“Then what’s to worry about?” she asked, trying to tamp down the anger that was starting to pulse through her. “We’ll get through it,” she said calmly, though her hands fisted and rage that he would even consider breaking up with her pulsed through her brain. But she couldn’t let it get the better of her. She reached forward to touch his arm. “Couples have their ups and downs.”

She let her hand fall away under his stony glare and barely noticed as a lock of hair escaped the braided plait beneath her cap. “We can get through this, James. Trust me.”

Did he falter a bit? Was she getting to him? God, she hoped so. After all, she’d staked her entire future on James Cahill. He was the one. The only one.

“It’s not just that,” he said.

“Then what?”

“I think it’s time we both moved on, Sophia.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re really breaking up with me?”

He didn’t answer.

But she got it. Finally. And fury seared through her. “It’s because of Rebecca Travers!” she said, spitting out the name. “She got to you, didn’t she? All of her concern over her sister. I should have seen that coming. What a bitch! You know it’s not real, don’t you? She doesn’t care about Megan. She never did!”

“How do you know that?”

“Come on, James. You and Megan were seeing each other on the sly, weren’t you? While you were still ‘going with’ Rebecca?” She glared at him as a cold wind cut across the porch and rattled the branches of a nearby tree, blowing snow over the railing. That stupid strand of hair blew over her eyes again. Angrily, she took off her cap and tucked that irritating lock under her braid.

Damn it all to hell! Didn’t he see? Didn’t he know they were supposed to be together? She wanted to scream at him, but she forced her anger back.

“Don’t do this now,” she advised, returning her hat to her head, her hair now secure. “You’ve been through a lot.” She reached up and touched the still visible claw marks in his beard. “Everything is . . . strange right now. Weird. But it’ll be better.” She forced a tremulous smile. “I can make it better.”

He pushed her gloved hand away, and when she stepped a little closer, intent on passing into the hallway behind him, he shifted, making it impossible for her to enter. Frantic, she spied the dog behind him, staring at her through the small space between James’s waist and the door frame, appearing no more welcoming than his owner.

“James,” she whispered, heartbroken.

“It’s over,” he said firmly.