Page 17 of Hearts at War

“Nothing,” she repeated, glancing to the side. “I’m just living my life. Getting by.”

“Then why are you here?”

She growled. “Boy, you really know how to make someone feel welcome.”

“Answer me,” I warned. This wasn’t my first damn rodeo with her flightiness and manipulative ways.

“I’m just trying to get by. Life is hard.”

“No shit it is.” I tightened my arms over my chest. “Cry me a river. Life gets hard for everyone. Why are you here?”

If she wanted to bitch that she needed money, that was a hard no. I’d done that song and dance too many times.

If she wanted help finding a job, again, no thanks. I’d lined up several things for her.

And if she wanted to mooch off me again, for the little I had after my divorce, fuck no.

I was through with being generous under the blanket concept of always helping family out no matter what. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I realized too late that my lenience with her was nothing but enabling her to act like this—without a care, without responsibility.

Over and over, I guessed different things for why she’d show up out of the blue again.

“The last time I heard from you was seven months ago. What gives?”

She sighed, like this was so hard for her. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?” I again looked at the clock, knowing I had to get going.

“I don’t answer to you.”

“That’s right.” I pointed at the door. “You don’t. And I sure as hell don’t answer to you either. I was fed up with her closed-lip attitude.

“Wait!” She shot to her feet, putting on her woe-is-me frown. “I just... It’s just like I told you. I need to lie low for a while. Rest and relax.”

“Why?” I’d asked that on repeat for these last few minutes.

“I can’t explain it.” She huffed, scowling at me like I was the jerk. “But I guess you’re too much of a hardass to understand that sometimes people need a break in life, huh? Screw you, Uncle Roarke.” She grabbed her bag and walked out.

As soon as she was gone, walking into the morning fog in the direction of the main road out of here, I exhaled. All the pent-up frustration boiled to a low simmer within me.

There was no chance in hell that was the last I’d see of her. She’d plot. She’d scheme on how to get what she wanted. She always did, and I felt like it was up to me to be the “hardass” and let her learn from her own mistakes.

I shook my head as I grabbed my keys to leave.

Dealing with her for even that short talk was enough for me to reinforce my personal mantra and rule.

Steer clear.

At this point, I wanted nothing to do with any woman. I was done with their drama.

As I strode to my truck to drive the short distance to the ranch’s biggest barn, I chided myself for having such a stereotypical attitude about women. I knew there had to be some good ones out there. My ma was a saint, gone too soon from cancer. Wendy was a damned sweet wife for Gavin. Good, honest women existed, but it seemed that only the manipulative ones ever found their way to me.

And I’m fucking sick of it.

Chapter 7

Heather

After several days of trying to make the cabin more presentable and comfortable, I started to feel more at ease. This wasn’t what I was used to. No amount of dusting, removing spiderwebs, or cleaning windows and hardware would reinvent a place as brand-new. The more I tidied up, I found more issues and faults that needed to be fixed.