The mention of that family still had the power to pull the breath from her lungs. She forced a casual tone. “Oh. Which ones?”
Josie laughed, her keen eyes no doubt sensing her sister’s discomfort. “Not Travis. He’s still single. Of course, that wouldn’t matter a bit to you, now, would it? Come on, Robbie. Let’s see if we can rustle up some corn bread and milk.” Their footsteps clattered across the wood floor.
Annie dragged in a ragged breath. Why, oh why, did the very syllables of his name still have the strength to unravel her? As if she were an ancient tapestry, able to bear up under any strain but that.
Josie said his single state wouldn’t matter much to her.
Nor would it. Too much had happened since those days, far too much. Why, they probably wouldn’t even recognize each other, if they passed on the street.
Never mind that she had kept every line of his face, every shadow of his smile, hidden deep within her heart. As if their past was some long-ago burial mound, each bone carefully preserved.
Best left to molder in silence.
San Antonio, Texas
Wasn’t he supposed to be deriving some sort of pleasure from this long-awaited vacation?
Travis Hart ran his gaze across the hotel dining room. Crystal chandeliers. Cream linen tablecloths and napkins folded into odd-looking fan shapes. Black-jacketed waiters serving slices of iced cake, tall glasses bubbling with champagne.
And, of course, the bride and groom. One mustn’t forget them.
The happy couple, along with their families, sat at a long table at the head of the room. The groom, Matthew Wellington, leaned forward and placed a kiss against the lips of his bride, Eliza Littlefield. The young lady giggled and wrapped her arms around her new husband’s neck, both heedless of propriety and the indulgent smiles of their family and friends.
Fiddling with the silver fork next to his untouched plate of wedding confectionary, Travis looked away.
All he seemed to do was attend weddings these days. First his youngest brother, Hays. Then his other brother Chisholm. Today he’d witnessed the nuptials of his friend from the army, Matthew Wellington.
Of course, since Pa’s edict five months ago, weddings seemed to be the main topic of everyone’s thoughts. At least where the Hart family was concerned.
Not that Travis disliked marriage. Quite the reverse, in fact. He was happy for Matt and Eliza. The pair had endured more than their share of hardships in the years following the war, a war that both Matt and Travis had entered as first-year med students, and ended as men who had seen horrors that ought to belong only in nightmares. Only…
All right, he’d admit it. Every bride walking down the aisle, pretty and aglow in white, every groom waiting for her at the front of the church, every joining of hearts, lives, futures, lanced the wound he tried so hard to keep bandaged and out of sight.
Annie Parker.
It’d been too long since he allowed himself to think her name. Yet here, at this festive event, it entered his mind, demanding to be heard. Like a pain ignored until the agony became too great to allow for any course of action other than dealing with the source.
Even now, he saw her face, bright against the canvas of his mind. Even now, he could hear her voice, feel her hand brushing his. How beautiful she’d been, with that strawberry-blond hair, those ever-changeable eyes that could only be described as hazel. Her smile wasn’t an ordinary one, a mere turning up of the lips. No, it transformed her face, turned it aglow, and the room with it…
Enough. She was gone. Out of his life. For good.
He was at the wedding of his good friend. He would enjoy himself, even if he had to struggle through the doing of it like a new med student watching his first operation and trying not to keel over. Other women populated the world. He could still have a chance at fulfilling his father’s demand.
Travis stood, pushing in his chair, leaving the cake and champagne behind. In the flurry following the ceremony, and the short drive from the church to the hotel reception, he hadn’t properly wished his friend well. He wove his way through the clusters of tables, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the waiters, who bore an alarmingly large tray of more cake.
Matt and his bride were oblivious to all else around them, his hand on her waist, her lifting a champagne glass to take a sip, then putting it to her groom’s lips. Travis hesitated. Should he intrude? Yet after making the seven-hour trip from Hartville to San Antonio, he at least wanted to say a few words, give some good wishes.
Travis put his hand on the back of his friend’s chair. Matt turned, a grin stretching his mouth.
“Well, if it isn’t old Trav Hart. Why didn’t you come over earlier? I didn’t even know you were here.”