Winter must have heard his approaching footsteps because she lifted her head suddenly. He was shocked by her pallor, by the ravaged look on her face.
Michael stopped and waited, painfully pulling cold air into his lungs.
Her voice was very low when she addressed him. “I don’t want them to know about you, about us. It’s over. I don’t need you anymore.” She bent her head again and started walking rapidly away.
Fear, anger, searing pain, all twisted through him. He ripped one hand free of a pocket and caught her elbow before she was out reach. “Wait.”
She raised her head. Her eyes were huge, deep pools of anguish. Her face was parchment-white except for the hectic flush on her cheekbones. “Michael, please. Don’t make this harder.”
“You should have told me about Chloe,” he said quietly. It wasn’t the only thing he could have said, but it was one of the most important.
She gave a quick shake of her head. Her reply was sharp. “She was my business.”
Despite himself, his voice rose. “It wasn’t fair to me. To us.”
“Fair! You are nothing in my life, Michael! Don’t you understand?” She wrenched loose of his hold.
He felt like he had been kicked in the gut. His own turbulent emotions coalesced into what he felt for her. He moved, stepped in front of her, and reached out to touch her. “Winter—”
Her eyes blazed, incandescent with rage and contempt. “My name is Catherine!” she spat. She stepped around him, quickening her pace. She stumbled on an uneven patch of icy ground, righted herself and kept going. She never looked back.
Michael stared after her, his heart pounding. His gut was clenched so hard that he felt like he was going to be sick. He watched, helplessly, as she walked away from him, out of his life. She made directly for the Lexus and climbed inside. Within moments, the engine was started to life, and the vehicle cruised smoothly away, leaving a white trail of smoke in the frigid air.
“You look like you could use a drink.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Michael turned. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. An attractive dark-haired woman looked up at him, sympathy in her gaze. She touched his coat sleeve briefly with gloved fingers. “Come on. I have a thermos in my car.”
Without a word, without knowing why he did it, he followed her to a parked sedan. She opened the front passenger door and bent inside to retrieve a large thermos from the floorboard. Unscrewing the top, she poured steaming liquid into the cup and handed it to him.
Michael took an experimental swallow and looked at her. “Cocoa?”
“You were hoping for a shot of something stronger?”
“Something like that.” He took another swallow. It was sweet and cloying and loosened the twist in his gut. Michael wrapped both hands around the plastic cup, welcoming the warmth against his stiff fingers.
“For a minute there, you looked white as a sheet.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Vicky Sotero, by the way, one of Cathy’s friends. Her sister called me a few minutes ago to tell me that Chloe was doing better. I, uh, happened to overhear you and Cathy, but she took off before I could say anything. Cathy probably mentioned me.”
“No. She didn’t. She didn’t mention a lot of things.” Michael shook her small gloved hand briefly. “I’m Michael Lambert. And I’m sure that Winter… that she never talked about me.”
“No, she didn’t, at least not very much.” Vicky cocked her head, speculatively eying him. “You didn’t expect this, any of this, did you?” She waved her hand to indicate the hospital.
Michael shook his head. He didn’t bother to say that he hadn’t even met the child, let alone known that she was sick. He had actually told Darryl once that he didn’t care about Winter’s personal life, especially about her child or children. He had been a consummate ass.
“And you called her Winter.”