me what you meant by it, so I can have some form of sanity here.”
“Please, Landon.” Ashley wanted to shout, but instead she pleaded with him, begging him to understand. “I thought you were dying.”
A single exasperated laugh came from Landon’s lips. “As long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Ashley Baxter. Why I let you get under my skin all those years ago, I’ll never know.” His face grew softer, more serious. “Tell me, Ashley. Tell me what you told me when you thought I was dying.”
No! She couldn’t tell him!
A hundred thoughts ricocheted off the walls of Ashley’s mind, vying for position. Love between her and Landon could never work, never amount to anything more than heartache for both of them. He needed a sweet, Christian wife—someone who would sit at home waiting for him to return from the firehouse, someone who would pray for him every time sirens rang out across Bloomington. Someone quaint and cute and conservative.
Ashley was none of those things. Especially after Paris. She could never love a man unless she had the freedom to tell him what happened that year in France. And if there was one person she could never tell, it was Landon Blake. No way. He was moral and righteous, a man of the highest standards—a hero, no less. She couldn’t stand having him think of her as dirty and cheap.
What point was there in loving him now?
Ashley blinked. Yet, that’s what she’d told him, wasn’t it? That she loved him.
Landon coughed twice and took a sip of water. Then he looked at her again. “I already know, Ashley. Tell me.”
Like an avalanche, Ashley felt the walls of her pride give way. Her shoulder slumped forward, and when she spoke, there was none of the fierce independence that usually rang in her voice. She locked eyes with Landon and told him the truth, the way she felt still, even if it was the craziest feeling in all the world.
“I . . . I told you I love you.” She leaned forward, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the clock. “I didn’t want you to die without knowing.”
“That’s what I thought you said.” Landon’s eyes welled up, and his face twisted into a mask of confusion. “But I couldn’t believe it. Not until now. Not until I heard it from your own lips.” He searched her face. “Why is it so hard for you, Ashley? To tell me how you feel? When you know how I’ve always felt about you?”
“Because . . .” Ashley felt like a person falling from a cliff. “. . . I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Landon leaned forward, stiff, as though someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his hospital gown.
“I . . .” Ashley crossed her arms and dug her fists into the knots in her stomach. “. . . I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, Landon. You know, like I wanted something between us. A relationship or something.”
The pain that flashed in Landon’s eyes sliced straight through her. But it was gone almost instantly, gathered back into a closet of his heart where she clearly wasn’t allowed.
He chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Of course not, Ash.” Gone was the intimacy of a moment ago, and in its place was the protective veneer, the casual friendship she’d grown accustomed to. The one she was more comfortable with. “I would never think that. Not of the mysterious Ashley Baxter.”
“Landon . . .” Ashley wanted to kick herself. This was going all wrong. Yes, she had feelings for Landon. But where could they possibly lead? “I didn’t mean it like that; it’s just . . .”
Landon held up his hand. “It’s okay.” Resignation was written across his face. “I understand.” He drew in a deep breath and held out his hand to her. She reached up and took it, allowing him to weave his fingers between hers. “I have something to tell you.”
Ashley wanted to think straight, but the feel of Landon’s hand in hers was almost more than she could bear. She