friend. “Look, Megan,” she said patiently, hoping to make her friend understand. “I know my leaving Clayton seems impulsive, irrational, maybe even a mistake. And perhaps it is,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few months. Not just about my relationship with Clayton, but about me, and I’ve discovered some things about myself that I don’t like very much.
“For years I allowed my parents to control my life, based my happiness on their approval. And when I married Clayton, I simply transferred that control to him. I don’t blame him,” she said quickly when Megan appeared as if she was about to argue. “Not totally, anyway. Although I do believe things might have been different if Clayton had been willing to be more of a husband to me and more of a father to the children, if he’d only loved us more and been willing to show his love for us. But I realized that nothing was going to change for us or me,” she added emphatically, “unless I made some changes myself.”
“And leaving Clayton is your answer to your problems?” Megan asked doubtfully.
“Partially. I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. To be independent.” Rena smiled softly, thinking of the steps she’d already taken in that direction. “I’ve bought a house in Salado, a wonderful old place that the twins and I can live in while I restore it. And I’m starting an interior design business, something I’ve always dreamed of doing but…” she smiled ruefully, not wanting to place blame. “Well, let’s just say I allowed others to keep me from pursuing that dream.”
“Oh, Rena,” Megan began sorrowfully.
But before she could say more a shrill voice called from the patio. “Rena! Rena, dear! You have a guest.”
Hearing the displeasure in her mother’s voice, Rena didn’t need to turn to see who her visitor was…but she did, anyway. And when she did, she saw that Clayton was already walking down the flagstone path that led to the pool, not waiting for an invitation to join her. His stride was long and loose, yet purposeful, his shoulders broad beneath a crisp black Western shirt. The jeans he wore hugged his hips and thighs and hung low over his boot heels, the starched denim fabric creating a soft whisking sound with each step he took on the uneven stone path.
Heat flooded her face at the sight of him, every nerve burning with awareness, and she was grateful that the sunglasses hid her eyes from him…without them she was certain he’d see the yearning in them.
“In fact, I’m still paying for that fun,” she murmured under her breath.
Megan rose, smiling. “Clayton!” she called, her pleasure obvious. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Clayton swept off his hat and stretched out a hand, his expression guarded. “Megan. It’s been a while.”
“More than a while. Years!” she exclaimed, laughing as she squeezed his hand between hers. “How are you?”
Clayton glanced quickly at Rena, one corner of his mouth dipping into a scowl. “I’ve been better.”
Megan glanced over her shoulder at Rena. “Yes,” she said sympathetically as she turned back to Clayton. “I would imagine you have.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and rose to her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But the war’s not over, yet,” she whispered close to his ear.
She laughed when he ducked his head, his cheeks reddening. “Still the same shy cowboy, I see,” she teased.
“Clayton shy?” Rena snorted and rose from her chair. “That’ll be the day.”
“Sure he is,” Megan replied and shot Clayton a sly wink. “And he’s so cute when he blushes, don’t you think?”
Rena glanced at Clayton, then away, frowning. “If you say so,” she said, refusing to rise to the bait.
Clayton snugged his hat back over his head, irritated by his wife’s indifference. “If you’ll excuse us, Megan,” he said, glaring at Rena’s back. “Rena and I have some business to discuss.”
“Clayton!” Rena cried in dismay, whirling to look at him. “How rude. Megan only just arrived.”
“That’s okay,” Megan said, and scooped her purse from the patio table. “I need to go, anyway. I’m supposed to meet Harold at the club for lunch.” She gave Rena a quick hug. “I’ll call you later,” she said, giving Rena a meaningful look, then turned to leave, whispering to Clayton as she brushed past him, “Hang in there, cowboy. I’m on your side.”
Clayton waited until Megan was out of earshot before turning to Rena. “Where are the kids?”
Furious with him for the way he’d rushed Megan off, Rena dropped down onto the lounge chair and snatched up the bottle of sunscreen again. “With Dad.”
“I’d like to see them.”
“When?”
“Do I have to make an appointment to see my own kids?”
She heard the resentment in his voice and bit back her own caustic retort, knowing she wasn’t being fair. After all, they were his children, too. “No,” she replied as she spread the cream over her right calf. “But, in the future, you might want to call first to make certain they’re here before you drop by.”
Clayton watched her smooth the cream over her calf, then up her thigh, his gaze lingering on the sun-warmed flesh her skimpy bikini left exposed. Setting his jaw against the desire he felt rising, he dropped down on the foot of the chair Megan had vacated and braced his elbows on his thighs as he looked out across the pool. “When are we going to talk about this, Rena?”
“Talk about what?” she asked and calmly squirted more cream onto her palm.
He angled his head over his shoulder to look at her. “About our marriage.”
She snorted a laugh and swept her hand across her middle, smearing the cream over her bare abdomen. “What marriage?”
“Our marriage,” he shot back. “The one you seem so anxious to end.”
“We don’t have a marriage, Clayton. We have nothing but a legal document that binds us together.”
“We damn sure do have a marriage, and a family, too,” he told her furiously. “And I think it’s high time you quit playing whatever little game this is you’re playing and come home where you belong.”
She slammed the bottle down on the table hard enough to make the carved iron legs wobble. Grabbing the chair’s arms, she jerked herself forward and leaned across the distance that separated them, putting her face only inches from his. “This isn’t a game, Clayton,” she warned him darkly. “This is my life we’re talking about.”
He ripped off his hat, tossing it to the tiled deck that skirted the kidney-shaped pool, and twisted around to face her fully. Though frightened by the anger that turned his blue eyes to steel, Rena refused to shrink away from him.
“And mine,” he grated out. “And, by God, I have a right to know why you left me.”
“Why?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Does it hurt your male pride to have to tell your traveling buddies, Pete and Troy, that your wife left you?”
