Free Twice Loved (copy2) by Lavyrle Spencer Page B

silent deliberation to the door of the new linter room. There he stopped again, looking in, his eyes moving across its interior to linger on the bed.
    A queer mixture of feelings seemed to turn Laura’s stomach over: familiarity, caution, yearning. She studied Rye’s broad shoulders, covered by the sweater she had knit years ago, as they filled the bedroom doorway. He looked at once relaxed and tense as he stood contemplating her and Dan’s bedroom, and Laura wondered if Rye had deliberately chosen to wear that particular sweater today. It strikingly emphasized his ruggedness, and the sight of him in it gripped her with a sudden flush of sensuality as she watched him slowly turn her way and take a slow walk around the edge of the keeping room, eyeing objects, running a finger along the edge of the mantel, taking in the new as well as the familiar. When he reached Laura again, he stood before her with that wide-legged stance of a seaman.
    “Changes,” he uttered in a broken voice.
    “In five years they were inevitable.”
    “But all these?” Now his voice had taken on a harder note. Again he reached for her; again she avoided his touch.
    “Rye, I went to see Ezra Merrill.” Laura was grateful that her announcement distracted Rye, and he refrained from reaching again.
    “You too? That makes two of y'.”
    “Two?” She looked up, puzzled.
    “It seems Dan visited Merrill yesterday.’!
    Yesterday, thought Laura. Yesterday?
    At her look of consternation, Rye went on. “He gave me the news this mornin’ when I saw him at the countinghouse.”
    “Then you know already?”
    “Aye, I know. But I know that the law can’t dictate how I feel.”
    Rather than face his determined eyes, she turned away. But from behind he saw her lift a hand to touch her temple.
    “This is such a muddled mess, Rye.”
    “It appears the law can’t dictate y’r feelings, either.”
    She spun to face him again. “Feelings are not what I’m speaking of, but legalities. I am his wife, don’t you understand? You ... you shouldn’t even be here at this very minute!”
    Her head was tipped slightly to one side, and her upper body strained toward him in earnestness. He spoke with deadly calm. “Y’ sound rather desperate, Laura.” Immediately, she straightened. “Rye, I have to ask you to leave and not to be seen here again until we can get this thing straightened out. Dan was ... he was very upset last night, and if he should find you here again, I ... I...” She stammered to a halt, her eyes on the strong curve of his jawbone, where the new side-whiskers nearly met the thick turtleneck of his sweater, giving him a brawny and wholly unsettling appeal. “Please, Rye,” she ended lamely.
    For a moment she thought he would raise his fist and shout at the heavens, releasing his tightly controlled rage. Instead, he relaxed—albeit with an effort—and agreed. “Aye, I’ll go ... but the lad is asleep.”
    His eyes flashed to the alcove bed, then back to her, and before she could prevent it, he’d taken a single long step forward and grasped the back of her head, commandeering it with one mighty hand while his mouth swooped over hers. She pressed her palms against the wool sweater, only to find his heart thundering within it. She strained to pull away, but his grasp was so relentless it pushed the whalebone hairpins into her scalp. His tongue had already wet her lips before she managed to jerk free. When she did, her lips escaped his with a frantic, sucking sound.
    “Rye, this—”
    “Shh ...” From violent to gentle, his quick change confused her as his admonition cut off her words. “In a minute ... I’ll leave in a minute.” Recklessly, he’d clasped the back of her neck and forced her forward, the action in direct contrast to his repeated, soft, “Shh ...”
    She allowed herself to stay as she was, though rigidly, with his chin pressed against her forehead while his eyes sank shut. Beneath her fingers his heart still