mike’s home. But then everything about their relationship seemed odd.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  OKAY, MIKE DECIDED WHEN he cut out of work early and headed for the grocery store, he had to get tonight exactly right. A nice dinner so she’d know he’d put some effort into it, but nothing that screamed pathetic loser trying to get his wife back. Which meant replacing the bouquet of red roses and some kind of blue flower with a handful of daffodils that only cost a couple of bucks. She liked daffodils, though. He remembered in Seattle how excited she’d get in February when they started showing up in the grocery stores. She always said it meant that spring was on its way. In six weeks, he’d remind her, but she refused to be daunted.

  As he placed the flowers in his buggy, he realized how much daffodils reminded him of Taylor. But then there were a lot of things that reminded him of Taylor.

  Foods, restaurants, pet phrases, even sports-equipment brands. No wonder he’d had to move away from Seattle to get away from his memories.

  Not that it had exactly worked out.

  Mike wasn’t a gourmet chef but he had no patience for men who couldn’t look after themselves or make a meal for a date.

  He knew her well enough to recognize the signs that she wasn’t sleeping well. The faint blue tinge under her lower eyelashes, the paleness of her skin. Stupid to notice, even stupider to worry that she was doing okay, but he’d already noticed that he was stupider than stupid where she was concerned.

  He thought maybe some red meat would be good for her since she’d seemed so pale and chose a couple of T-bone steaks that he could grill, greens for a salad—organic, because Taylor was picky about stuff like that—a couple of potatoes to bake and a good bottle of red wine.

  Dessert was fresh fruit and ice cream because he knew her favorite things.

  Luckily, the cleaning lady came that morning so his place was in good shape. The sheets were clean and he’d left out his best pair on the assumption that you can’t blame a guy for trying.

  Once he’d set the table and stuck the daffodils in a vase he unearthed at the top of a cupboard, he showered, shaved, clipped his nails, brushed his teeth and even flossed.

  When he was using his razor to neaten the hairline along the back of his neck he realized he was nervous. And he knew why.

  Tonight mattered.

  TAYLOR KNEW SHE WAS acting like an idiot when she changed her clothes for the third time. And this time she put on her best underwear, underwear so pretty it begged to be shown off.

  What was she thinking?

  But she didn’t change. Her first upgrade had been from jeans and a white T-shirt to khakis and a cotton shirt that needed ironing. When she realized she looked like an ad for the Gap, she yanked it all off and went with a rare skirt—and the fact that Mike loved her legs had nothing to do with her clothing choice. She added a couple of layers of colorful tank tops and a light sweater. Perfect. Casual but a little dressy.

  She picked up the set of opals she’d bought herself in Australia, and then at the last minute dropped them back into her jewelry case and chose the silver necklace and earrings Mike had bought her when she graduated from intern to real reporter.

  He had known how important that moment was for her. She smiled a little as she put the set on. All her memories of him weren’t bad. Not by a long shot.

  But the bad ones were pretty bad. She doubted she could ever move past what had happened. That’s what she had to tell him tonight. She looked at herself in the mirror and reluctantly replaced the silver with the opals. It wasn’t fair to send him mixed messages. She couldn’t show up wearing jewelry he’d given her and then tell him they had no hope of a future together.

  So, she tucked the silver back in its box, folding the square of cotton around the necklace as though tucking a child into bed.

  Driving into Charlotte, she reminded herself how important it was to be strong. Not to think about the past, or to let herself fall into her old bad patterns with Mike. He was a good man, she accepted that, and she supposed she’d always have a soft spot for him in her heart, but there could be no future for them.

  She had to be very clear on that point. Keep her brain in control and her hormones under control.

  When she drew up to his complex she recognized his car and felt a flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this.

  During the short walk to his town house door she wished she’d gone with the jeans. What was she thinking prancing around in a skirt? If she lived in town she’d have turned tail and dashed home to change, but as it was, a half hour drive and the return trip was out of the question. She tugged the skirt down as best she could and then rang the bell.

  He answered promptly. He wore a black shirt she’d never seen before. He’d ditched his usual jeans, too, in favor of khakis. Pretty dressed up for him.

  “You look great,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.

  He smelled good. Familiar. Safe. But she didn’t want him to smell good and he most certainly wasn’t safe. Not for her.

  She walked in and thought how strange it was to be in his home as a guest. “Nice place,” she said.

  “Thanks. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  The town house was designed in a traditional layout with living room area at the front, then dining, then kitchen. The furniture was new and somehow impersonal. At a guess she’d say he went to Crate & Barrel and picked one of the display suites based on the size of his room. He hadn’t bothered having their living room furniture moved from Seattle, then. The set they’d chosen together after weeks of her dragging him out to one show room after another.

  The dining room set was also new, she realized as he led her through to the kitchen, and she oohed with envy over the granite countertops, top-of-the-line appliances and the tiny den area complete with gas fireplace. He’d installed a plasma TV and placed a recliner in front of it. Somehow she knew he spent most of his free time at home here.

  A staircase led upstairs, presumably to bedrooms. He didn’t offer to show her and she didn’t ask.

  “Want a beer or a glass of wine?” he asked her as she followed him into the kitchen.

  “Sure. A glass of wine would be great. Thanks.” It was awful to be so formal. She found she was nervous and wondered if he was, too.

  He pulled out a bottle and went to a drawer for the corkscrew. She glanced in and spied cutlery she didn’t recognize. One cupboard was glass-fronted, and she saw glasses that she’d never eyed before. In fact, she realized as she took a good look around, she didn’t find anything familiar except the man living here.

  “You didn’t keep any of our stuff?”

  He hesitated but only for a second. “Nope. Fresh start.”

  She felt a pang for all the things they’d collected together. For the sofa they’d argued about in Seattle. She’d wanted red, he’d preferred plaid. They’d settled on a green fabric they could both live with. For the wedding gifts and the stupid cow milk jug they’d bought because she hated him sticking the carton on the table in the morning.

  And yet she had no right to complain. She’d walked away from it all. She always imagined their stuff and their house would be in Seattle. Everything the same.

  Why?

  Had she somewhere in the back of her mind imagined she could go back?

  He handed her a glass of wine and she thanked him even as she felt sadness trickle through her.

  Everything changes, she reminded herself. Everything.

  They managed to keep up an easy conversation while she washed the greens and put the salad together and he grilled steaks and then pulled two of the biggest baking potatoes she’d ever seen out of the oven.

  They sat at the dining table and that helped them keep the slightly formal tone to things. They had no need to veer near any personal subjects with all of NASCAR to talk about. From personalities to the latest gossip—and there was always gossip—to going over some of the more remarkable races this season, they were able to keep the conversational ball rolling downhill, fast and smooth.

  He didn’t even bring up Hank so she was spared feeling as if they were talking shop.

  It was the strangest dinner. The atmosphere was friendly, the conversation easy, the food good. But there was an undercurrent that was none of those things. Not friendly, not easy and for her not good. It was in the glances that stayed fixed a moment too long, the way he stopped talking when she raised her arms to push her hair behind her ears, the feelings running between them that she was here to deny.

  When he illustrated a point with his usual extravagant hand gestures, she found herself losing the thread of conversation as she remembered how his hands had felt.

  When dinner was finished he brewed coffee and, without even asking her, put on a pot of tea for her. She doubted he realized he’d fallen back into the routine.

  “I got fruit and ice cream for dessert. Do you want it now or later?”

  “Maybe later,” she said, knowing he’d have bought that stuff specially for her. His taste in desserts ran to chocolate gooey things with millions of calories in every bite.

  He passed her tea, in an unfamiliar mug that had flowers on it and which he would never have chosen. Suddenly irritation spurted through her. “Did you get a store’s designer to pick out all this stuff?” She gestured around her.

  Mike finished pouring his coffee before answering her. “No. I bought the place furnished. The couple got transferred to Belgium. She got a big job in a bank over there. They figured that rather than moving everything, they’d sell up here and start over.”

  He went to the fridge for milk, slopped some in his mug and turned back to her. “And, since I was all about starting over, I got rid of all the stuff in Seattle and moved in here.”

  “You didn’t even keep the cow jug,” she said, feeling stupid and childish but somehow hurt.

  He leaned his elbows on the granite counter and cradled his mug. “Imagine how you’d have felt if I’d been the one who took off to the other side of the world and you were left behind.” He met her gaze and she felt her own falter and drop.

  “I never thought—”

  “I couldn’t stand having everything the same except you not being there.”

  “I wish you’d let me know. Maybe I would have…”

  “Had no way of getting hold of you. You made sure of that.”

  She heard his hurt and knew she deserved the pain she was feeling. She’d spent a lot of time concentrating on how he’d let her down, but not a lot considering that she’d taken off, leaving him to sort out everything.

  There’d been some brief correspondence between their lawyers, but all that part had been amicable and easy. It was the emotional divorce that had been so messy.

  “Who bought the house?” she asked, thinking about the place they’d been fixing up together.

  “A nice couple. Both teachers.”

  She nodded. And after a tiny pause asked, “Did they have a family?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Three boys.”

  She smiled. “That’s good. That was a perfect family home.” She sipped her tea and wondered how soon she could get out of there. She didn’t think she had it in her to deliver the speech she’d planned to give. Suddenly, she just wanted to go home.

  “So, are you okay?” Mike asked her.

  “What do you mean, am I okay? Do I look sick?”

  “No. I mean, you know…” He gestured with his hand in front of his abdomen as though running a scanner across his belly.

  A flicker of pain gripped her own belly just for a second. “One in five pregnancies ends in miscarriage. It’s no big deal,” she said, quoting back the cruelest words he’d ever spoken to her.

  He closed his eyes briefly, his head lowered. “If there’s one thing in my life I wish I’d never said it was that. I just—I didn’t know what to say. I was trying to make you feel better.”

  “Well, it didn’t work.”

  “I do research. It’s what I do.” He met her gaze and she felt like she was looking right into him. His eyes were so dark and the usual humorous expression was missing. She wanted to look away, he seemed so sad and so raw and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to see that in him, because she didn’t want to be reminded of the worst time in her life.