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"What do you have to be sorry about? You're not the one who cheated on me and left me for our coworker."
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she cursed the two glasses of red wine she'd poured down her own empty stomach. "I'm sorry. Even though it's been almost a year since we split, I'm still a little raw about it."
Understatement of the year, much?
His empty hand reached out and gave her shoulder an awkward pat. "It's okay. Given the circumstances, I'd say you have a right to be."
She muttered her thanks.
"You and your mother need anything, you know I'm just up the road."
Unbidden, her mind flashed with all kinds of "needs" JT could help her fulfill.
Jesus, Colleen, you're at your father's funeral, she scolded herself. She muttered something about getting her mother’s plate before she could embarrass herself any further.
Yeah, but you're not dead, whispered the little voice—the author, no doubt, of those racy thoughts. You're still very much alive.
Funny, Colleen thought as she forked two slices of a ham onto a plate, inappropriate or not, for the first time since she'd confronted her ex-husband Gregory with the strange pair of panties she'd found in his gym bag, she actually did feel alive.
Chapter 2
Colleen pulled her hair back into a ponytail and gave her reflection one last grimace. Her concealer made a herculean effort, but it was no match for the dark circles ringing her eyes. At least the sweep of blush kept her from looking completely like a corpse.
In the two months since her father died, even though she was still only working part-time, she felt perpetually exhausted. It didn't help that she spent most nights staring at the ceiling, worrying about her mother, who had barely left the house since the funeral, worrying about her brother, who hadn't cracked a smile since his own divorce two years ago, and worrying about herself and what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
Once upon a time, she'd had it all figured out. Finish school, marry a great guy, have two—possibly three—amazing kids. The perfect happy ending for Colleen Murphy, captain of the cheerleading squad, straight-A student, and homecoming queen to boot. Everyone expected her to have the perfect life, and she was not going to disappoint.
Except her great guy turned out not to be so great. And the babies never came. So here she was, thirty years old, divorced, and there was nothing like the dark of night to bring all of that into sharp, painful focus.
Ugh, stop the pity party already.
She made her way downstairs, hoping coffee would help lift her spirits. Her mom was there, seated at the breakfast bar reading the paper. Steam drifted up from the mug beside her. A plate of toast sat untouched next to her elbow.
Frankie sat on the floor next to the stool. A line of drool dripped from his jowls as he stared attentively at the plate.
"Morning," Colleen said as she grabbed a mug from the cabinet and filled it from the carafe. A splash of heavy whipping cream and... heaven.
Her therapist back in Billings had urged her to start a daily gratitude practice. She wasn't going to lie. That first sip of coffee always made her list.
"Morning, sweetie," her mom replied. "Don't you look nice this morning."
Colleen suppressed an eye roll. Her mom had said the same thing every single day of her life, whether Colleen was wearing her nicest dress, grubbiest jeans, workout gear, or, like now, her pale blue nursing scrubs that defied anyone to make out a single detail of the shape of her body.
Top it off with her orthopedic nursing clogs, and she was just too sexy for the Pioneer Medical Center emergency room.
"Thanks, Mom," she said as she slid her butt onto the barstool next to Eileen. "Any interesting news this morning?"
"A guy riding his Harley through Yellowstone hit a grizzly bear."
"Yikes."
"Looks like neither sustained serious injuries."
She watched as her mother absently picked the piece of buttered toast up from her plate. True to form, instead of lifting it to her mouth, she held it down so Frankie could snatch it from her fingers.
Frankie flopped on his side with a groan as though wolfing down the toast had sapped all his energy.
"Mom, you've got to stop feeding him so much. He's getting fat."
