Second Chances by Kathy Ivan Page B

doubts she’d had earlier crowded back into her mind.  Did he mean it?
    "I love you too, Ryan."  Her hand lifted to brush against his cheek, her thumb slid down curling against the pulse point in his throat, felt the rock steady beat beneath the pad. 
    "Let’s eat.  I’m starving."  His voice broke the silence, and she started to lower her hand.  Grasping it, he raised her fingers to his lips, pressed a kiss into the palm and folded her fingers inward, as if catching it inside her closed fist. 
    This can’t be over , she thought.  He still loves me .  
    Rose stared up into her husband’s face and a wave of something passed over her, sending a shiver down her spine. Chill bumps tingled across her skin and she remembered the old saying her granny used to tell her whenever that had happened as a child.  Somebody from the other side just touched you, child.   They’ve sent their love.
    "You know, I think dinner can wait a bit, don’t you?  I’m suddenly hungry—but not for food."  Ryan bent and nudged his shoulder into her midsection and swatted her on the backside as he swung her into a fireman’s carry.  Jogging toward the master suite, his laughter filled the hall.  Hung suspended over his back, her squeal of protest turned to laughter. 
    You have to admire the view , she thought, watching the sway of muscles as he carried her through to the bedroom.  Even hanging upside down over his shoulder, the man was magnificent.
    Falling onto the bed in a tangle of passion and laughter, she vowed to find out what had stolen away her husband’s happiness and to bring it back. . . no matter what it took. 
     

Chapter Two
     
    T he night sky began to dim, the vestiges of sunlight faded as twilight’s whisper of darkness spread across the shadowed landscape.  Faint sounds of swings swaying in the light breeze could be heard, a rusty squeak as the chains moved back and forth.  Autumn leaves blew across the rock-strewn ground of the playground as the streetlights clicked on one by one, casting a mix of shadow and light across the deserted space.
    Ryan sat on the park bench across from the empty swings and waited.  He knew he was waiting, had been for a long time but wasn’t sure who or what he waited for.  Whatever it was, he felt the urgency, knew it was important. 
    The park was one from his childhood; he recognized it.  He’d swung on those swings, built castles in the sandbox.  Played baseball in the field on the other side of the slides.  He’d loved coming here with his brother when they were little.  Mom sat on this very bench and watched them dare each other to swing higher and higher, their short legs pumping, their hands grasped around the chains attaching the worn leather seats to the metal.  There was no forgetting the bright light of challenge in his brother’s eyes when he dared him to jump off the swing while it was still high in the air. 
    Wait—somebody was coming. . .
    In less than the blink of his eye, from one moment to the next, his brother Terry sat on the bench beside him.  He looked the same as he always did.  Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, full of laughter and life.  No—that wasn’t right.  Something about the whole scene was off.   When Ryan remembered grief tore at his soul.  Terry couldn’t be here—he died. 
    "Yep, I know, I’m dead."  Terry’s voice held a touch of laughter, as if he’d read his mind.
    "It’s just a dream, Ryan.  I can still talk to you in your dreams if I try really, really hard."
    "You can?" 
    "It’s not easy.  It’s hard work to break through the layers between.  I chose a place you’d remember."
    Ryan laughed.  "Oh yeah, how could I forget the day you broke your arm going down the slide backwards.  I caught holy hell from mom when we got home." 
    Terry joined in the laughter.  "Yep, it hurt like holy hell, too."   He shifted on the bench next to Ryan, turned to face him, leaning in closer. 
    "Bro, there’s something I