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“I think you should say what you need to say,” he told her, seeing the undeniable need in her. What he had to tell her seemed useless in front of all her suppressed feelings. He felt like a fool, coming in here with plans to unburden his pathetic heart, while she stewed in an anger he’d never seen in her before.
She clenched the ends of that shawl in bone-white fists. “I’m angry that you let that woman ruin this home, your family, all because you were a coward.”
He flinched, but stayed silent. She had a good head of steam on and showed no signs of stopping.
“A.J. was your best friend. He worked this land beside you and you let his family get pushed out of the only home we’ve ever known, weeks after his death, before we even got a stone on his grave.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“I know you are, Walter. You’re a sorry man. And I thought I could come back to this place and feel nothing, but I have twenty-five years of living inside these walls and if I’d had my way I would have died here, buried right beside my husband. And I was robbed of that.”
More apologies rose to his lips but he kept himself quiet, his heart beating a ragged rhythm in his chest.
“Lucy and I will be leaving soon,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “You can stay. I…I would like you to stay.”
She watched him a long time and finally shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s too late. Lucy’s business is in LA, and that’s where we belong.”
He wanted to argue with her—hell, any fool could see she wanted to stay here. But it wasn’t his place.
“Good night, Walter,” she breathed, and left, silently crossing the living room.
When she was gone and the shadows turned from purple to black, he took a deep breath.
“I love you,” he whispered, letting loose the words he’d come into the room to say. “I’ve always loved you.”
Silence answered him, the silence of an almost empty house, like a cave filled with nothing but cobwebs and echoes. Ghosts of a life that might have been.
“I need a drink,” he muttered and went in search of his bottle.
Mia was a country music song brought to life. Curled up against her husband on the bench seat of her pickup, the sweet smell of spring turning to summer rolling in through the open windows as they drove.
All they needed was one of the dogs. Maybe a kid.
The thought was bittersweet and she pushed it away before it could grow into a wish.
“Why did Walter marry Victoria?” Mia asked, and Jack shook his head.
“We haven’t talked about it,” he said. “Frankly, I don’t want to bring it up.”
Mia hummed in response. Unable to help herself, she tilted her nose closer to the heat of his chest, just so she could smell him. Laundry soap and hard work and just a little bit of sex.
“Are you sniffing me?”
“Yep. You smell good. Like sex.”
Jack’s chuckle rumbled under her ear and she didn’t know when she’d ever been this happy. This…complete.
“I’m leaving day after tomorrow,” he said.
Great, she thought, leaning away from the magnetic heat of the man she loved. Good feeling gone.
He braked and threw the truck into Park. The lights from the ranch were just around the corner and Mia wished she were there, right now, so she could just hide out in her room and avoid this goodbye. She’d had enough of them. Wasn’t strong enough to do it again with a brave smile and dry eyes.
Part of her was dying and she didn’t want to pretend otherwise.
“Come with me,” he said, and her jaw dropped. “I want you to come. I meant what I said on that roof. I love you, Mia.” She opened her mouth, but nothing but a choking gasp came out. “It’s just a few days. With branding done, Chris and the boys can handle—”
“Okay,” she breathed. She knew what she was doing, the great gamble she was taking against terrible odds, but she couldn’t help it. Her better sense was in some kind sex-sated coma and her heart was running the show.
“Okay?” he asked, as surprised as she was that she’d agreed. She nodded, unable to stop the smile, the strange giggle that erupted from all her happy places. He hauled her into his arms. “Oh my God, Mia,” he breathed into her hair. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I know how hard—”
“We both do,” she said, putting her hands over his mouth before he woke up her better sense. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“You won’t be sorry,” he said, kissing her lips, her cheeks. “I promise you, you won’t be sorry.”
I hope not, she thought. I really hope not.
“You’re going with him?” Lucy asked the next morning, standing in Mia’s bedroom door like a Roman guard. All she was missing was a sword and shield. “Tell me you’re joking.”
