She pasted on a smile, ignoring the curious looks of the other volunteers, and went forward to greet him.
“Hi,” he said, looking uncertain. “Heard you were helping out here.” He glanced to the side and smiled at Betty, who turned quickly away, wide-eyed, and started scrubbing down a table.
Angel wanted to answer, but she wasn’t sure she could. Not if he was here out of some desire to be friendly or out of obligation or some crap. Not with him watching her like that. Not with her rib cage hanging open, exposing her freshly torn, angrily pumping heart. She’d just decided she could cobble herself back together again, but with him here…
“How are you?” His voice was as raw as ever, the scar on his neck exposed, shiny and new-looking. It suddenly occurred to her that he’d have more scars to show for their journey. It also occurred to her that there might be other old ones she’d never seen. Making love in a hut in the Antarctic hadn’t lent itself to slow, meandering explorations of each other’s skin.
The tragedy of that struck her hard and the stiff smile morphed into a grimace. She turned away and grabbed a saltshaker from a table. It needed filling. Where’d they keep the salt? Crap. She’d seen it earlier, it just—
“Hey.” His hand on her shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Oh no. Don’t call me that. Don’t do this. Don’t rip me open where people can see me. See you.
She shut her eyes, held her breath.
“Ang—Shit.” He cleared his throat and glanced around, his face red as an antarctic sunburn. “Abby.”
Jesus. Betty and Father Stuart and the three daytime volunteers were right there, listening in on this unfolding minidrama. But not mini for her—major as an earthquake. A freaking tsunami tearing at her innards. She didn’t want to lose it in front of these people.
She needed to keep it together. For now. Later, in the privacy of her own place, she could blow apart into a billion jagged little chunks.
“Hey,” she said with another forced smile. She didn’t actually know what to call him. They’d given him a new name, right? Or had he chosen to keep his identity at the risk of losing his life? “How areyou?”
“I’m okay.” He didn’t look okay. He looked weak and exhausted, breathing hard, with one arm in a sling.
“Good. So…great.” She looked around for something to do, put the salt down, picked it up again. “Look, what are y—”
“Can I help?”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Can I pitch in? With whatever you’re doing?” He motioned toward the kitchen door. “I can do di—”
“You’re in no shape to—”
“Sure!” Betty stepped in, all four foot ten of her, bustling around to a cupboard she pulled an apron from. “You can help Abby back there with dishes.” She turned. “I need these guys with me in dry storage. Let’s go.” She threw the apron at Ford and led the volunteers down the hall.
Father Stuart looked a question at Angel, who nodded. He then shuffled off to his office.
Angel watched Ford struggle for a few seconds before helping him tie the thing around his waist.
Which was a mistake, since it put her close, right against his back, her head halfway up.
He smelled good. Of course he did. Different from out on the ice, a more civilized version of the man she’d been with there, but recognizable nonetheless.
He smelled like…hers. And it broke her heart that she couldn’t have him.
Chapter 54
Ford forced himself back so he wouldn’t make an ass of himself. One step and then a second.
Then again, he’d come here to make a fool of himself, hadn’t he? He needed her to understand that this was it for him.Shewas it.
He was willing to put himself through anything for her. He had before and he’d do it again. He just needed to gather up the courage to spit out all the words that had been building inside him.
With an exhale, he unbuttoned his too-tight shirt at the collar. “Lead the way.”
She shook her head once, more dazed than in denial, and headed back in the door she’d burst through minutes ago, blowing him wide open all over again.
