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“Soon as I can,” Denver admitted, sipping from his glass. “Know anyone who’s interested?”
“Just Tessa Kramer,” Ben replied as he caught a shapely redhead’s eye at the end of the bar. She signaled and he poured her another drink. When he’d finished refilling her glass, Ben returned.
Denver twisted his glass in his hands. “Did Tessa tell you she wanted to buy me out?”
“No,” Ben said, pouring another drink. “Tessa’s brother, Mitch, he comes in here quite a bit. He mentioned something about it.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much,” Ben hedged. “Just that John was gonna make some provision for Tessa in his will—make sure she could buy the place.” He frowned and looked away, almost guiltily. “She was awfully good to him.”
“Was she?”
Ben shrugged his big shoulders. “Maybe he changed his mind.”
“Maybe,” Denver agreed as Ben was called into the kitchen. Denver studied the foam dispersing from his drink. He felt the familiar coil of jealousy tighten in his gut and told himself it didn’t matter. What Tessa and John had meant to each other was none of his business. Still the idea of his uncle and Tessa together stuck in Denver’s craw. And no amount of beer could wash it away.
Chapter Five
She heard Denver return. Lying on her bed, ears straining, Tessa heard the scrape of his boots on the stairs and listened as he stumbled at the top step, swearing loudly.
He started down the hall, but paused at her door.
Tessa sucked in her breath, her every nerve end tingling. What now? The knob turned, the door opened. Denver stood on the threshold. Light from the hall threw the lean lines of his body into stark relief. His broad shoulders nearly touched each side of the frame. His hair fell over his eyes and the smell of liquor wafted into the room. “Tessa?”
“I’m awake.” Her nerves were stretched tight as bowstrings. Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her breasts and shoved a handful of thick hair from her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I wish I knew, Tessa. I wish to God Almighty I knew.” Rubbing one tanned hand tiredly over his shoulders, he expelled a long breath. “I made a mistake today at the creek.”
“Is this an apology?”
“Of sorts.” He frowned and leaned one shoulder against the molding. “This afternoon—I just wanted to talk to you. You’d been avoiding me, and I really didn’t blame you, but I figured it was time we got a few things straight. I saw you ride to the creek, so I followed.”
“To talk.”
“Right. But I blew it.”
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see that one side of his mouth had curved in self-mockery.
“What ‘things’ did you want to get straight?” she asked, wishing she had the nerve to throw him out.
His eyes bored into hers. “Us.”
“There was no ‘us.’ Remember?” She couldn’t help wanting to hurt him—just as he’d wounded her.
“I guess that’s what I said.”
“And you were right.”
“Of course I was.” Still, he didn’t leave.
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. Here he was in her bedroom, for crying out loud, in the middle of the night, trying to apologize. Her mind was spinning and she was caught in the trap between trusting him and knowing that he was lying. “Then why are you here? Have you changed your mind?” she whispered, dreading the answer. “I mean, about ‘us.’”
“I don’t know.” His jaw tensed. “I’ve never been so damned indecisive in my life. I hate it.”
“And that’s what you wanted to tell me?” Convinced that he was holding something back, she arched an eyebrow skeptically.
“There was another reason,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing on the bed.
