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It didn’t take Kenny long to collar one of the airline employees, establish who he was, and get VIP treatment. Ignoring Emma’s protests, he made arrangements for their flight to Las Vegas.
She should have simply dug in her heels and refused to move, but instead, she trotted along at his side, barely keeping up with Mr. Speedy, as she tried to talk to him. He refused to listen, refused to wait for her luggage to be retrieved, and before she knew it, she was headed to Las Vegas for an elopement.
She wouldn’t marry him, of course. She couldn’t. It was unthinkable.
But so tempting.
And so wrong.
“Kenny, we have to talk about this!”
“Nothing to talk about.” He pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes and leaned back into his first-class seat next to her. “You ruined my reputation. Now you’re going to save it.”
“Rubbish! We don’t have to get married for that.”
“You already told me Hugh fired you, then kicked you out of your house. What else are you going to do?”
“I’ll find another job and a place to stay. I’m not helpless, and I’m not in need of rescue!”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to catch up on my sleep.”
“I do mind. I mind very much. I—Oh, what’s the use? Until you decide to talk, I’m wasting my breath.”
She turned to gaze out the window of the plane and wonder how her life had slipped so far out of her control in such a short time. What an awful day. She’d barely slept last night, and then there’d been that horrid meeting with Hugh.
Something nagged at her, something Hugh had said, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She tried to reconstruct their interview, but that only depressed her.
At her side, Kenny stirred in his sleep. She had to make him listen to her, and, as soon as he woke up, that was exactly what she would do. No matter how difficult it might be, she had to right the terrible wrong she’d done to him. But first she needed to talk him out of this silly notion that they were going to elope.
The woman in the seat behind her had been arguing with her male companion ever since the plane had taken off, and, once again, she raised her voice. Emma thought of Torie. She’d been awful to Dexter all day. Why had he put up with it? Emma knew Torie was going through a lot of emotional pain, but it really wasn’t fair to take it out on him.
Fair. As if anything about life was fair.
As Emma pondered life’s unfairness, Torie led Dexter through the front door of Kenny’s Dallas condo. She’d told him she needed to pick something up here, but the truth was, she wanted to settle things between them, and she’d rather do it here than back in Wynette.
The condo was stuffy, so she made her way over to the air conditioner and flipped the control. Then she stalked into the kitchen. Maybe something cold to drink would improve her mood.
Dex headed for Kenny’s stereo, but instead of looking through the CDs like any normal person, he pulled out one of the components and inspected it from behind. Damn him. He’d been stiff and starchy all day. At least he had been with her. With Emma, he’d been all friendly and chatty. And he’d gotten worse after they’d left the airport. Torie might as well have been invisible because nothing she did got a reaction from him. She’d criticized his driving, made fun of his vocabulary, and told him he could have gotten a better haircut from a dog groomer, but he hadn’t paid any attention. Instead, he’d merely gotten quieter, as if she no longer interested him.
She grabbed a can of Sprite from the refrigerator, tossed her purse on the counter, then kicked off her chunky-heeled leather sandals. She was wearing them with a long black knit tank dress that set off her figure and should have made him drool, but didn’t seem to be having any effect. She’d never felt as insecure around a man as she did around Dexter. “If you want something to drink, get it yourself,” she snapped.
“Nothing, thank you.”
His quiet manner enraged her. “You could be a little more supportive, you know. This hasn’t been an easy day for me.”
“Why is that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? My only brother’s getting married.”
“You’re happy about that,” he pointed out with a patience that made her want to scream. “Remember?”
“I hate it when you’re sarcastic.”
“I’m never sarcastic.”
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Perfect.”
He sighed. “Suppose you just tell me exactly what’s bothering you.”
