He’d been fighting with himself for months now. It was a losing battle. As he shot through the City gates, one spurred boot nicked a vegetable barrow. He turned in the saddle, watched lemons and artichokes plop to the muddy street, yelled an apology to the vendor…and finally admitted to himself that he couldn’t be happy living without Amy. The truth was it mattered little whether they were parted by his own choice or the actions of a faceless criminal. The thought of whiling away his years at Greystone without her—whether she was growing old with her aunt, married to another man, or cold in
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