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A while later, utterly spent, he cradled her close. She had rattled him. Too often she seemed to see right through him. |
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Guilt. Maybe he did carry too much, but he didn't want to feel guilty for the way he treated Abby. He could help her find answerseven if they weren't the ones she was looking for. And then he could let her go. |
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He kept his voice low, even though the light unevenness of her breathing indicated she must be awake. "Abby?" |
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She responded immediately, her voice a golden caress against his chest. "I apologize for before, Mike. Hannah told me how your wife died. I suppose you can't help feeling guilty, though you weren't. You must have loved her very much, and I should not criticize the way you grieve." |
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"Grieve?" He snorted. "Hardly. I'm thrilled!" |
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She pulled away, as he expected. Wasn't every bereaved husband supposed to revere his dead wife? |
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But her inevitable shock at his reaction did not send her running from the room. Instead she found his hand and held it tightly. "Tell me, Mike," she urged, nestling against him once more. |
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He hesitated. His inclination was to tell her to mind her own business. But maybe it was time to uncork his emotionsand why not to someone who sensed them anyway? Abby would surely stop worrying about him once she under- |
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