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“Where Sara?” he prodded again.

Again, she shook her head.

“Let it out. Please? You must tell me,”
he tried coercing, to no avail his begging falling upon deaf ears.

All she would let out was more of her
tears.

“If you tell me where this happened, we
can somehow work through the consequences of your actions together. We can
figure out what next to do. I can help you.”

His only vice against the icy grip on
his heart was to deny what he felt for her for as long as he could.

Sara shook her head. She tried to
stand—only he wouldn’t let her. She tried to push out of his embrace.

He would not allow her an escape without
answer.

She tried to shame him by glaring at his
face; only he was well past being shamed.

Together, they had come to an impasse in
the journey of life, and it was up to both if one or the other would actually
survive the crossing. By the amount of furious burning inside his chest, by the
look in her watery gaze, and by their held breaths, any chance for survival
seemed slim to none.

Chapter
Seventeen

The moment Sara had viewed the name
Beale on that headstone she knew her life was going to change, and not change
to the better.

She’d felt sick to her stomach while
waiting for Christian’s return from the dark woods. Sick, wrought with dread,
it had been all she could do not to vomit once back in her bedroom.

The man who had her trapped in his grasp,
and was so unwilling to let her go, was the reason Sara’s past hit her so damn
hard on her walk back to the house.

Reverend Mohr didn’t deserve what was
about to happen to him. He did not deserve the agony she could see in his eyes,
and feel in the warm fingers attached to her arms. Christian didn’t deserve
anything but what the truth would give him.

Nor would he deserve the looks and
stares eventually gained, once she brought what happened out in the open. He
was a kind and decent person, and she was nothing more than a total fraud. Yet
she had to tell him the truth else they could not have a future—and only lies
and deceit would then bind them together.

Sara had eight years of freedom she
shouldn’t have been able to enjoy; a full eight years of life this man’s wife
lost, due to her reckless, careless disregard of another.

Eight long years she looked over her
shoulder, wondering when she might be caught; even if she would ever get caught
or if most had simply forgotten a day Sara could never forget.

She’d tried to end her life inside that
motel room, but something kept her alive—someone kept her alive.

The papers had called the accident a hit
and run with no eyewitnesses. Sara had made certain of that. From the moment of
impact, rounding a curve at nearly the speed of light, became the moment her
life as a free woman ceased to exist. Physically, she stayed free. Mentally,
however, Sara was trapped into one single second.

She’d ditched her car into a lake thirty
miles away from the accident scene only to have made certain she stayed free. She’d
purchased another vehicle. She moved to a new town. She became someone she
never wanted to be, with a career that mocked her true ambitions and goals.

Sara had planned her life down the
tiniest of detail whence waking up in that motel room and still very much alive.
All those plans disappeared by one fatal mistake, on one terribly miscalculated
night.

Placed from one foster home to another, she’d
found a way to get out of the system. Still whole, still physically intact, the
only thing she’d wanted to happen that night was to be able to protect herself
from her newest foster father wanting to prove himself a man. She’d turned old
enough for him to start acting and doing things that seemed wrong to her. She hadn’t
felt safe when in his care. She’d had no one to turn to, and no one who would
even listen to her complaints.

The moment he came into her room that
night, Sara knew what had to be done. She’d been young, vulnerable, and
foolish. But she wasn’t stupid. Perhaps she
had
turned him on, as he had
said on more than one occasion. Perhaps it was her fault that she grew up and
turned his eye. Perhaps she would have deserved his attentions if she’d stayed.

Life so unkind, the only escape from
that life was to run from it. To get away . . . she ran away. She took her car,
what little money she’d saved of her own, and drove West . . . never once did
she look back.

Hoping to get as far as she could before
she ran out of gas, she never saw the other vehicle until too late. The rain
heavy, fury dropping from the darkened sky, she’d been blinded—inside and out.

Her car nearly bounced one hundred fifty
feet from the other vehicle upon initial impact.

Sara walked away due to wearing her
seatbelt. A lot of bruising and deep cuts; it was only the hours after the
accident that had hurt so much; the psyche, that suffered the most.

Beale Mohr hadn’t been as lucky. Her car
crumpled into an unrecognizable chunk of mangled metal and broken glass when
impacted by Sara’s car, it was then projected into a cluster of pine trees.

Five full days later, when coherent and
capable of function without vomiting, and Sara still very much alive, was when she
realized all the news reports were about her and what she’d done to another
human being. By then it was too late to turn back, reset time, and wish things
had gone so differently for her life.

Fate was cruel. But God working with
fate, life lived became far crueler. Destiny had screwed with fate.

If she could somehow change the look on
Christian’s face at this very moment . . . she would. If she could somehow make
this all go away, perhaps pretend it never happened—she’d do whatever it took
to make this happen.

But she would not have been able to live
with herself by living an even longer lie. She wouldn’t be able to look him in
the face, kiss his lips, tell him her every desire, think of them having any
real future together, knowing she’d inadvertently killed his wife by vehicular
homicide.

Over the last half hour, Sara had come
to the slow realization she was going to lose everything she held dear. She
already lost what little was called her own by fire. Now, she was about to lose
a man she could easily fall in love with . . . simply by speaking the truth.

Not once had Sara attached her heart to
any of her foster families. Not once had any of them wanted her on a more
permanent basis. Not once had anyone shown her love or consideration . . .
until she met Christian.

Sara said nothing to prevent unwarranted
talk or unanswerable questions. And for eight long years she lived with this
shame . . . and for it to come out now? To the one single person whose life she
recklessly destroyed because of her fears?

Christian would never be able to
understand the real circumstances or cause of that night. He was a man. Men
protect each other to the death. Yet, if she did not tell him the truth now,
when he’d asked for it, she could lose him all together.

Her head rose. Her eyes trapped deep
blue pools staring into her soul. She looked right into the essence of Christian
Mohr and knew everything was about to alter her world into completely unrecognizable.

Her hand rose and she set her palm aside
his warmed cheek. The words, “I’m so sorry,” came out as a near whisper from
the back of her throat.

Christian trapped her hand to his face
with his own. Very gently, he placed his other to the side of her cheek. He
took a deep breath, released it slowly, and upon the last morsel of air drawn
into his lungs, he asked her again, “Where, Sara?”

Sara took her own deep breath, letting
little of it out of her chest. “Exactly where your wife died.”

Christian snapped away from her as if by
rubber band. His hands jammed through his hair, they then slid down the length
of his face and settled around his neck. She knew he was checking his thoughts
against his reactions to those thoughts. Yet, those thoughts must have collided
quite violently inside his body, because he physically paled right before her
very eyes.

Not once, in all her life, had Sara
witnessed such a loss of blood flow from another’s face.

His blue gaze turned to her. “Are you
telling me you’re the person responsible for my wife’s death?” He looked as
though trying hard to believe this was even possible and somehow not quite able
too.

Sara nodded.

“And that you said nothing to no one
about what you did?”

Again, the nod of her head was made as
the words stuck in her throat.

He turned from her. “Dear God, Sara! Do
you know what you have done?”

“Of course I know what’s been done. And I
am ever so sorry, Christian. You have to believe me . . . it was an accident. I
never meant to hurt anyone.”

Christian turned so swiftly Sara had to
take a step back. There was bitterness in his gaze and ice that filled his
words.

“I don’t have to believe a bloody damn
thing you say. What I must do is get away from you so I can think.” He made to
do just that.

Sara stopped this hasty exit by the
touch of her hand to his forearm. “Please, Christian? Please try to understand
what I went through that night . . . how much I am so incredibly sorry for what
happened. I never meant for it to happen.”

“But it did happen, didn’t it? You
killed my wife. Then you ran away from the scene of an accident like a coward.”
There was barely disguised disgust in his tone as he stared at her.

“Yes, Damnit, I ran! I can’t change
time. And yes, it did happen. Every day of my life I wish it hadn’t. I wish I
could get past this, close my eyes and forget, but it won’t leave me.” She
tapped the side of her head, letting the tears fall at will. “Every day of my
life I wish I wasn’t an orphan. Perhaps if I’d had a real family, life wouldn’t
have been so cruel or so incredibly bitter.”

“And yet you’re so terribly innocent you
did not think of the consequences to your actions?” Again, his words said far
too venomously, Sara feeling the anger in every syllable.

“Of course I had thought of the
consequences. I ran from all that was wrong in my life only to have made things
much worse.”

“All that was wrong?” he rushed out, his
fury temporarily unchecked.

“Yes, Christian. My foster father was
going to ra—”

She stalled on the words about to come
forth, for the look on his face told her he could not understand how she could
hit someone with her car, then simply take off without having a gun held to her
head. Had she even tried to explain what happened that night, or how she felt
when her foster father came into her room, drunk and undressed . . . well, he
wouldn’t be looking at her as he was.

She hadn’t just taken off, as he was
trying to imply. She’d stopped, staggered up to the other vehicle, smelled the
gas, would never, for all of eternity forget the stench of burning tires or the
sweetened caress of pine, never again forget the face of a woman dead, trapped inside
her car and covered in blood, her skull split apart, never again forget the
horror she couldn’t shake from her brain.

Sara had gotten so completely scared out
of her mind she’d barely held it together for days on end.

She’d done something truly unforgiveable
in the eyes of law. Worse, she did something godless in the eyes of Christian.

“I know what I did . . . ,” she started
with.

Christian stopped any excuses by using a
firm raised hand in her face. “Was bloody hell wrong, Sara!”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” he questioned heartlessly. “Do
you truly understand what must now be done due to your confession?”

“I told you this so you would
understand.” She was watching a caged animal pace his own cell. “I told you
this so you would know the truth, so there’d be no lies holding me back.”

Christian stopped dead in his tracks. He
pinned her down by sight alone. “Why did you tell me this now? Why couldn’t you
have just continued lying about it a little while longer? Perhaps until I was
dead and it would not completely destroy everything I have ever thought of as
real in my life.”

She openly glared. “Lie even longer? My
God, Christian, what would that have gained me in return?”

“Me, damnit! It would have gained you me!”

“By way of a continued lie!”

“No, Sara. It would have been by my
caring about what happens to you.” His hand jammed through his hair. “And I did
care about you whether you believe it or not. I am perhaps the only person in
this godforsaken town who did care about you.”

Sara took a step forward, feeling the
tight pinch to her heart; the odd staggering that heart suddenly achieved.

Christian flinched, stepped away from
her, and looking as if she was about to slap his face. Again, he held up his
hand.

“No, Sara. I need to get away from you.
I need to think. I need to clear my head. And I need to find a solution to this
latest horror before it somehow can’t be fixed.”

“A woman died Christian. That is not
something that can be fixed.”

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for
the expected explosion to erupt.

“Do you bloody hell think I don’t know
that a woman died because of you? That woman, whether she was any good at it or
not, was my wife! You killed her then ran from the scene like a simple,
twit-less coward, with no conscience and a permanently blackened soul. Then you
lied about it for eight long years.”

Sara just as easily lost her cool.

“You told me, only hours ago, you’re
glad she died. You said she was unfaithful to you. You said she was carrying
another man’s child. You told me  . . .”

“You murdered her!”

Sara’s heart stopped cold. She could no
longer focus on his face. She no longer felt warmth when near him. She no
longer had the desire to be with someone judging her so wrongly, if this was
how he felt. She hadn’t murdered his wife. It was a terrible accident.
Unavoidable, yet inevitable, what happened was not premeditated murder. Surely
he could see that.