And yet it still felt like a gut punch.
What decision had she made that ended their relationship? What would have pissed him off—or cut him so deeply—that he’d not only ended things but lit the bridge behind him in a blazing inferno? Had she sided with Jed? Had she fought him on working with Hardshaw?
Maybe both.
There was a photo on James’s fireplace mantel of Jed’s little girl … along with Rose Gardner’s daughter.
Her daughter was four years old.
My breath stuck in my chest. No. My imagination was running wild.
But I couldn’t ignore the fact he had a framed photo of both girls on his mantle. And the timing of the little girl’s age fit too well.
Was that the decision Rose had made that had officially ended their relationship? Had she gotten pregnant and decided to keep the baby? James said he didn’t want children. It could have been a deal breaker.
It was a huge leap—I was making assumptions, but that was how I’d solved a lot of my cases: seeing scattered pieces and figuring out how they fit, even when no one else could.
This felt like a flashing neon sign.
I slid out of bed and moved to the sofa, trying to figure out why this bothered me so much. Rose was in his past, and he’d said he didn’t love her anymore. Maybe it was the fact that her name kept popping up, or the possibility that he might have a kid. I didn’t think I had it in me to be a stepmother. Then again, from what I could tell, James didn’t have contact with the girl. She had Joe Simmons’s last name.
Still, there was every chance I was wrong about Rose’s daughter.
But there was also a chance I was right.
I grabbed the laptop. I’d done some searches on Rose Gardner a few weeks ago, but I typed in her name again. The articles about her business and her kidnapping by J.R. Simmons came up, but I ignored those and studied the photos instead, reconfirming what I already knew.
She was the complete antithesis of me—wholesome, girl-next-door, with a sheriff husband and a house full of kids on their family farm. She ran a nursery and landscaping business, for God’s sake. You couldn’t be more homespun than that.
Was that what he wanted? Even if he said he didn’t? Was I putting my heart on the line just so it could get broken?
I wasn’t sure I could handle that.
This is only a fling. You’ve told yourself that since the moment you first went to bed with him.
Only, after spending the past week with him, I knew it wasn’t just a fling. James was everything I needed in a man.
But was I everything he needed?
A deep thirst burned in my chest. I wanted a drink so badly I dug my fingernails into my palms. My mouth felt dry, and the minibar across the room taunted me.
One drink wouldn’t hurt. It would take the edge off so I could get some sleep.
But I’d told myself that when I’d started to drink last fall, right up until I finally quit. Just one drink, which turned into two, and before I knew it, I’d downed a pint of whiskey and half a bottle of vodka I’d hidden in my water bottle.
Just one drink was a slippery slope I couldn’t afford.
Still, I needed some kind of release or I was going to crawl out of my skin. I grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom, changing quickly into leggings and a T-shirt, then pulled my hair into a ponytail. I turned off the light before opening the door, making sure James was still asleep. Then I grabbed the key card, my phone and earbuds and crept to the door, snagging my shoes on the way out.
Thankfully, the exercise room was open and empty. I pulled up my fast-paced playlist and hopped on the treadmill.
I started out slow, then pushed harder until I was sprinting. I hadn’t exercised in ages, and the wall hit fast, but I kept going, reveling in the burn. I locked onto the lyrics, determined to stop thinking about the woman he’d loved.
It stung that I’d never loved a man.
Focus on the music.
I wasn’t sure how long I ran before I saw him enter the room. Long enough that I was breathless, drenched in sweat, and feeling like I was going to puke.
