I drive down the dark road toward my place, wishing my family visit had given me the distraction I’m craving.
I need to turn my brain off completely.
I’ve only ever found one thing that can do that.
But with the only man I truly want permanently off the market, I need to start getting used to life without him. It’s time I stop holding onto a drunken night in Vegas and move forward.
Before I’ve even arrived home, I pick up my cell phone.
“Hey Jamie,” I say when he answers. “I’m ready to take things to the next level. You want to come over?”
Chapter Twelve
The minute Jamie walks in my front door, I drag him to the couch and throw my arms around his neck.
“Hi there,” Jamie says into my ear. “I’m happy you called.”
His hands are all over me immediately, and before he’s even kissed me, he lifts my shirt up.
“You have a tattoo on your breast.” Jamie stares at the red raindrop that’s showing through the thin white fabric of my bra.
I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it back down. “Yes. It’s years old.”
Jamie runs his hand through his short blond hair until it stands straight up. “What’s it mean?”
Everything. But that’s not the right answer to tell a boyfriend. Okay, my…sort of boyfriend. My attempt at distraction from another man if I’m really being honest.
God, what is wrong with me?
I sit up and try to push away the feeling of emptiness inside me. The pain I’d temporarily forced myself to forget is rushing back far too quickly.
“I got it one day with a friend,” I finally say. “Just one of those teenage rebellion things.”
Jamie puts out his arms. “Come here and talk to me. You seem down.”
I relax into his arms, but not because I want to talk about what’s going on.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just…I’ve had a rough week. I didn’t mean to slow things down to a crawl just now. But I’m obviously not in the mood for sexy times tonight. I wish to God I was. I’m just not.”
“So let’s watch a movie.”
“Okay.”
I end up falling asleep halfway through the movie, and when I wake up the next morning, Jamie’s gone.
But my head feels clearer. And as I get into the shower, I remind myself of what I told Ginny the other day—rather than dwelling on Logan and his love life, I’m going to focus on myself.
First things first though—I need to sign those divorce papers.
* * *
Two hours later, the unsigned divorce papers sit next to Vivian’s open diary at the empty bar counter in front of me.
Every time I pick up a pen and let it hover over the divorce agreement, my stomach twists into knots and I have to fight the urge to tear the papers in half. Needing a distraction, I opened up Vivian’s diary because it seemed like a good way to do research for the backstory of my novel.
After an hour, I’m ready to give up. My head is filled with Olde English phrases referencing Vivian’s growing frustrations with her husband, and my eyes burn from straining to decipher the faded handwriting. Before The Cowherd was allowed to hold the diary for wedding season, Mama would sneak behind the roped-off area in the Darcy Museum and use her magnifying glass to try to uncover clues. She swears that diary is why she needs reading glasses now.
I look back down at the page I’m on—can’t help but feel a twinge of homesickness for my motherlandto the part Mama always recited by heart—cattle and oil roots are everywhere on this foreign soil. This land is hot and dry and dreadful, just dreadful.
