Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

M ark lifted the shovel, took two steps, and dropped the snow into the growing pile. He'd made a nice little sledding hill for his daughters. Not to mention that he'd cleared the driveway and walkway. Now it was time for the front steps.

He lowered the shovel again and pushed it along the bottom step. Aside from the scraping of metal against concrete, the night was silent, muffled by the six inches of snow that had fallen that day. The sky had cleared, and now a quarter-moon shone among the stars and glistened off the sea of white.

A flash of movement inside the house caught his eye as his daughters climbed into chairs at the dining room table. He watched through the window as Amanda helped them set up the new game he'd bought a few days earlier. Sophie spun the spinner first, and they were off.

Amanda stepped in front of the window. She watched the girls play and rubbed her side. The cracked ribs were healing, and she swore they no longer hurt. He suspected she rubbed them not to ease the pain, but to ease the memories.

He resumed his work, digging into the untouched snow on the first step leading to the front door. He lifted the pile and tossed it onto the sledding hill.

The police had located Alan's body where Amanda had said it would be. Then they found the body of Sheppard's other victim, Maryanne. Sheppard had made it easy for them, digging a fresh grave just a few yards from where he'd buried the teen years earlier.

Amanda's grave.

Mark shuddered and thanked God, like he had countless times before. Thirty seconds later, and he would've been too late.

The nightmare was almost over. There might be a trial, but Mark doubted it. Sheppard would most likely accept a plea deal and hope he lived long enough to get out of prison someday.

Finished with the first step, Mark moved to the second and scooped up a pile of snow, hearing her voice echoing from that night. I love you. Can you ever forgive me?

And then she'd passed out. A trip to the ER was followed by the long drive back to her hotel in the mountains. She'd slept the whole way. He'd called ahead and asked Frank for a first-floor room, knowing two flights of stairs would have been torture with her cracked ribs. Mark carried her from the car to the room, laid her in the king-sized bed, and pulled up a chair to the bedside to keep an eye on her. Half-asleep, high on painkillers, she begged him to hold her.

How could he refuse?

He climbed in beside her and snuggled close, careful not to hurt those ribs. He figured when she regained her sanity, remembered what he'd confessed about Annalise, she'd be furious with him, but what could she do? Divorce him?

In the morning, he fetched coffee and breakfast and insisted she eat. She did, and then she set the tray aside and grabbed his hand .

"I've eaten," she said. "I haven't had a pain pill in four and a half hours. I'm awake and sober, and I want to say something to you."

He perched on the side of the bed and waited for the thank-you and the dismissal.

Now, Mark finished shoveling the porch, tossing the last of the snow onto the sledding hill. It wasn't much, but his daughters would love it. The driveway and walkway were clear, so Amanda could go on her annual day-after-Thanksgiving shopping spree at some insane hour of the morning while he stayed with the girls. They'd plow out a few driveways together—one of the perks of a pickup truck—and then sled and build a snowman.

Mark took off his glove and scratched beneath his wool cap before returning to work.

The hard drive on Amanda's laptop had been ruined by Sheppard's magnet, and he'd managed to wipe her external hard drive as well. But the police found her flash drive in the center console of Sheppard's car, and all her files had been intact.

Good thing, too, because all the edits Amanda had done on her next cookbook were on there, saving her hours of work.

The memoir? It had been there too. She'd loaded it onto her new computer—and then promptly deleted it.

Maybe it would have sold millions. Maybe it would have driven business to her blog and sold cookbooks, but she didn't care. "That thing has done enough damage, don't you think?"

He'd been careful not to agree too vehemently.

Movement grabbed his attention, and he looked up to find Amanda at the kitchen sink, watching him. She lifted a mug in the window, raised her eyebrows in question. He nodded, returned the shovel to the garage, and lowered the door. He stowed his boots in the hallway and headed for the kitchen in stocking feet. Amanda's back was to him while she poured steamy liquid into his World's Greatest Daddy cup. Then she added a dollop of marshmallow cream, his favorite.

"For me?" he said.

She jumped and turned. "You snuck up on me."

He looked down at his socks. "Sorry." She was jumpy, probably would be for a while. He should've been more careful. "I took my boots off, so I wouldn't track water in the house."

She grinned, embarrassed. "No problem." She held out the cup. "Just like you like it."

He took the hot chocolate, swallowed a sip. "Perfect. Thanks."

The kitchen was clean, the Thanksgiving dishes washed and put away. In the dining room, the girls were putting the last of the game back into the box.

He turned back to Amanda. "They're already in pajamas?"

"I gave them their baths." She stepped closer and laid her left hand on his chest. Her wedding ring glittered in the kitchen's overhead lights. "We were just waiting for you to kiss them goodnight."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Are we in a hurry tonight?"

She took his mug and set it on the counter behind her. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her.

He didn't take much convincing. He leaned over to kiss her.

"Ew, gross," Sophie said behind him. "Get a room."

Reluctantly, he moved away from Amanda and faced his daughter. "Where'd you hear that?"

She shrugged. "TV."

Amanda grimaced. "I'll have to monitor her viewing a little closer."

He tightened his grip and whispered in her ear. "From the mouths of babes . . . "

She giggled and called around his shoulder, "Okay, girls. Time for bed."

Mark watched his daughters race for the stairs.

Amanda pressed against him and looked up, her eyes wide and twinkling. "You, too, mister. It's been a long day." She wove her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and lowered her voice. "Meet you in the bedroom in ten minutes?"

He kissed her again, tasted chocolate and peppermint and home. "Make it five."