* * *

  Ten minutes later Cadie closed the door behind the delivery guy and set to arranging sweet-and-sour boneless pork and chow mein on the counter. Her kitchen wasn’t nearly set up, but she’d managed to get newly purchased plates and glasses in the cupboard. The apartment, as Tavish had explained, was mostly furnished—handy, considering she’d brought very little from Colorado when she’d moved. After the funeral, she’d packed up her clothes, books, art and personal stuff, had filled a box of Sam’s most important treasures for her then unborn, unnamed baby, and had invited Sam’s friends to help themselves to the rest. Given income was often scarce in ski towns, the condo she’d lived in for her short marriage had been stripped to the walls by sunset.

  This apartment she could take the time to make her own. Not having to worry about dining room and living room furniture or a bedroom suite had made it easier to leave her dad’s in a short time frame. And once she’d realized she wanted to move, there’d been no need to delay. She’d craved proof she was moving forward.

  Letting out a breath, she stared at the three stacks of boxes haphazardly occupying the living room floor. She had the bones of a home here, she just needed to put them together. Once the kitchen and bedrooms were organized—and, let’s be honest, priority number one was to find Bun-Bun—she could go about filling the shelving unit in the living room with knickknacks and could hang her family themed gallery wall in the spot in the dining room where Tavish had previously displayed some of his photography.

  Turning to the fridge to take out two beers, she chuckled. Ben and Zach’s artistic effort from the morning—a vibrant mess of sponge-painted circles and thumb prints arranged to look like The Very Hungry Caterpillar—was fastened to the fridge with one of the scattered magnets left behind. Given Tavish had thoroughly emptied the place of his personal effects, the stained-glass magnets might have even belonged to Mackenzie. No matter the source—she was just happy to be able to provide proof of occupancy. The splash of color served as a temporary brightener in the small-but-functional kitchen. And the thought of Zach, Ben on his lap and hands covered in paint? She couldn’t not smile at that.

  Speaking of Zach and her son, she hadn’t heard anything in about five minutes. Her hand hovered over the monitor she’d plugged in next to the single-cup coffeemaker. It bordered on an invasion of privacy to listen in, but curiosity prodded her into flicking the switch.

  A low baritone came out of the speaker. She didn’t understand it—Zach was singing in Spanish—but she didn’t need to. The sound gripped her heart and twisted. What was she doing with this man, sending him to Ben’s art class and dumping bedtime duties on him?

  Teasing herself? Teasing him?

  Her breathing picked up and her nose pinched. Gripping the counter, she leaned against the cool surface and unsuccessfully tried to breathe away the tears. Fat drops slid off her chin and splashed onto the polished, green-flecked stone.

  Why had her sister-in-law picked that color for her counters? Had she wanted Cadie to have to stare at granite the exact shade of Zach’s eyes every morning as she fixed Ben’s breakfast?

  Self-centered much? Tone it down.

  Obeying her inner voice, she sucked in a gulp of air and stole a piece of sweet, delicious pork from under the foil lid of the take-out container. Her stomach growled even louder now, but Zach had been kind enough to order her dinner and take over with Ben. She wasn’t going to start eating without him.

  “Good grief. Why’d you wait?” came his voice from the hallway. “You’re starving.”

  The stress of the day yanked at her composure, unraveling it like the day last week when Ben had crawled into the bathroom and pulled at the toilet paper until half the roll was in shambles on the floor. “You know, there’s a fine line between gratitude and rage, Cardenas.”

  “Huh?”

  Another tear trailed down her cheek and she wiped it with the back of her hand. “One of these days, I might actually believe I’m doing this right.”

  Head cocked to the side, he stopped a few feet away from her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You got Ben to sleep. Without that stupid rabbit, no less. It usually takes me a half hour or more to get him to settle on a night he’s not freaking out.” She snuck another morsel of pork with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. Self-doubt ground at her confidence.

  Zach reached out as if to palm her cheek but dropped his hand before making contact. He slowly shook his head. “You’re doing this right every day, Cadence.”

  “But you—”

  “It’s like opening a mayonnaise jar,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You loosened the lid for me.” With a few quick motions he peeled the covers off the containers and shoved a pair of chopsticks in her hand. “Eat. Please.”

  She reached for the cupboard. “My plates are unpacked.”

  “Plates are overrated.” Picking up his own chopsticks and rubbing them together to get rid of wooden slivers, he plucked a deep-fried shrimp out of the golden stack and chewed with relish. Pleasure softened his expression as he closed his eyes.

  “We haven’t eaten off a counter in, say, five years,” she said. The memory of sharing reheated Chinese food with Sam and Zach—and Zach’s girlfriend at the time, to be fair—after a long day on the slopes emerged from the ether, making her smile. So many of her thoughts about Sam were wrapped up in his attitude toward her pregnancy that it was always a nice surprise to have a happy one float to the surface.

  They ate in silence, both leaning against the counter and shoveling bites into their mouths like it was their first meal in a week.

  Once she finally felt like she had a handle on her blood sugar, Cadie rested her chopsticks on a take-out container lid. “How’d your walk feel today? That wasn’t a short distance for you.”

  “It was walking,” he said grumpily.

  “I know. But that’s further than you’ve done on the treadmill.”

  “You didn’t say anything at the time.”

  “No,” she said, reining in the instinct to get defensive, “because I knew you’d be okay. But I wanted to ask on the off chance I was wrong.”

  He crossed his arms on the counter and stared at the lurid red puddle of sauce in one of the aluminum containers, all that remained of the pork. “I’m going to need to push myself if I’m going to be ready to hike the glacier in five weeks.”

  “There’s pushing yourself and there’s being stupid.”

  He quickly fisted and splayed a hand.

  “I’m not saying you’re going to be stupid—”

  “Aren’t you?” he murmured.

  “Absolutely not. But we have to be just as regimented about your recovery now that you’re walking crutches-free. There’s still no guarantee you’ll be ready to go. Who knows how it’s going to feel? You’ll have to play it by ear.”

  “The film will get done. I will be on that mountain,” he said from between gritted teeth.

  “You know, Sam’s not going anywhere. Delaying for the sake of your health...”

  He crumpled his napkin into a tight ball and threw it forcefully into the paper bag the food had come in. “I made a promise. I’m following through on it. Period.”

  Anger balled under her ribs, pushing up, threatening to crack her bones. “Your health is more important than a promise to get a stupid film made, Zach. It’s not like Sam was the poster boy for sticking with commitments.”

  “And I don’t want to share his flaws,” he said quietly. “I told him I’d do it.”

  Lacing her fingers behind her spine, she arched her back, trying to loosen the cramps clenching her rib cage. “You told him that after the avalanche? How could Sam even have been thinking about the film then? Why the hell was it even a remote priority?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Zach said, sounding strained, like he was fighting a cramp of his own.

  She opened her eyes to make sure he was okay. Elbows on the counter, strong back slumped, he cradled his head in his hands. His fingers kneaded his scalp.

  “Zach...” Placing her hand between his shoulder blades, she rubbed a tentative circle over his shirt. “What’s not that simple?”

  His fingers stilled, strands of his thick hair sticking out between his knuckles like tufts of wild grass. “My promise, Cadence. Promises.”

  A flicker of warning teased her spine at his emphasis on the plural. “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Should you talk about it?”

  “I have.” A breath shuddered from his lips. “You’re not the only person who’s seen a counselor.”

  “I know. And that’s good.” But something told her Zach had let go of his survivor’s guilt about as well as Cadie had her regret about the state of her marriage before Sam’s death. Maybe he’d hidden feelings from his therapist, too. Hadn’t felt like seeing disgust on the face of a paid professional.

  A dark shadow crossed through Zach’s eyes. “After we rescued him he didn’t overtly ask me to finish the film. But he did ask me to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. And the film is the most effective way for me to follow through on that.”

  For God’s sake, Sam. You weren’t happy with solely tying up my life? You had to make Zach beholden to your memory? But the explanation did clear up Zach’s determination to get to Whistler. It was more than just finishing up a project or memorializing a friend—Zach wouldn’t take a vow like that lightly.

  “Hey,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around his hunched body from the side and resting her cheek on his shoulder. His muscles went rigid, but he didn’t slough off the embrace. “You’re doing your best.”

  “Am I, Cadie? Was it my best when I kissed you?” Bitter shame dripped from his tone. He turned sideways, making her release her hug, and rested a hand on her hip. “Am I doing my best when I want you every damned day?”

  She blinked. Well, that was sharpening a point on what had been a blunt pencil. “I—” She slowly blew air out between flat lips, the sibilant sound riding over, but not covering, his ragged breathing. “I don’t think I can answer that for you.”

  His thumb arced a path on her hip and her breath hitched. “Yeah, let’s label that a rhetorical question,” he said. “The only person who needs to worry about my promise is me.”

  “You said promises. More than one,” she pointed out.

  He grunted noncommittally.

  Curiosity poked her. What had he and Sam talked about on that mountain that Zach was so reluctant to discuss? She knew full well he’d never divulged the whole story. What he had shared—that Sam loved her and was sorry—hadn’t simplified or eased the grieving process any, so she hadn’t asked for the rest. Now, though—if she wanted to truly move on, she needed all the information.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder and teased the seam of his rugby jersey. It was easier to focus on the burgundy cotton instead of the raw regret ravaging the planes of his face. “What else did he say?”

  “After we dug him out?” he croaked, scrubbing the back of his neck with the knuckles of his free hand. He was still idly rubbing her hip with the other—did he even know he was touching her there?

  She wasn’t about to forget. A slow burn crackled at her core, each slow stroke of his hand stoking the burgeoning flame.

  “Yeah. While they were packing him up for transport.” Though Sam had broken his neck when the avalanche swept him off a cliff, he could have survived had he been dug out sooner. He’d been buried with a decent air pocket, so oxygen deprivation hadn’t been an issue. But chest trauma had led to shock and he’d gone into cardiac arrest on the helicopter. By the time he’d arrived in Vancouver, it had been too late. And she knew Zach blamed himself for the fifteen minutes it had taken the rescue crew to travel from base camp to the avalanche field. That they had talked about, desperate attempts on her part to help him see he couldn’t have changed the outcome.

  He’d never budged on that. Maybe he would on this, though. “What did he say, Zach?” she prodded when he stayed silent.

  “Like I’ve told you before—sorry, and I love you.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “That was to me. What did he say to you, besides making sure he wasn’t forgotten?”

  He pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Nothing unusual, Cadence.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Ever since he broke the dam and had started using her nickname on occasion, she’d gotten the impression that when he had called her Cadence it was with affection. This time, though, he was throwing up a wall.

  “Not unusual doesn’t mean not important,” she said.

  “Why do you want to know so badly?”

  “Because it feels like there are pieces missing in the puzzle, and I’m ready to slot things into place.”

  Muttering a curse, he scooted between her and the counter. His hips rested on the granite and he tugged her into the V of his long legs. Clammy palms clasped both her hands and he stared at her knuckles as if they held the answers to the origins of the universe.

  “It’s not—” He hesitated. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. So know that I think you’re capable and resourceful and downright amazing with everything you do.”

  “Okaaaaay...”

  “And regardless of Sam’s perspective on what he asked, I’ve only ever taken it to mean that we function better with support. Everyone does.”

  “Zach.” She lifted one of her hands, still joined with his, and nudged him under the chin until he looked at her. “What did he ask?”

  An odd mix of guilt and resignation crossed his face. “He wanted me to take care of you.”

  Defensiveness rose but she took a calming breath. Nothing odd about Sam wanting her looked after—really, it was a heartening thing to know he’d been concerned about her welfare, given the last time they’d spoken they’d thrown around words like “separation” and “divorce.” But for Zach... Sam’s request clarified his behavior. Fleshed out his move to Sutter Creek. “I figured you followed me here because you felt guilty.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Column A, column B.”

  “I see.” What a load of new information—she didn’t know where to begin to file it away.

  “You’re not pissed?”

  “That you and he both cared—care—enough to want to make sure I’m okay? It’s somewhat comforting, to be honest. He and I left things in such an ugly place...” And she felt all the worse for the number of times her inner shadows suggested she might be better off without Sam. A sob crept out, echoing in the tiny, galley kitchen.

  “Shh. It’s okay.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A shimmer of pleasure warmed her skin.

  “I hope so.” Her voice hitched from the echo of his lips on her hand. “Like I said the other day, I do need to hang my own shingle now.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “You can do it.”

  “I haven’t so far. I couldn’t have made it through pregnancy or Ben’s first year alone.”

  “I was happy to do it. I really do love living here, working here. It was a nice place to land. It would have been too hard to stay in Colorado.”

  “Do you think...do you think he would have supported me?” Her voice cracked. “I’ve never been able to believe he would have.”

  One gentle tug from Zach’s hand and she was up against his broad chest, wrapped in his arms. The bands of muscle held her up and she ringed her arms around his ribs, pressed her cheek next to the quarter placket of buttons on his shirt, and let her knees sag. She breathed out the guilt until she stopped the tears from coming.

  “His specific words were to ‘take care of Cadie and the baby.’ I can only assume he meant in his stead.”

  “I wish I had your optimism.”

  “Thinking otherwise feels like a betrayal. Hard to ask for your friend to clarify when he’s effing dead.”

  “Something I’ve mulled over a hell of a lot myself.”

  “Cadie...” The stark fear in his eyes grabbed at her insides. “I promise, I’m not trying to take his place.”

  “Didn’t think you were,” she said.

  Every time you hold my son, I imagine you in it, though.

  “I can’t do that to him—”

  “I didn’t think you were,” she repeated.

  A breath shuddered from his lungs. “Every time I’ve wanted you, though—every time—I’ve had to deal with the reality that I’ve gotten dangerously close to trying just that.”

  “Zach—”

  “I have. I’ve pictured it—”

  “Zach.” The self-loathing darkening his green eyes to a bottomless crevasse—it was too hard to see him like this.

  “What kind of friend would—”

  “Stop. You’ve been nothing but loyal.” And he deserved to be free. Deserved to know that whatever existed between them, however temporary the physical attraction might be, didn’t make him a bad friend to Sam.

  “A loyal friend doesn’t move in on his buddy’s wife, Cadence.”

  “And you haven’t.” She rested her palm against his cheek, stroking her thumb along the evening stubble. “We’re not getting involved with each other. So we kissed. And—correct me if I’m wrong—you want to do it again. Well, I do, too.”

  “Again.”

  Always. Keeping in the full truth, she jerked a nod.

  He dropped his forehead to hers. His rapid breaths warmed her skin. “Why?”

  A bark of laughter escaped her throat. “Because you’re eighteen levels of sexy? And I haven’t been intimate with anyone in over a year and a half? And just for one night it would be nice to feel like a desirable woman again?”

  He swore again, an exclamation this time instead of a complaint.

 

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