She couldn’t deny the doubt that had plagued her lately, which she’d attributed to prenuptial jitters and fatigue.
The phone rang, startling her. It was him. She knew it without question, yet she moved to the nightstand to check the Caller ID, anyway. She stared at the familiar cell number, her anger snowballing with each incessant ring. Stupid jerk. Did he really think she’d be willing to talk to him at this point? Or ever?
Finally, the ringing stopped, and she exhaled slowly. Her gaze caught on the pretty pink tote bag sitting near her closet door, and a fresh wave of pain and anger swept over her. Fueled by a fury she didn’t recognize, she grabbed the bag of sexy lingerie she’d bought a week ago. The impulsive purchase had been the only thought she’d given to the wedding. Ironically, the lingerie was to have been for the honeymoon. Because she’d so desperately wanted to light a fire under Dennis. Boring, straitlaced Dennis, who’d always seemed to prefer watching the news channel to cuddling with her.
With a whimper, she took the bag with her as she started yanking open dresser drawers. Why, she didn’t know, because she doubted she’d find a pair of scissors. There was one in the kitchen and probably a pair in the laundry room, but she couldn’t wait to cut up the stupid black lace teddy.
How many times had she reasoned with herself that Dennis simply wasn’t the passionate sort? His kisses were tame, his sexual appetite bordering on nonexistent. Yet he’d been all over the blonde as if he was a starving man. Obviously Kate was the one lacking, the one he found inadequate.
She swallowed back a sob. Screw him. He wasn’t worth a single tear.
The phone rang again, and without even checking to see who it was, she picked up the receiver and slammed it down. But before she got to the door, it rang again. Was he insane? Was he going to call all night? Her nerves couldn’t take it. This time after she slammed it, she picked up the receiver again and laid it beside the phone. Clint and Joe used their cells more than the landline. She doubted they’d realize the phone was off the hook. She was the one who was going to go mad if she had to listen to the warning buzz another second.
The tote bag still clutched to her breasts, her gaze darted to the dresser. Her car keys. Hadn’t she left them there? No, they were in her purse. She grabbed the brown leather strap and swung the bulky pocketbook over her shoulder. She had to get out of here. No one would miss her. Not until morning. The problem was, she didn’t know where to go.
She hesitated at the door, her hand on the doorknob, her palm suddenly clammy.
Mitch. He’d be staying at his family’s ranch alone tonight. Her breath caught in her throat. Could she really do that? Just show up? Her gaze lowered to the scrap of black lace lying in the tote bag, and she suddenly recalled their hug. She briefly closed her eyes and replayed how good his arms had felt around her, how close he’d held her. How fast he’d made her heart beat.
No, that’s not what she wanted right now. Besides, he’d never considered her as anything other than a pesky kid sister, and the last thing her bruised ego needed was more rejection. She stiffened, her hold on the doorknob a death grip.
Except that wasn’t how he’d held her.
There had been nothing casual about the way he stroked her back, and had started to cup her fanny. Mitch had physically reacted to her. And definitely not as little Katie Manning. The thought registered with shocking clarity. At the time she’d felt too guilty about Dennis to absorb what had happened, but she wasn’t wrong.
She swallowed. Was she?
Before she lost her nerve, she opened her bedroom door, checked to be sure the coast was clear and slipped into the hall. If she hurried, she’d probably beat him back to his place.
IT HAD BEEN GOOD TO SEE Clint again, Mitch thought as he passed the detached garage and parked his pickup near the front door of the rambling old ranch house. The porch steps needed a few repairs and the whole front a new paint job, but considering the age of his family’s place, it was still in pretty good shape. No thanks to him.
Mitch pushed away the guilt that had started to gnaw at him the moment he’d set eyes on the wooden sign that arched over the entrance to the ranch. Though his father had never once complained, Mitch knew that keeping the ranch operational for the past few years had been a struggle. Their longtime foreman had retired, and then Clarence, who’d been expected to take his place, had to step aside after injuring his back while dropping hay from the back of a pickup. Soon after, the rustlers had struck for the first time.
It was Mitch’s sister who’d finally filled him in on the news. His parents hadn’t bothered. Why should they? Hadn’t they figured out long ago they couldn’t count on their only son for help? That the only thing they could count on was for him to selfishly go his own way?
Exhausted suddenly, Mitch climbed out of the truck and headed for the front door. He’d driven ten hours straight yesterday, and another ten today with only a half hour stop to shovel in some fast food. Turned out he’d pushed hard for nothing. He’d missed the July Fourth celebration anyway. Probably just as well. Once again he’d been thinking about himself by wanting to use the gathering to talk to as many neighbors as possible. But the folks around here deserved a festive weekend without their thoughts being consumed by the rustling problem.
Just as he got to the porch steps he thought he saw a light flicker from the second floor. He stopped, his gaze scanning the darkened windows. The moon was full, and he decided that he must have seen a reflection off the glass. He’d stopped by earlier, long enough to take in his duffel bag and grab a quick shower. As he’d always done, he’d left the front door unlocked without giving the habit a second thought. Maybe he’d better start paying more attention.
He let himself in, then waited and listened. Enough moonlight shone in through the windows that he didn’t need to turn on lights. He climbed the stairs, smiling at the familiar creaks. How many times had he been busted trying to sneak in after curfew because of these damn noisy stairs? More than he could count. Even his sister had gotten in trouble a night or two.
He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to his old room. Now that he was six-one, he wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the double bed that had been perfectly fine until college. His parents had a king-size bed in the master bedroom that would be more comfortable, but the pull of his old room was too strong.
The moon’s glow continued to provide enough light until he got to the end of the hall. His parents had left most of the furnishings, but surprisingly, he noticed the few missing pieces they had taken with them. As a kid he couldn’t have cared less about the cherry table his father had painstakingly labored over for two winters or the grandfather clock his great-great-grandmother had brought with her from Germany, but their absence produced a pang of sadness he couldn’t explain.
When he got to his room, he stopped short of flipping on the switch for the glaring overhead light. Instead, he used the moonlight to guide him to the lamp.
“Mitch?”
The soft voice startled him and he nearly knocked over the lamp. “Who the—Katie?”
“Yes.”
He righted the lamp, found the switch and muted light flooded the room. Lying in his bed, the blue handmade quilt drawn to her chin, she blinked and squinted at the invading glow of the lamp.
“Damn it, Katie, you scared the hell out of me.”
Her
