Chill Factor by Sandra Brown Page A

question.
    She nodded.
    He glanced down at her empty ring finger. His expression, a combination of bewilderment and disappointment, spoke volumes.
    And then for the longest time they simply stared at each other bleakly, saying nothing, communicating only with their eyes while the fading sun coming through the trees cast dappled shadows over their unhappy faces.
    Eventually, she extended her right hand. “It was wonderful meeting you, Tierney.”
    He shook her hand. “Same here.”
    â€œI’ll watch for your articles,” she said as she got into her car.
    â€œLilly—”
    â€œGood-bye. Be safe.” She closed her car door quickly and drove away before he could say anything more.
    That was the last time they’d had any contact until yesterday, when she spotted him across Main Street in downtown Cleary. Dutch bumped into her as she came to a sudden halt on the sidewalk. “What are you looking at?”
    Tierney was just about to climb into his Cherokee when he happened to glance her way. He did a double take. They made eye contact, and it held.
    â€œBen Tierney,” she said, replying absently to Dutch’s question. Or perhaps she was just speakingaloud a name that for the past eight months had never been far from her mind.
    Dutch followed her gaze across opposing lanes of traffic and the median in between. Tierney was still standing there, half in, half out of his car, looking at her as though waiting for a signal as to what he should do.
    â€œYou know that guy?” Dutch asked.
    â€œI met him last summer. Remember the day I kayaked the French Broad? He was in the group.”
    Dutch pushed open the door to the attorney’s office where they had an appointment to sign the closing papers on the sale of the cabin. “We’re late,” he said and ushered her inside.
    When they left the office a half hour later, she found herself looking up and down Main Street for the black Cherokee. She would have liked to say hello at least, but there was no sign of Tierney or his car. But now, when he was sitting four feet from her, she found it difficult to look at him and was at a loss over what to say.
    Feeling his gaze on her, she looked across at him. He said, “After that day on the river, I called your office in Atlanta several times.”
    â€œYour articles wouldn’t be for my readership.”
    â€œI wasn’t calling to peddle an article.”
    She averted her head and looked into the empty fireplace. She’d swept the ash out of it that morning, which seemed now like a very long time ago. Softly she said, “I knew why you were calling. That’s why I couldn’t take your calls. For the same reason I couldn’t meet you for a drink after our kayaking trip. I was married.”
    He stood up, went around the coffee table, and joined her on the sofa, sitting close and forcing her to look at him. “You’re not married now.”
    â€¢   •   •
    William Ritt smiled up at his sister as she cleared away his empty plate. “Thank you, Marilee. The stew was excellent.”
    â€œI’m glad you enjoyed it.”
    â€œI’ve been thinking about running a daily special on the lunch menu. Something different for each day of the week. Wednesday meat loaf. Friday crab cakes. Would you agree to sharing your stew recipe with Linda?”
    â€œIt’s Mother’s recipe.”
    â€œOh. Well, she’s past caring if you share it, isn’t she?”
    To anyone else’s ears the words would have sounded harsh, but Marilee knew the reason for William’s insensitivity and couldn’t fault him for it. Their parents were deceased, but neither was missed. One had been completely indifferent, the other unconscionably selfish. To them, treating their offspring with love and affection had been an alien concept.
    Their father had been a stern and taciturn man. A mechanic by trade, he would get up before dawn