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Brenna’s lips curved into a semblance of a smile. Cold blue eyes dominated her heart-shaped face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she drawled, her grip tightening on the shotgun. “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Ace Bear in the flesh. Thought I saw you in the church. Get back in your truck and leave. I’m not in the mood for visitors.”

Words stuck in his throat. He’d imagined many scenarios of their first meeting. Being at the receiving end of a loaded shotgun wasn’t one of them.

Beneath the layers of anger on her face lurked the pain of a wounded deer. Beautiful dark hair so recently wound into curls and pinned high had escaped to cascade over her shoulders. Hairpins stuck out here and there. A few remaining curls sat precariously on top of her head like a cockeyed hat. Smeared eye makeup gave her the appearance of having two black eyes. Her skin was paler than it had been when she walked down the aisle, and she still wore the voluminous wedding dress splotched with blood. His fingers itched to rip it from her body and burn the damn thing. Bare toes peeked out from under the hem.

“Put down the damn gun, Brenna. You know better than to point a weapon at someone you don’t intend to shoot.”

Sweat beaded at his hairline. He hoped he hadn’t misjudged her. After all, he hadn’t seen her in years and people did change. If she blew him away, he had only himself to blame. “I’m here to help you,” he continued, striving for a calm tone.

Anger, then fear, raced across her face. With a sigh of acceptance, she lowered the shotgun, turned and placed it on the wobbly kitchen table. Ace stepped into the cabin and kicked the door shut. The resounding slam echoed throughout the small area.

The paper bag crackled as he put it on the table next to the gun. “Sit down.” In a show of rare obedience, she sank into the chair he’d pulled away from the table.

Who was this woman? The one he’d once known would have told him to shove it up his ass.

Ace ran back to his truck and grabbed a flannel shirt from behind the seat. Brenna hadn’t stirred when he returned. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall. Familiar with the cabin, he pulled a pot out of the cupboard, opened a can of soup and set it on the wood stove. Then he filled the tea kettle with water and lit a burner on the small gas stove. For a quick fix, gas beat wood every time. He hunkered to the floor in front of the silent woman he’d once loved, held her cold hands and vigorously rubbed them. A low moan came from her throat.

“Hey, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.” Jesus. Where was the pleasure he should be feeling from her pain?

“Brenna, talk to me. Why were you marrying Anson Carter?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.

A weak spark snapped from her blue eyes. “None of your damn business.”

“Carter’s the worst kind of vermin. He’d put his own mother out in the street if her rent was overdue.”

Brenna’s mouth tightened, but she remained silent. The tea kettle let out a shrill whistle. He rose and found a stainless steel dishpan under the sink. Once he’d filled it with hot water, he added cold from the hand pump. Brenna’s docility unnerved him. He pulled her out of the chair and turned her around. His fingers fumbled with the multitude of tiny pearl buttons on the back of the gown. No wonder she still wore the damn thing. On the fourth button, he gave up and reached in his pocket for his jackknife. She glanced over her shoulder when the blade snapped open. Her eyes grew wide and she bolted away, knocking over the chair.

Did she think he was going to knife her? “Relax. I’m cutting off your dress. Too many buttons.”

Her eyes remained wary, but she stilled. He sliced through the material, and the gown slid from her shoulders to the floor. His traitorous body hardened as she stood in front of him in a strapless bustier and a floor-length white satin slip.

A silver chain hung around her neck, its end tucked in her cleavage. With a trembling hand he hooked a finger around the chain and slid the metal from its warm nest. Too late, Brenna made a grab for his wrist.

For long moments he stared at the half-heart dangling at the end of that chain. Memories rushed back with the force of rivers flowing down the mountains in spring. He’d bought one for each of them. Two half hearts that fit together, each worn separately on a chain. One for Ace, one for Brenna. After all these years, she still wore hers. What did this mean?

Her bitter voice dragged him out of the past. “Happy?”

She tugged the charm from his fingers.

“I don’t understand.”

Brenna tilted her head and held his gaze. “Every woman has a man in their past that they can’t forget. You’re mine.”

In a daze, he helped her put on the flannel shirt then moved toward the stove before she saw the bulge in his pants.

He placed a mug of hot tomato soup in front of her. “Drink this.” Brenna looked everywhere except at him. He flipped a package of saltines to the middle of the table. “Once you get some food in your body, you’ll warm up. Feel more like the woman I remember.”

Brenna burned with embarrassment. The man had walked out on her when she was pregnant with his child. And still she wore a memento of him around her neck. What was he thinking? Why had he returned to Spruce Harbor?

She’d caught a glimpse of him as she’d walked down the aisle. Would have fallen if Colin hadn’t held her upright. When had he arrived in Spruce Harbor? With her busy schedule, it was no wonder she hadn’t heard any of the rumors that must be flying around town. All her odd jobs left zero time to listen to local gossip.

She hardened her heart. The bastard had disappeared off the face of the earth as soon as she’d signed the affidavit acquitting him of any wrong-doing in Billie Crane’s death. Brenna closed her eyes. God, she was tired. “Why are you here, Ace?”