One Last Weekend by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

been better if he’d confessed to an affair with what’s-her-name, the redheaded, red-hot real estate agent. Almost.
    She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears flowed anyway. Teague didn’t let go of her wrists, and she didn’t have the strength to pull free.
    So they just stood that way while the rain pattered over their heads and the room darkened and all the dreams Joanna hadn’t realized she still cherished drained away into hopeless reality.
    All the pretending in the world wasn’t going to change the fact that she truly didn’t know Teague Darby anymore. The man she’d married, the man she’d loved so fiercely for so long wouldn’t have dreamed of selling this cottage. For all their success, they’d always agreed that, if everything suddenly went to hell in the proverbial handbasket, they could sell the business and the mansion, empty their bank accounts, and liquidate all their investments—but the cottage, the cottage was sacred ground.
    A sob tore itself out of Joanna’s throat.
    Teague pulled her close again and held her tightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Joanna,” he said. “Honest to God, I didn’t. I just wasn’t thinking straight. I—ever since we started planning this divorce—”
    She drew back, though his arms were still around her, and looked up into his taut, drawn face. He needed a shave, and there were deep shadows under his eyes.
    â€œWho are you, Teague?” she whispered. “Who are you?”
    â€œJoanna, I’m sorry—”
    She shook her head and pulled back, and this time, he let her go.
    â€œI don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said. “I don’t want to look at you. I’m—I’m going out for a walk.”
    â€œAre you out of your mind? It’s raining! ”
    She tried to smile but fell short. “A little rain never hurt anybody.” It was standard Seattle vernacular. Most of the natives didn’t even carry umbrellas; they simply expected to get wet and eventually dry off.
    â€œWill you listen to me? It’s cold, and the wind is rising, and—”
    Joanna moved past him, into the living room, and opened the front door.
    â€œAt least wear a coat!” Teague said.
    Sammy came to her and nuzzled at the knees of her too-tight jeans.
    Joanna stepped outside like a sleepwalker, shutting the door behind her. She heard Sammy whimper and scratch on the other side, but she didn’t turn back. She ran over the rain-slickened grass through the downpour. She ran until her hair was dripping and her clothes were soaked. She ran until she was breathless, knowing all the while that she was behaving like an idiot, and completely unable to do anything else but run.
    She was well down the road when her stamina finally gave out and she had to stop, bent double, gasping, shrieking silently with a grief as profound as if everyone she loved had suddenly died.
    And then Teague was there, as wet as she was, wrapping a yellow rain slicker around her, raising the hood to cover her head.
    â€œI hate you!” she screamed. “Teague Darby, I hate you for turning into somebody else when I wasn’t looking!”
    Teague stared down at her for a few moments, oblivious to the rain, unspeaking. Then he lifted her into his arms, turned, and started back toward the cottage.
    Inside, he kicked the door shut with one foot, but he didn’t set her down. He carried her through the house, both of them dripping, Sammy following fretfully behind.
    In the bathroom, Teague set Joanna down hard on the lid of the toilet seat and started hot water running in the huge claw-foot tub they’d bought at an estate sale and had refurbished.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Joanna asked before sneezing.
    Teague crouched in front of her, and pulled off her wet shoes, peeled away her socks. “Trying to keep you from catching pneumonia,” he said, “and