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When the housekeeper brought in coffee and dessert, India was no longer hungry. She wanted to escape. But if she left the table in a snit, Farris might guess that her feelings were involved. Instead, she picked at her apple tart with a delicate silver spoon, taking only a bite or two as the minutes passed.
When Farris’s plate was empty, she stood. “I’ll check on your mother now. If she’s hungry, I’ll take a tray to her room. You can trust me, Farris.”
He frowned, rising to his feet, as well, and rounding the table in her direction. “Don’t you think I know that? I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise. I realize you’re making a significant sacrifice, career wise, to do this. I plan to compensate you generously for your time and inconvenience.”
It was a wonder India’s head didn’t explode. Fury rushed through her body, hot and cleansing. “Don’t even think about it,” she said tightly, wanting to throw something at his stupid face. “Dottie is my mother-in-law. I loved her then, and I do now. Nothing you can say or do changes that. She’s my family.”
“I merely meant—”
India cut him off with a chopping motion of her hands. “I’m not some tradesperson you can hire to swap out a microwave or paint a bedroom. I was your wife, Farris.” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “It’s as much my honor and duty to care for her as it is yours, damn it. Don’t be so patronizing.”
Though she wasn’t exactly sure how it had happened, she and Farris were now standing toe to toe, breathing the same air. In the midst of her indignation, she realized something startling. Farris’s pupils were dilating. His face and neck had flushed. His breathing quickened.
She wanted to take a step backward, but her feet were glued to the floor. They were so close he could easily have kissed her. But why would he?
Farris didn’t want her.
Swallowing hard, she bent her head, staring at his sock-clad feet. Earlier, he had worn cowboy boots, the real deal...the ones he used at the ranch. But of course he had discarded them in the mudroom. And since it was a simple family meal, he hadn’t bothered with anything but thick wool socks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry I yelled at you.”
The silence lasted for five seconds, then ten. Without warning, Farris put a finger beneath her chin and lifted it, forcing her to look at him. “I’m sorry I offended you,” he said, his voice low and intense.
Gooseflesh covered her arms beneath her shirt and sweater. In storybooks, blue eyes were described as calm lakes and peaceful summer skies. Farris’s had always burned with the color at the center of flames, hot and deadly.
But his expression was rueful. And still he held her chin.
“It’s okay,” she muttered. “My temper gets the best of me sometimes.”
“I remember.” A smile tipped his lips upward and put a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ve missed you, India.”
He seemed almost startled when the words left his lips. It was her turn to flush. “I hope you’ve been well.” She groaned inwardly. Her awkward response was embarrassing. This wasn’t a Regency soiree.
Fortunately, Farris didn’t seem to notice. He released her chin at last and leaned a hip on the edge of the dining room table. He shrugged. “The business is fine.”
“I meant you,” she said. His words and tone troubled her.
“There is no me apart from work.” His response was sarcastic, though the statement was directed inward, not at her.
“There once was.” India didn’t know why she was pushing him. Maybe a latent desire to hear the truth, even if it was painful.
Now his face was stoic again, all emotion tucked away. “You knew a different man, Inkie. He’s long gone.”
Farris really was off his game. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d used the affectionate nickname. Had it just slipped out? He used to call her India Ink, or simply Inkie, when he teased her.
Their conversation had reached an impasse. “I should check on your mom...”
“Of course.” His gaze was shuttered now, as cold as the winter sky. “Thank you for coming.”
When India left the room, Farris realized his fingers hurt. He had braced his hands behind him when he leaned on the table. He had grasped the edge of the wood so hard his knuckles ached.
Now he flexed his fingers, feeling the blood rush painfully back into joint and sinew. How was he going to bear it? India. Here in his house.
The dinner he had eaten roiled in his stomach. His mother had worked three jobs to support herself and her young son when Farris’s father abandoned them. Farris owed everything he was to Dorothy Quinn. He would take care of her, no matter what it cost him. Even if it meant seeing India and having to converse with her as if they were mere acquaintances.
He stared bleakly out the window, though there was nothing to see but darkness. He was the one who had ruined the marriage. Everything was his fault. Now it was time for his penance. He might ache, he might burn, he might crave...to no avail.
Nothing mattered now. Nothing but his mother’s well-being.
