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hurt in the end.”
    He turned away and she was struck again by his thinness. He’d always been well-built, a virtual wall of solid muscle, the material of his shirts had always strained against his biceps. But now the khaki uniform practically hung on his tall frame, reminding her of the hell he must’ve suffered.
    He’d changed. The man she’d known for most of her life rarely raised his voice, he always thought before speaking and was methodical in anything he attempted, whether he was working with his hands around the house or...loving her. Especially when they’d made love. When she’d kissed him earlier, the passion had been immediate and hot, like a flash fire burning across the dry Texas landscape. That instantaneous desire weighed on her conscience.  
    She pushed those thoughts away as she moved to the bed and sat. “I’m sorry, Ford.”
    “I’m having a hard time with all this,” he said, keeping his back to her.
    She hid her surprise over his admission. “I know you are. And I’m sorry,” she said again. “But what exactly do you think Trenton and I have been doing these past two weeks?”
    He stiffened and she realized her mistake too late. He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes were filled with an emotion she’d never seen before—rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. “I should’ve killed the son of a bitch when I had the chance,” he said, then strode for the door.
    “Ford!” She scrambled to her feet. “Be reasonable.”
    He paused with his hand on the door knob. “I am being reasonable.”
    She rushed to his side and grabbed hold of his arm. After his earlier scuffle with Trenton, she knew she’d be hard pressed to stop Ford, but she could at least try. “No, you’re not. Stop acting like this.”
    “Like what?” he asked bitterly, shrugging off her touch. “A jealous husband? You’re damned right I’m jealous. You belong to me.”
    She didn’t think he meant to sound quite so barbaric and understood his anger wasn’t directed at her, but she still didn’t care for the caveman routine. “At one time, that was true.”
    He exhaled roughly, then pushed both hands through his hair. He stared at the framed poster of Monet’s water lilies hanging above the bed as if trying to gather his thoughts for the next barrage of questions. Finally, he looked down at her. God, she had loved this man with all her heart. She hated that he was hurting. But he wasn’t the only one involved in this relationship. There were three of them. Four, if she included Phoebe.
    “Are you saying there’s no chance for us?” he asked, that calculated control evident once again.
    Memories. So many memories of their life together.
    Departures. Times when he’d leave her for a few weeks or a few months, unable to place a single phone call to let her know he was safe.  
    Homecomings. Short periods of adjustment, of finding their own special rhythm until they settled in again, only to have him leave at a moment’s notice. This was one homecoming that was going to take a ton of adjustment, and she honestly didn’t know if she could live through it only to have him leave her again.  
    She shook her head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
    He gripped her upper arms in a gentle hold, his expression intent. “What are you saying? Explain it to me.”
    She couldn’t, because she didn’t know the answer. “I can’t,” she finally whispered.
    He swore, then briefly closed his eyes. His hands slid from her shoulders in...defeat? Never. Ford Grayson never admitted defeat.
    “Do you love him?”  
    Why did the truth have to hurt so damned much? She couldn’t lie to him, but whatever she told him would no doubt cause more anguish. “Do you really think I would’ve married him otherwise?”
    Ford fought to block the pain from his mind. He’d become an expert at closing off a part of himself from physical pain. But Mattie’s admission went way beyond physical. Her words shot straight to his heart