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Trent’s expression was no happier than hers. His lips twisted. “I’m supposed to take you into town with me to do some errands…a blanket my father mentioned? And he wants me to take you out to dinner.”
She cocked her head, reading his discomfort in every taut muscle of his lean body. “And you’d rather wrestle with a rattlesnake…right?”
He shrugged, leaning against the door frame, his face impassive. “I’m here this month to make my father’s life easier. And if that means allowing him to boss me around, I’m willing to do so.”
“Such a dutiful son,” she mocked.
His jaw hardened. “Be out front in twenty minutes.”
Bryn fumed as he walked out on her, and she locked her door long enough to change from jeans into nice dress slacks and a spring sweater. She didn’t understand Trent at all. But she read his hostility loud and clear. From now on, there would be no kissing, no reliving the past. She was here to right past wrongs, and Trent was no more than a minor inconvenience.
She managed to make herself believe that until she climbed into the passenger seat of a silver, high-end Mercedes and got a whiff of freshly showered male and expensive aftershave. Oh, Lord.
Her stomach flipped once…hard…and she clasped her hands in her lap, her feet planted on the floor and her spine plumb-line straight.
The atmosphere in the car was as frigid as a January Wyoming morning. Trent turned the satellite radio to a news station, and they managed to complete the entire journey in total silence.
He let her out in front of the Pendleton store. “I’ve got some business to attend to. Can you entertain yourself for an hour or so?”
She sketched a salute. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right here at six o’clock.”
His jaw went even harder than before, and his tires squealed as he pulled away from the curb.
Bryn’s brief show of defiance drained away, and her bottom lip trembled. Why couldn’t Trent let the past stay in the past? Why couldn’t they start over as friends?
She picked out Mac’s beautiful Native American–patterned blanket in no time, and visited a few more of the shops down the street, managing to select gifts for her aunt and for Allen. A friendly shopkeeper offered to stow Bryn’s bulky packages until Trent returned, so Bryn took the opportunity to stretch her legs.
Back in Minnesota she and Beverly and Allen walked each evening when the weather was nice. The two women enjoyed the exercise, and it was good for Allen to use up some of his energy before bedtime.
Bryn missed her baby. He hated it when she called him that. He was five and would be starting kindergarten in the fall. She wasn’t ready. Maybe because it pointed out the fact that he wouldn’t always need her. He’d go off to college and meet some scary girl who would take him away for good.
She laughed softy at her own maudlin thoughts. She was twenty-four years old. She was two semesters away from finishing a degree in communications, and as soon as she was able to return home, she would fall back into her familiar, comfortable routine. She had her whole life ahead of her.
So why did she feel despondent?
The answer was simple. She wanted Trent to trust her. To ensure Allen’s future, she had no choice but to insist on a paternity test. But everything inside her rebelled at that thought. She didn’t want a litigious battle with the Sinclair family.
She wanted Mac, Trent, Gage and Sloan to admit that she was one of them, blood or not. She wanted an apology. She wanted to see more in Trent’s face than suspicion and anger.
Her daddy used to say, “Men in prison want out.” So what?
She was sitting on a bench, packages tucked beside her, when Trent returned. Without speaking, he got out, opened the trunk and waited for her to put her shopping spoils inside.
Then he faced her across the roof of the car, his expression stoic. “Where would you like to eat?”
Bryn’s temper had a long fuse, but his manner was insulting. She glared at him. “There’s a sandwich shop on the corner. We can grab something and eat on the way home…so we don’t waste any time.”
Her sarcasm hit the mark. He opened his mouth and shut it again, displeasure marking his patrician features. “Fine.”
