The Way Home by Jean Brashear Page B

help envying, warm and thick, bright red wool.
    “You go,” she ordered. “Or I will call the police.” Her frown far outstripped her size.
    “There are no police.” Had there been, perhaps Bella would have been restored to him sooner.
    “We have a sheriff.”
    “Whose office is forty-five miles as the crow flies. I’ve talked to him.”
    Then her eyes widened. “You are him. ” The word was not a compliment. “The one who claims he is her husband.”
    He was sick of talking through the glass. He pulled the door handle and pushed gently to move her back.
    She didn’t budge willingly, but she did go.
    He rose to his full height. Later, he might find this amusing, that he felt the need to intimidate someone a good foot shorter. “I am her husband.”
    A disbelieving sniff. “Dr. Sam is unhappy with you.”
    “Well, I’m pretty unhappy with Dr. Sam myself. He has no authority over Bella or me.”
    “He saved her life.”
    Point to Dr. Sam. Blast it. “And I’m grateful for that, I am—but I’m ready to take her home now. To familiar things. People she knows. The home she loves.” If only he hadn’t witnessed how terrified she’d been by what should have been most familiar, namely him and the kids.
    “She is comfortable here. We have cared for her very well.”
    He noted the pride, the concern, and had to bow to it. “You have,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful.” Innate manners took over. “I’m James Parker.” He extended his hand.
    She observed the gesture as if deliberating over consorting with the enemy. Finally, grudgingly, she accepted it. “I am Luisa Ruggino.”
    “You’re the one who called her bella. That’s my name for her.”
    She nodded gravely. “She is a beauty.”
    “Inside and out,” he agreed. “We’ve been scared to death over her disappearance.”
    Her expression softened. “She has worried much about her memory. A weaker woman would have been undone.”
    “Bella has always possessed great inner strength.”
    A glint of reluctant approval. “She did not sit around pitying herself, though she was badly frightened. She fell apart only once.”
    “I wish I’d been here for her,” he said honestly. Fervently. Sensing that this woman could be obstacle or asset, he made himself vulnerable to her scorn. “I don’t know what to do for her. My instinct is to carry her off. Whisk her home.”
    She studied him with penetrating dark eyes. “She was not one to be ordered about,” she guessed.
    That provoked a smile. “Never.”
    “Let me look at your hands,” she commanded.
    Surprised but not about to risk the delicate truce, he complied.
    She studied his palms, first the right, then the left and back again. “A tiny break in your love line.” Her gaze lifted. “Some trouble between you.”
    Inwardly, he quailed, but he brazened it out. “Does any marriage completely escape problems? Bella and I have been together for thirty-six years.”
    She liked that, he could tell. She released his hands. “My Romeo and I had fifty-four too-short years. I miss him every day.” She cast a sly glance. “That does not mean I was not tempted to brain him with a skillet now and again.”
    James chuckled. “Bella’s never taken a pan to me, but she can definitely fly off the handle. The woman’s got a temper, and a hard head to go with it.”
    “While you are an angel, ever agreeable.”
    “Nope.” He shook his head. “But I’m more inclined to stew, not flare.”
    “A marriage made in heaven.” She grinned.
    “Maybe not, but one that’s forever.” Please let that be true.
    “For better or worse,” the old woman said.
    “In sickness and in health,” he concurred.
    She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I will not be party to breaking up a marriage, however fond I am of Dr. Sam, but Bella must have time. She is very frightened.”
    “I won’t hurt her.” That much was true. He would never again harm her, for one second. If he could have her back, he would be