Unforgiven by Lorhainne Eckhart Page B

beside the bed, beside the easy chair she was sitting in.
    Her skin was damp even with the breeze blowing in. It was warm again, like every other day in Cancun, the home she and Rodney had retired to. She was in the perfect chair before the open window, staring out at the vibrant colors from the gardens below: the reds, greens, oranges, and pinks. Her roses, orchids, and lilies were all in full bloom, and it was in moments like this, when she caught a scent from her garden, that she would remember the young girl who fell in love, had her heart broken, and then pulled a knife across her wrists, allowing the blood to flow out of her just to make the agony stop.
    She stared at the white lines now, faded from forty years ago. The memory too had faded over the years—what she had done, what her husband had done. Something happened when you stood between life and death that reminded you of everything you’d forgotten. Becky tried to forget and blank it out as she moved through life, becoming stronger, more confident, and finally feeling as if she was worthy of her husband’s love.
    She took a breath to clear her head and took in the warm tones of her room, the white trim, and the floor-to-ceiling windows in the pocket doors that could transform the bedroom into a veranda on a whim. This was new, and her son Neil had taken it upon himself to change this bedroom into a paradise while Becky was recovering from her stroke in the rehab center. It was comfortable and nice—and because it was Neil’s idea, as always, it was over the top.
    She took in the ivy green sectional, the ottoman, and the large flat screen mounted to the wall. She had teased Rodney that their large bed was made for a king, but to her, Rodney was a king, not just for who he was but because he had stayed with her and worked on their marriage, loving her for her.
    Rodney wasn’t a saint. He was rough around the edges, and he’d made his share of mistakes, her tall, dark-haired, devastatingly handsome man. At times in his younger days, she’d teased him about what a stick in the mud he could be, so set in his ways. He was cocky, arrogant, confident, and there hadn’t been a woman around who didn’t try to get his attention. He was the son of a wealthy rancher, a senator, a rodeo star. He had been everything to her, as only a young girl with starry eyes could see him.
    Rodney had always known what he wanted. Anyone who paid attention could see that. It was in his walk, the way he took in what was going on around him and everyone he was with. He was brilliant. Even at such a young age, as a young man of nineteen, he had known there was more to people than what they said. She didn’t know that at the time, but then, everything she’d learned now from her years of struggles allowed her to see how truly special her husband was.
    Rodney was the eldest Friessen son. He was a hard worker who made a success out of everything he did: the cattle ranching, his time in the rodeo. He had set eyes on Becky for the first time when they went to the same school, Berkley. She’d heard he was in the rodeo, and she remembered their first date, when she had tagged along with him to the rodeo grounds. He’d ended up facedown in the dirt, scrambling to get out from under a bucking bronco after making his time. He had been amazing.
    She remembered it as if it were yesterday. The blueness of his eyes had made her heart skip a beat in her slender chest. Her throat had squeezed at something in his expression that she couldn’t put her finger on. His powerful eyes had been set on her. Maybe that was what had made women from everywhere want him. She sure as hell had. He was heart stopping, the best-looking man she’d ever seen, with a body she had wanted to step closer to. The way he moved, his slim hips and long legs…even his deep red checked shirt hadn’t been able to hide his chest and shoulders. Rodney Friessen had grabbed her attention.
    She’d been sitting on a worn bench,