“More everything.”
And he shows me exactly what he means. Quietly. Thoroughly. With his hand over my mouth when I can’t keep it down. Until the only sound in the room is the creak of my bed and his low voice in my ear telling me I’m his and I’m perfect and he’s going to fill me up and keep me full forever.
Fourteen
Ina
I’m in the kitchen making lunch when I hear a car I don’t recognize. Not Beau’s truck…that engine I know in my sleep. This is something smaller. Quieter. I glance out the window, and my stomach drops.
Silver BMW. Texas plates. A man stepping out of it in pressed khakis and a polo shirt, like he’s headed to brunch at the country club instead of the cattle ranch he never wanted me to move to.
Mark.
Same face, same build…lean, medium height, same expensive haircut that costs more than my weekly feed order. He’s got sunglasses pushed up on his head, and he’s looking at the ranch house like he has any right to stand on this gravel and breathe this air.
My jaw locks. My hands curl around the edge of the counter.
He fucked his girlfriend in our bed, signed the papers, took his half, and disappeared.
And now he’s here. In his pressed khakis. On my porch.
I dry my hands on the dish towel. Take a breath. Walk to the front door.
He’s already at the bottom of the steps when I push through the screen. His eyes do that thing …that sweep he used to do when we were married. Starting at my feet, moving up slowly, taking inventory. Like he’s checking what’s his. Except nothing here is his anymore.
“Ina.” He smiles. That practiced, smooth, I’m-a-reasonable-man smile. “You look good.”
“What are you doing here, Mark?”
“Can’t I come see how you’re doing?”
“You haven’t called me in four months.”
“I know. I’ve been meaning to.” He takes a step up. I don’t move. “Lilah said she was home for the weekend. Thought I’d swing by. See the place. See you.”
Lilah. That’s how he knew. My daughter mentioned she was visiting and Mark drove four hours to …what? Play daddy? Make sure his ex-wife is still miserable enough to make him feel like the winner?
“Lilah’s out with Tanya,” I say flatly. “You should’ve called first.”
“Come on, Ina. Don’t be like that.” He climbs another step. Closer now. Close enough that I can smell his cologne…that expensive thing he always wore. It used to make me feel safe. Now it makes my skin crawl. “I just wanted to talk. We didn’t exactly end things on good terms.”
“You fucked someone else in our house. There are no good terms.”
His smile tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither was the divorce settlement, but here we are.”
He opens his mouth…probably to launch into one of his calm, gaslighting monologues about how we both made mistakes and no one’s really to blame…when we both hear it.
My guy’s truck. Big. Black. Loud. Rolling up the driveway with the kind of engine that announces itself from a quarter mile away. Gravel crunching under heavy tires.
Mark turns. Watches the truck park behind his BMW. His BMW suddenly looks tiny.
The door opens. And Beau steps out.
He’s in a white T-shirt…tight, sweat-damp from working the ranch. Dusty jeans. Boots. His hat pulled low, shadowing his golden eyes. He’s massive. His shoulders strain the seams of his shirt. His forearms are dirty, veins popping, his big hands hanging loose at his sides. He looks like he just walked out of a field and could walk right into a fight without adjusting a single thing.
He takes one look at the scene…me on the porch with my arms crossed, Mark on the steps in his country club outfit…and everything about him changes. His stride slows, jaw sets, eyes going hard and laser-focused on the man standing between us.
