Free The Marriage Wish by Dee Henderson

do. Guilt grew as the minutes passed.
    “Scott, it’s midnight.”
    He didn’t look up. “I know.”
    What if he didn’t like the book? The thought made her feel physically sick. He did look…grim. The book was very different from the other books in the series, and it was still rough even after the editing. He was almost done with the book. Jennifer dropped any pretext about not wanting to know what he thought. She wanted to know his reaction desperately. Setting down her embroidery, she got up and crossed the room. She sat down on the couch beside him.
    He turned the last page she had written, closed the book slowly. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say anything.
    Scott felt like his heart had just been wrenched out. There was a bit of the writer in every book. In this yet-untitled book, there was more Jennifer than Scott knew how to handle. The plot was basic. A murder. The widow hired Thomas Bradford to find out who killed her husband and why. The mystery was intriguing, well written, believable, even humorous in places.
    The widow in the story haunted him. She was a minor character. She introduced the mystery, providing Thomas Bradford a logical person with whom he could discuss the case. Her grief, her loneliness, her sense of drifting eloquently spoke for Jennifer herself. The critical need for the widow to understand why her husband had died wove like a tapestry thread through the entire book.
    The story was so vivid in Scott’s mind that emotionally he felt he had lived through the scenes personally.
    “Scott? Was it that bad?” Jennifer finally whispered, afraid to know, but more afraid of not knowing.
    Scott turned toward her. Jennifer didn’t understand the emotions she saw.
    “The story is the best you have ever written,” he reassured softly.
    “Really?”
    “Yes.” He reached for her hands. “Come here.” He gently pulled her over to him, brought her to rest against his chest. Her hands settled of their own accord against his powerful upper arms.
    “I was afraid you didn’t like it.”
    “I like it.” Jennifer, her head resting against his chest, felt the words. It felt so good to be held. Scott was quiet for some time. Jennifer slowly got comfortable with being held by him, began to relax.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t understand how badly you miss Jerry.”
    Jennifer stiffened.
    Scott’s hands moved up from her waist to gently rub her back. “It’s all there, Jennifer. The anger, the grief, the sense of drifting. The loneliness.”
    She didn’t look up at him. “It’s fiction.”
    “No it’s not.”
    Jennifer finally decided not to hide from him. “No it’s not,” she softly admitted. She sighed. “If anything, I toned down the emotions.”
    His hands gently slid up to shoulders that were in tense knots. “Tell me about the day Jerry died.”
    “Peter, what are you doing back so early?” Jennifer glanced around briefly when she heard footsteps, then turned back to the oven. “Couldn’t you get a court?” She set down the cookie tray she had pulled from the oven, reaching for the spatula. “Is Jerry putting the car away? I promised him the first batch of cookies.”
    “Jennifer.” At the broken tone in her brother’s voice, Jennifer looked up. She set down the spatula. “What’s wrong, Peter?” she asked, fear gripping her heart.
    “It’s Jerry.”
    She leaned against the counter for support, burning her finger when it pressed against the cookie sheet.
    “He had a heart attack, Jennifer.”
    The past tense didn’t make any sense.
    “He’s dead, Jennifer.” The blank whiteness on her brother’s face told her of his own shock.
    He couldn’t be talking about her Jerry. They had tickets to a concert tonight. “Which hospital are they taking him to? I’ve got to get there.” Jennifer pulled over her purse. “Memorial? Lake Forest? Condell? Where are my car keys? I need my car keys.”
    Her brother gripped her shoulders. “Jennifer, there were two doctors there