“No,” he snapped, meeting her gaze with a hard look. “Don’t bother waiting, Gretchen. I told you, there’s not going to be a divorce.” At least, not if he could find a way around it.

“Well then, it seems I’ve made a mistake,” she said, her voice dropping to a low purr as she dragged the tips of her fingers down his chest. “Unless, of course, I can change your mind…”

Though Gretchen was planning a seduction, all Hunter felt was irritation. “You should go, Gretchen. Sorry you wasted the trip.”

Instantly, she straightened up, dropped the sultry, heavy-lidded gaze and snapped, “Fine. Go to your fat little redhead. May you be cursed with a dozen fat babies who look just like her.”

Babies? Instantly, an image of Margie carrying his child filled his mind, and Hunter realized he wanted that reality. He wanted Margie in his life more completely than he’d ever wanted anything. And he wanted kids. With her. Damned if he’d let her walk away from what they could have together.

Gretchen, meanwhile, huffed out a breath and swept out of the house as majestically as only a six-foot-tall, skinny model with delusions of grandeur could muster. Hunter shut the door behind her and took a long, deep breath. She never had taken rejection well.

How in the hell could he even briefly have considered a life with her? The drama. The pouting. The grasping nature. The viciousness. Margie wasn’t fat. She was curvy, deliciously curvy. And kind. And goodhearted. And she loved him.

So why the hell didn’t she want to stay married to him?

Eleven

The party was everything Margie had hoped it would be. As her big farewell to the town of Springville and Simon, it was perfect. The fact that the smile she’d plastered on her face was almost painful to maintain was no one else’s business.

Dance music soared through the air, and candles in glass bowls flickered on every table. Clusters of spring flowers made for bright splashes of color, and their scents mingled with the delicious aromas coming from the kitchen as the catering crew ran up and down the long hallway to the ballroom.

Balloons festooned every corner of the massive room, and there was a cheerful fire in the hearth at the far end of the room to combat the cool, nighttime breeze drifting in through the open French doors. The floors gleamed under the light thrown from the chandeliers, and in the backyard, fairy lights were strung in the trees ringing the garden. Everything was fabulous, and Simon’s guests were all clearly having a good time.

“Yay me,” Margie whispered as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms against the tiny chill snaking along her skin. But it didn’t help, because this cold went bonedeep. This was the cold she was far too familiar with.

The cold of alone. The cold of unwanted. Unchosen. Not really even a word, she told herself, but it was so true. No one in her whole damn life had ever chosen her. She’d never been first. She’d never been important enough to matter.

And God, she’d so wanted to matter to Hunter.

Against her will, her gaze scanned the crowd for one man in particular. He wasn’t hard to find. Wearing his dress whites uniform, Hunter Cabot looked impossibly handsome. Simply watching him made her heartbeat quicken and curls of heat spiral in the pit of her stomach. He was standing with his grandfather in a circle of friends, and Margie felt like the outsider she’d always been.

She had no place here. Not anymore. She shouldn’t have even stayed for the party, but she’d felt that she owed it to Simon. Now, she wished she were anywhere but here.

“This is great, Margie,” someone said from nearby, and she turned to foist her phony smile on Terry Gates. Terry was yet another friend she’d made here in Springville. Another person she’d miss. Another link lost in her own personal chain.

“Thanks, Terry,” she managed to say past the hard lump in her throat. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Are you kidding? Wouldn’t have missed it.” Terry’s green eyes danced as she leaned in. “The whole town’s here.”

“Seems like,” she mused, her gaze once again going unerringly toward the man who was and wasn’t her husband.

“Hmm…” Terry gave her a little nudge. “Why are you standing here alone when you should be dancing with that gorgeous man of yours?”

Because to dance with him to this music would mean being in Hunter’s arms, and how could Margie ever force herself to leave that warm circle once she’d willingly gone into it? Better to keep her distance. Better to save whatever pride she had left and remember what Hunter had looked like with Gretchen. They’d actually made a gorgeous couple.

Blast it.

But Terry was watching her, waiting for an answer. “Oh, too busy to dance. Have to keep track of the caterers and-”

“Not a chance,” Terry said with a laugh and grabbed hold of Margie’s elbow. “You arranged it all, did all the work, and now you’re going to take a minute to dance with your husband.”

“No, really, I um-” Margie tried to pull away, but she couldn’t get any traction out of the needle-thin high heels she was wearing with the strapless black dress Hunter had picked out for her what seemed like a lifetime ago. “I really need to-”

“Dance,” Terry told her firmly and kept walking, threading their way through the crowd.

“Oh, for-” Margie stopped trying to argue, stopped trying to fight her way free of her friend’s good intentions. The more she struggled, the more attention she garnered from the watching crowd, and she was determined that no one here would know that her heart was breaking-or that her marriage was over as of tonight.

“Atta girl,” Terry said, sensing the difference in her friend’s attitude. Then she smiled and shrugged. “Look, I shouldn’t say anything, but I know.”

“Know?” Margie asked as they slowed down to get through a knot of people.

“About your argument with Hunter,” Terry said with a shrug.

Oh, God. How could she know? Who would have said anything? Not Simon or Sophie. Surely not Hunter.

“He told me,” Terry was saying. “Hunter said you were mad at him because he was going back to base before he was completely healed.”

“Oh.” Confused, Margie shifted her gaze from Terry to Hunter, who was watching their approach with a half smile on his face. “He told you that, did he?”

“Yeah, and between us, I so agree. But I feel bad for him that you’re not speaking to him, so that’s why I agreed to go and get you to dance with him.”

“Hunter put you up to this?”

“Who else, silly?”

Who else indeed, Margie thought as she came to a stop right in front of the very man she’d been ignoring for days. The very man who held every corner of her heart. The man she’d never forget and would miss every day of her life.

His blue eyes locked with her green ones and he gave her a small, intimate smile that just barely nudged his dimple into existence. Without looking at the other woman, he said quietly, “Thanks, Terry.”

“No problem,” the brunette said, then turned her head to look out over the crowd. “Now, think I’ll go find my own husband and force him to dance with me.”

Hunter stepped up close to Margie and her heart did a quick, hard thump. His eyes were so deep, so clear and so intent on her that she couldn’t have looked away if her life had depended on it.

“Dance with me, Margie,” he said and held out one hand to her.

The people around them were watching-she could feel it. To one side of Hunter, Simon stood looking like a benevolent elf with his flyaway white hair and smiling blue eyes. Could she really turn away? Did she want to make everyone talk about them, wonder what was wrong between them? Wouldn’t it be easier if no one knew a thing until she’d gone?

Besides all that, could she really pass up the chance to be held by him one last time?

Finally nodding, Margie slipped her hand into Hunter’s, and instant warmth slid through her bloodstream, temporarily easing the cold inside her. He led her onto the dance floor just as the band ended one song and started another.

Margie recognized the tune, since Simon was a huge Frank Sinatra fan. And though the band’s singer was no Ol’ Blue Eyes, the melody and words of the song about a summer wind wrapped themselves around her and Hunter and drew them into the magic of the moment.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice a low rush of sensuality that seemed to slide right inside Margie.

“Thanks.” She looked up into his eyes, felt her heart break a little and then shifted her gaze to one side. She couldn’t look into his blue eyes. Couldn’t read the regrets and goodbyes written there.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said and moved her into a slow turn that made the lights at the edges of her vision swim.

“Yes.” God, would this dance never end? Margie tried to pull back from Hunter’s embrace, to put a little space between them, but he wouldn’t allow that. Instead, he pulled her closer, held her more tightly, pressed her body into the length of his until she felt his heartbeat pounding in tandem with her own.

“I don’t want you to go, Margie. Don’t leave.”

“Don’t do this,” she whispered brokenly. “Don’t make it harder.”

“It should be hard. You said you loved me.”

She looked up at him, and it seemed as though every light in the room was reflected in his gaze. Those blue depths sparkled and shone down at her, and it took all of her courage to not look away. “I do,” she said, forcing the words out. “I do love you, and that’s why I won’t stay.”

His arm tightened around her even further until it felt as though she could hardly draw a breath. “I wasn’t engaged to Gretchen.”

Margie closed her eyes briefly, gathered up her strength and made herself ask, “Did you propose to her?”