had been one of their happiest days.
They’d all been crushed when, two days later, Arlington Everly had sent one of the ranch hands up to paint over it with a bland eggshell white. It had taken four coats to cover it all, which had given them an irrational sense of pride.
“Okay, but if my lambs all look like unicorns, let it be on your head.” He tapped the sponge against the edge of the plate, making sure it didn’t soak up too much paint. “That was a fun day, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t look at Susannah, but he could feel her tension all the way across the room. He could almost hear her thoughts. She was trying to calculate risk, vulnerability, exposure. Was it too dangerous to agree that yes, she, too, remembered that day with pleasure? Was she somehow in danger if she admitted that, on that one day, they had been happy?
“Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, it was a beautiful day.”
He waited, wondering whether she’d find a way to erase the tenderness with an extra comment. A great day, and isn’t it too bad that you had to go and spoil it all? A great day, but only because we didn’t know how soon Paul would be dead.
She didn’t. The gentle sound of her “yes” hung in the air, untouched. When he looked up, she had already gone back to swabbing the stencil with her sponge.
It wasn’t much. But somehow it felt like a victory.
Suddenly Josie came into the room, holding Trent’s cell phone in one outstretched hand. She crossed the room quickly and stopped at the foot of his ladder.
“It must have fallen off when you and Chase were assembling the bookcase,” she said. “It was ringing, so I answered it for you. It’s Missy Snowdon? She said it was urgent.”
Chase appeared in the doorway, holding the fuzzy pieces of the mobile he’d obviously been putting together. The look on his face was priceless. Josie’s hand wavered, as if she realized she’d goofed, though she wasn’t sure how.
Trent had to enjoy the irony. Though Chase must have told Josie at least some details of Trent and Susannah’s problems, apparently he had withheld the piece about Trent sleeping with Missy Snowdon. To protect Trent’s reputation, no doubt.
What a joke. Once again, fate proved that hiding the truth didn’t work. Secrets simply wouldn’t stay buried.
He took the telephone, because, in the end, what else could he do?
He glanced once at Susannah.
He shouldn’t have.
“Hello, Missy,” he said in an even tone. “Is everything all right?”
“Not really,” her arch, sexy voice responded. “My old friend Maxy isn’t answering my calls or returning my messages. Here I am, between love affairs and between cocktails, just looking to get together with an old friend, and he won’t give me the time of day. I can’t figure out why that would be. Can you?”
“It’s pretty simple.” Trent watched Susannah’s face, which had hardened into a sardonic indifference that he was pretty sure he recognized. Had she learned that look from him? “I don’t know if you heard. I just got married.”
“Oh, I heard. Everyone’s talking about it. But it’s not that kind of marriage, is it? Word on the street is that she still hates your guts. Sounds like you need a little TLC just as much as I do. And by TLC I mean, touching, licking—”
“Missy.” God almighty. She was drunk, and it was only, what…about three in the afternoon? Poor, beautiful Missy Snowdon. He could have predicted she’d find the real world to be so much harder than high school.
Pity softened his voice. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to help you with that. But it was nice of you to call.”
Susannah made a low, disgusted noise. She dropped her sponge in the paint, wiped her hands on her shorts and began backing down the ladder.
“Come on, Maxy,” Missy wheedled. “I hear she won’t sleep with you, even though she promised she would. And I know you. You can’t go a year—”
“I’m sorry, but I’m just not available right now. It was good to talk to you. Take care of yourself.”
He flipped the phone shut, though she kept talking. He wondered if, when she realized he was gone, she’d call right back. Just in case, he turned the phone to silent mode.
He looked at Susannah, who was watching him, as rigid as an ice mannequin. She smiled slightly, as if she found his predicament amusing, but the frost in her eyes said something different.
Without warning, anger bubbled up, like a geyser that had been dormant so long he’d almost forgotten it was there.
Was it his fault Missy Snowdon needed a man and had decided to become Trent’s own personal stalker? He hadn’t touched the redhead in almost eleven years, for God’s sake. Was there no such thing as forgiveness? No Get Out of Jail card in the game of Susannah Everly’s life?
He was a bloody fool. Why was he trying to make this goddamn marriage work? She wasn’t ever going to forgive him. She wasn’t ever going to forget. Maybe, over the years, she’d lost whatever sweetness and humanity she’d once possessed.
And if she had nothing to offer him but ice and hatred, why the hell shouldn’t he take what Missy Snowdon had to offer? He was tired of guilt, tired of loneliness, tired of wearing sackcloth and ashes while he beat his fists against Susannah’s locked door.
Missy might be a drunk, but at least she wasn’t a walking textbook of resentment, repression and every emotional issue known to man.
And she got pleasure from making a man feel good, not out of making him feel like shit.
He glanced at the phone, thinking how good it would feel to thumb it open and hit Redial, right here, while Susannah watched with that supercilious look on her face. That “I know you’re a bastard” look, which, paradoxically, just made him want to prove her right.
“Trent.” Chase’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Pal. Think it through.”
Trent glanced up. Chase looked worried, but steady. No pressure, which he knew from long experience wouldn’t work with Trent at a moment like this. Just a reminder that sanity was still an option.
It was a look that had stopped Trent from doing a lot of dumb things through the years.
Trent took a breath. Then he slowly slid the cell phone into his back pocket.
He glanced toward Susannah, wondering if she knew how close he’d come.
But she had already left the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOMETIMES, life just didn’t seem fair.
The next day, in the silver-pink early-morning sunlight, Susannah stood at the edge of her two-acre rows of Rio Grande trees, the first of her peaches to ripen.
She tried not to feel bitter about the rotten trick fate had played on her.
