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“No.”
“Please.”
“I said no.” She started to shut the door, but he lodged his foot in it.
“I’m going to talk to you, Angie.” He edged her out of the way, entered the room, and looked around. “Been shopping?”
“None of your business.”
He shook his head. “Thought you’d been disinherited.”
“That’s a minor setback. I’ll take care of it. My mother’s lining up husband candidates for me as we speak.”
“Husband candidates?”
“Did I not make myself clear earlier? I need to get married or I lose everything.”
He pursed his lips. “You mean you’re going to marry someone else?”
“Of course I’m going to marry someone else. I’ve got to.”
“What about us?”
Was he serious? “What about us? You’re married. There is no us. There never was.”
“I want to explain about that.”
“Not interested.”
“Damn it.” He grabbed her arm. “If you’d stuck around this morning we could have cleared this all up.”
“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.
He let her go, and she began pulling clothes and shoes out of the bags. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to decide on an outfit for tonight. Got to look my best, you know.” She held up the strappy stilettos. “These ought to get a few of them interested, don’t you think?”
Rafe shook his head. “Baby—”
“I’m not your baby, hand. You’re not good enough for me anyway. You never were. You were nothing but a dalliance. Now get on out of here. Go home to your own wife.”
Rafe’s dark eyes clouded. Well, served him right. He turned and left her home.
She’d told him where to get off. Nothing less than he deserved for keeping such an important fact from her. She’d done the right thing.
So why did she like she’d been hit by a truck?
* * *
Frank Longhorn was as boring as he’d been in high school when he’d nursed a major crush on Angie. And his ears still stuck out like Dumbo’s. He was short too. She towered over him in her stilettos.
Joe Bradley did clean up well. His dark blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail—the same way Rafe wore his. Yes, he was attractive, but he was no Rafe.
None of them were.
She cornered her mother in the kitchen. “I can’t do this, Mama.”
“Angie, you have no choice.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll be disinherited, I guess. I can still live here with you, right?”
