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After Gerard Sovereign put his hand in my hair, after he told me he could bend me over the desk and fuck me in front of Clint.
A little part of me wishes he had.
It’s the part that kept me up, staring at the ceiling until dawn. I have circles under my eyes when I get up and wash my face in cold water and go to make breakfast. I don’t know why I feel so guilty, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch or kiss Gerard, I barely spoke with him. Clint might be a cheater, but I’m not. I know he’s slept with other women since our wedding, but I won’t become him.
But that heavy feeling of guilt stays with me until four rolls around. I have three roast chickens in the oven and a pot of potatoes boiling on the stove when I hear a car pull up the drive. Clint is home.
Pit in my stomach, I creep down the hall and push the screen door ajar. But it’s not Clint’s truck in the drive, it’s Jay’s sedan. I freeze, watching as he steps out of the car with a briefcase in his hand. His tall, lined face is tense and there’s a grim set to his jaw.
Something’s wrong.
I push the door open and step out.
“Where’s Clint?” I ask.
He freezes, one hand fussing with the button of his jacket. “Let’s go inside, Mrs. Garrison. We should talk.”
My heart thumps. “Where’s Clint,” I repeat forcefully.
He clears his throat, shuffling his feet. “Ma’am—”
“Where is he?” I snap, shocked by my own tone.
“He’s dead, there was an accident,” Jay blurts out. He’s looking anywhere but my face, like he’s guilty for telling me.
My pulse slows. Clint always moved fast and recklessly. It doesn’t surprise me that it was an accident that took him, but what shocks me is that I feel nothing but surprise that today wasthe day. A long time ago, I thought I loved him, but months of verbal abuse, neglect, and infidelity killed that. I didn't realize until now just how badly Clint hurt me.
But I know it now because he’s dead and I feel nothing.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat.
His brows draw together. “Can I come inside?”
Numbly, I lead the way into the kitchen. He stands awkwardly in the doorway while I turn off the stove top. The potatoes stop bubbling and float half done in their milky water. I wipe my hands and pull a stool out, indicating he should sit.
“Do you have questions?” he asks hesitantly.
I put the kettle on and take a mug down. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee.”
He lays his briefcase on the table and waits. The kettle whistles and I pour it out, stirring instant coffee into his cup. Then I make up a mug for myself because I need something to do with my hands.
“How did it happen?” I ask.
“Um…he was rounding up cattle and they spooked. He fell from his horse and into the stampede.”
I sink into the stool opposite him. The coffee sears my hand and I let it.
“Where is he?”
“They brought him to the coroner,” Jay says. “He was…clearly gone by the time they brought him to the hospital so they just sent the body on.”
My lips crack and I lick them. “What time did it happen?”
“Around one.”
I nod, sipping the coffee. It’s cheap, but it’s soothing. “Alright. What happens now?”
