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"That's because you don't share. Other than those pictures this morning and a bit about your siblings and parents, you conveniently left out any talk about a fucking wife."
She turned and stalked to the patio doors, turned back, and stalked toward him. He was immensely happy the granite counter separated them right now. "Am I even safe here or is there going to be a rabid wife walking through the door any moment? She could have walked in on us kissing. Wouldn't that have been grand? What would you have said, 'It's not like that?' You're no different than Waylon. Lying, cheating. Gah." She turned to stalk away again.
"Hey!" he yelled. Her head snapped, and she swung around. Waiting a moment to gather his thoughts, he swallowed and inhaled a cleansing breath.
"First of all, I'm nothing like that piece of shit you married. Second of all, while I may still be married, we haven't lived together for years. She's living in town with her boyfriend slash supplier."
Her head jerked back slightly, but her eyes were still narrowed when she looked at him. "Yes, supplier. Tamra has been a raging drug addict for years. She blew through our money, then began hitting her parents up for money until her father finally cut her off. So, she moved in with her supplier and I suppose she pays for her drugs with sex. Don't know. Don't care."
He slammed his hand on the unforgiving granite counter and winced as the sting flew up his arm.
Her voice softened. "Why didn't you divorce her?"
He looked her in the eye. He wanted her to know he was telling the truth. He saw them glisten with moisture, and her lips sucked into her mouth in an effort to stem the crying.
"I filed for divorce years ago. But when it came to dividing up our household, she refused to let me have the house. She wanted to hurt me. She knows this house means everything to me. I offered to buy her out, even willing to pay triple the value, but she said no. So, we stalled right where we're at. I moved out, mostly, to get my thoughts in order. I've put an awful lot of emotion into this house and especially after my parents died, thinking if I left for a while I'd realize it didn't mean as much to me as I thought, and she'd see it didn't mean that much and let it go. I was wrong. It means everything to me. She hates this place and everything about it, so I know it's just to twist the knife in my back. Then I got busy looking for Bobby Ray and was gone a lot, so I just let it ride, thinking eventually she'd want to remarry and then I'd have a bit of leverage."
"If her parents cut her off financially, why wouldn't she take the money?"
"Her boyfriend, Stephano, keeps her in constant supply. She doesn't need the money anymore." Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, he glanced at the picture of his parents, his jaw tensing painfully tight.
"I've got some things to take care of in the garage," he managed to get out before the anger that was bubbling close to the surface boiled over. He stalked out the door to the garage, hit the opener and ducked under the opening door as soon as he could. He continued on to the garage out back, punishing the ground with every step to keep from hitting something.
Chapter17
Married. He was still married?
It hit her hard in the gut. Tears trailed down her face and splashed onto her shirt. She'd gone and let herself begin to feel something for him, and he'd been lying to her. Or, according to him, just not sharing the whole truth. And, he was correct in that she didn't know a lot about him. It was just this stupid attraction. Then her heart softened when she saw his face change to that handsome, caring, loving man. But, she should know better. There'd never been a man in her life that was true to his word or caring. If they cared, they eventually left or screwed up in some damnable way and left her just the same. Her father, Waylon, even her brother. They all left.
Hurrying to her room, she dug through her purse and found her phone. She owed Jolie a call, but she'd still be getting kids ready for the day. She'd just send her a message and call in a bit. Holding the power button to turn it on, her mind raced, and her heart, well … she was trying to keep it from breaking. Tapping her friend's number, she sent a quick text then watched as the phone tried to connect. Nothing. That damn little circle just spinning while her phone tried connecting her to the world at large. Shit.
They'd both be better off if she just left. For some stupid reason, he wanted to help her, and she allowed it because she had nowhere to go and no one to help her. She'd just lost everything she ever owned, save for her Jeep, which was still locked in the garage wrapped in crime scene tape.
Ford managed to get calls up here, so she'd need his Wi-Fi password or figure out what was wrong with her phone. As soon as he came in, she'd get that and make arrangements to hop on a bus back to South Pass. Then, she'd figure something out, even if it meant calling her sister, Delaney. They'd have to talk eventually, and of course, she'd never hear the end of needing a favor from her. It would be miserable having to stay with her, but she was growing feelings for Ford, and she couldn't let that happen. Especially since he's married.
Sniffing away the new tears that sprang to the surface, she tossed her phone on the bed, pulled her bag from the closet, and began packing her clothing. She still had clothing hanging downstairs, so she softly walked to the basement steps and descended. Flipping the light switch, she entered the brightly lit laundry room, which she took in with new eyes. Ford and his father had built this entire house, including this room. The cabinets were painted white, but when she looked closer at the room, she saw the farmhouse sink on the opposite wall from the washer and dryer. The countertops were matching granite from the upstairs, and the tile floors looked like hardwoods. A picture hanging on the wall across from the folding counter caught her attention, and she stepped up to it to take a closer look. Three barn boards held together with two boards across the back, pushing it away from the wall a half inch. A sunflower in bright yellow and orange was painted in the middle of the barn boards, its bright green stem and leaves adding a bit more color. In the bottom right hand corner, it said D. Montgomery. Darlene—his mom. Even her touches were in this house, and she wondered if his mom helped to design some of the elements of the home.
Her chest felt heavy, her heart heavier. This home meant so much to him. He probably saw his parents on every surface, and she'd just bitched at him about it. Well, not the house but the fact he hadn't shared anything about his wife. And, honestly, who the hell was she to demand anything of him about his most personal life? She hadn't shared everything about herself either. She'd just hoped that he was beginning to feel things for her like she was feeling for him, and he’d want her to know about his life—all of his life. Isn't that what relationships were founded on? Learning about each other? Crap.
Setting about pulling her bras from the hanger and folding them on the counter, she heard a click. Freezing in mid fold, she listened again. Click. Her heartbeat raced so fast she thought she'd throw up. That was the same sound she'd heard just before her house caught on fire. They'd found her. Up here in the mountains.Oh my God!
Frantically, she ran from the room and down the hall she'd seen Ford walk down yesterday. There were other rooms and maybe a way out of the house from down here. The first room was a bedroom, decorated in red and blue military motif. Scrambling from that doorway, she ran to the next one and found the freezer he'd pulled their supper from, a furnace, water heater, and other equipment. She stopped and listened again, not hearing footsteps, but not brave enough to go upstairs. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and made her way to another room, which seemed bright with sunlight streaming in. It was a den with high bookshelves filled to the top with books of all kinds. An older, comfortable looking recliner sat next to a low table where a lamp sat on top and a book resting alongside with a bookmark protruding. The room felt totally different from any other room in the house and like a personal room, forbidden from the eyes of anyone else. The tall windows caught her eye, and she ran to them and looked out. This room was directly under the living room and looked out over the mountains. Trying the window, she found a latch and slid it open. Heaving herself over the sill, she didn't have far to drop before her bare feet hit the cool stones below. Not sure which direction to run, she slowly climbed up toward the back of the house, keeping herself low in case anyone was in the house and would see her and trying to keep her feet from being cut on the rocks. Once she made her way to the back of the house, she glanced at the back garage she'd seen Ford stalk off to and decided she could run to that garage and hide. She'd never be able to run down the stone driveway without shoes.
Making it to the side door of the garage, relief washed over her when she twisted the handle, and it opened. As slowly as she could, she stepped in and closed the door quietly behind her. The darkness in the room caused her to freeze to allow her eyes time to adjust. The cold cement bit into her bare feet and eerie silence greeted her. The odor of motor oil, dust, and leather greeted her nose. Shakily, she reached out to the wall, taking small steps forward, inching her way into the garage.
"Ford." Her shaky voice managed to whisper. Her hands and feet shook with fear.
As the garage slowly came into view, she could see an older Jeep parked in the back, sun from the windows streaming in, glinting off the Army green paint. Chipped and worn but oddly cared for. Alongside a cart held tools and small parts haphazardly strewn across the top. Ford isn't here, the lights are off. He must have gone for a hike or walk to clear his head. It was her own fault, she had no right to confront him.
Walking toward the Jeep, she scooted herself behind it and lowered her shaking body to the ground. Knees bent up, arms hugging them, she swallowed to push the large dry knot in her throat down. She'd just stay here for a bit until her heartbeat returned to normal. Nervousness didn't allow her to relax and constantly staying vigilant began grating on her psyche.
Wishing Ford was here right now, she squeezed her eyes closed and silently vowed that if she got out of this alive, she'd tell Ford why Marcus is after Waylon and help him figure out where to find him, and hopefully, Bobby Ray too. Admitting that he makes her feel safe didn't come as much of a shock as she would have thought.
Hearing footsteps nearing the door she'd just entered through, she stopped breathing. The clicking of the door handle sounded as loud as a bomb in the quiet room, but the erratic beating of her heart began to drown out all other sound. Biting her bottom lip to keep from whimpering, she shrank down farther, and the thought of rolling under the back of the Jeep entered her head, just as the door opened and someone stepped inside.
Chapter18
Kicking around the garage for a few minutes, irritation and frustration gnawing at his gut, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that Megan was right. Or, partly right. Dammit, he should have told her about Tamra both times they'd chatted about his family. He was self-analyzing why he didn't come up with any answers—embarrassment, maybe? Hoping if things started up between them the answers he'd sought for the past five fucking years would magically appear to him in thin air, and he'd be able to finally rid himself of Tamra once and for all were completely and utterly stupid. Of course, it was easy to see now.
