Sara’s pulse jumped as her eyes caressed him. It had been almost three months since she’d seen him and it had been far too long. A day was too long. She wanted to run to him. Her feet even moved forward in anticipation. Hunger propelled her, though she had no idea what kind of reciprocation she would receive. His dark locks were disheveled and wavy; the way they should be, his gray eyes riveted to her; as she now knew they always were and always had been. Lincoln wore a black tee shirt that was tight against his toned frame and khaki shorts, his stance wary as she approached.
Her stomach was swirling, her heart pounded at a scary rate, and she thought she’d pass out or go insane if she didn’t touch him. But he seemed so far away. Her fingers longed to smooth his furrowed brow, her lips wanted to feel the firm softness of his on them. She ached for him. Sara’s eyes devoured the sight of him. If it was all she had, if it was all she was allowed, then she would let her eyes take their fill and then some. She would stare at him until he faded from her view, and even then, she’d see him in her mind. Forever.
“How did you know I would be here?” she gasped out, trying to catch her breath that was evading her. Sara self-consciously touched her dirt-smudged pink shorts and tugged at the white shirt she wore, knowing she looked horrid. She tried to smooth her thick hair down and then gave up. This was not how she’d wanted to look for their reunion after a month’s absence. It was also not the place she’d had in mind for it either.
“I didn’t.”
“Oh.” Something inside her deflated and Sara tore her gaze from his, feeling immediately empty. “Did you—did you know I was back? From…where I was?” She glanced at his unreadable expression.
“You know Boscobel. Everyone knows your business before you even do,” he said dryly. “I knew where you were, Sara,” he added softly.
She frowned. “You did? How?”
Lincoln sighed. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out where you were going so I knew you’d be safe? So I knew you’d be okay?”
“But…Spencer,” she said, realization dawning on her.
“Having a cop for a friend can be good at times,” was all he said.
“You two are okay? You and Spencer? You talked and everything?”
Lincoln snorted. “Guys, talking? Guys don’t talk, Sara. We ridicule each other, toss back a couple beers, sometimes even throw a few punches, and move on.”
“So did you then? Move on?”
“Yep,” he replied shortly.
“Good.” She exhaled. “I’m glad.”
Sara studied his gray eyes, searching for something. Lincoln shifted his jaw and looked over her head, not letting her see in his face what he didn’t want her to. “Did you come to say hello or did you come to say goodbye?” He nodded toward the hill where Cole’s headstone resided.
“I don’t…” She frowned. “What do you mean?”
Lincoln shook his head. “Nothing. You need a ride?”
For the first time Sara noticed the Dodge truck alongside the road, parked haphazardly, as though he’d been in a hurry to park it. “Sure. I live on—“
“I know where you live, Sara,” he interrupted darkly, turning and stalking to his vehicle.
Sara followed, confused. It felt like her gut was shredded into millions of irreplaceable pieces. Like she was swallowing glass, or had had all the air stolen from her lungs. Even it was better than not being near him, not being able to gaze at his flawed perfection.
The ride was tense, silent. She was only minutely surprised when he pulled the truck up to the right house. Lincoln’s body was wound tight, like a taut string. There was so much strength in that body, so much power. A tick in his jaw captured her attention and held it as she struggled for the right words to say. In the end, there were none.
His voice was gravel when he said slowly, evenly, “Do you know…I wanted to tie you up so you couldn’t go? I seriously thought about it. Or I was going to kidnap you and lock you in my room until you saw reason. Only I figured Spencer might frown on that. Bad thing about having a cop for a friend,” he muttered.
Sara inhaled sharply, knowing she should be disturbed by that declaration but found she was pleased instead.
“And then the phone calls. God, those were torture. Sweet torture. I wanted to shout at you, plead with you, tell you how much I loved you. I wanted to get in my truck and go to Waupun and bring you home with me. I even thought about just going there and watching you; just to see you, just to know you were really okay. I have serious issues where you’re concerned.” Lincoln let his head thump against the steering wheel, his shoulders slumping.
“I wanted to leave. I wanted to turn the car around before I even left Boscobel,” she quietly admitted. “But I had to go, Lincoln, otherwise I would have never known if I truly loved you or if you were just a crutch I leaned on in my time of need. I wouldn’t have known the depth of my feelings for you. I wouldn’t have been able to heal. I wouldn’t have known—“ she broke off, unable to continue.
“What? What wouldn’t you have known?” he demanded, still not looking at her.
“Do you hate me, Lincoln?” Sara blurted, mentally kicking herself at how weak she sounded, like she would die if he did. A part of her would, she knew that much.
His head swung around, his features twisted in incredulity. “What?”