Free While You Were Writing: Watkin's Pond, Book 2 by Virginia Nelson Page A

whole life and died an angel.”
    Like a key in a lock, those words made her release him and spin away. Instead of the pain he thought his speech would bring, her face twisted in humor. “Is that what you think? You think I’m still mourning him because he was so wonderful? That I’m a dutiful fiancée who made the right choices and stood by him until the end?” The derision in her tone had him backing away from her, not sure where she was going with the conversation.
    “Tell me I’m wrong.”
    “I’m doing penance, all right, but not out of some twisted sense of survivor’s guilt or anything nearly that wholesome. I’m a weak woman, I made poor choices and I own what I did. I can’t fix who I am and the integral weaknesses in myself. I might not be able to help you. But I do help people, dammit.” Tears shimmered in her eyes and he had two choices.
    Feel guilty for hurting her or lance the wound. He’d never been good at guilt.
    “Are you any different than me? Really? You’re still hiding from life. Whatever choices you made are in the past and—”
    Her hand smacked down on his chest and she backed him up step by step as she fired back. “Aren’t we our choices? Aren’t they a reflection of who we are? Preston was sick, yes. A good fiancée stays by her man when he’s sick and I did. Even while I could almost smell him dying from the inside out, I pasted on a smile. I wanted to run. Inside? Watching him die made me want to scream and scream and never stop. I got a job that last summer, the summer when he was so frail he wasn’t even a shadow of the man he’d been, more a living skeleton. I got a job with the county fair and I met a carnie who wanted nothing more than an easy lay with a local girl he’d never see again. He charmed me, smiled at me, was healthy and strong and everything that Preston wasn’t. Do you know what I did?”
    He shook his head. He’d run out of space to back up, the wall at his back and a woman full of fury and fire pinning him to it.
    “I let him kiss me. For one moment, I wasn’t the fiancée of a dying man who had to be strong, be supportive, be constantly positive. I was just a girl in the arms of a boy who was stronger than me and made me feel cherished.” The tears spilled over, splashing onto her cheeks as they flushed red in her anger. “I avoided going to the hospital for a couple days, the guilt for allowing that kiss—only a kiss, mind you, but betrayal in my mind of the emotional and physical commitment I’d made when I accepted his ring. And do you know what happened in those few days?” Her finger jabbed into his chest and he didn’t move. “He died, Radcliffe. He was good and wonderful and he died. Everyone comforted me, everyone was so worried about how I’d go on, and all I could think was that I’d cheated on him. I didn’t deserve their sympathy any more than I’d deserved Preston. So there. You have my big secret. Are you happy? Does all of it suddenly make sense and click into place?”
    Capturing the wrist of the hand that poked him, he still didn’t speak. He simply stroked his fingertips across her wrist. He kept stroking, looking deep into her eyes, and waited for the fury to dissipate like a storm cloud.
    Once she breathed steadier and shifted her weight, he stepped forward, into her space. “It does answer a lot of questions.”
    Her choked laugh might have been part sob.
    “However…” He backed her up a step, turning the tables on her. “ You’re not dead.” Her pulse sped up under his fingertips and he bent his head to nuzzle at her neck. Placing one soft kiss below her ear, he listened to her breath shudder out on a sigh. “But, Sher?”
    “Yeah.” She whispered the word, a soft tremor quaking her frame.
    “If you grab my dick again, expect more than an argument.”
    With that, he turned and left her while he could still make himself go.

Chapter Nine
    Sheri stared at the squirrel painting in disgust. Other than making