What the...?
Patrick waited until he’d closed the door to inspect the envelope. Attorney Benjamin Young appeared on the return address label. Confused, he read the rest of the address.
Providence?
His blood grew warm. He ripped open the envelope, nearly dumping the papers on the floor.
He straightened the pages and looked at them. His gaze was halfway through reading Superior Court of Washington... when the wordsPetition for Divorcejumped out at him from lower down on the page.
He let loose a string of curses as heat shot through him.How dare Jessica file for divorce?
No way would he let her go. He’d meant it when he told that hot-shot sheriff if he couldn’t have Jessie, no one would.
Red shadows blurred the edges of his vision and he staggered into the table in the wide entryway, knocking over the vase on top of it. It was one of Jessie’s.
The last one.
Her best work.
He picked it up and flung it at the framed piece of modern art that had cost him almost a thousand dollars. Shards of glass and chunks of pottery scattered across the floor. He’d bought the hideous picture to spite Jessica, because she didn’t like that abstract style.
Here’s something else she won’t like.
He ripped the papers he held in two, then fourths before storming into his home office. He turned on the paper shredder and fed the divorce papers in.
“Jessica is mine!” His shout echoed through the sparsely furnished room.
Jessie was coming home, whether she liked it or not.
And he’d make Winters pay too.
Chapter 30
Jessie sucked in a slow, deep breath as her hands caressed the moist clay. This was only her second time here, and already she was becoming addicted.
She’d made Robert promise to bring her back again this week before they left last Wednesday.
He’d easily agreed. He seemed to enjoy watching her as much as she enjoyed getting her hands dirty and being creative.
He didn’t watch her tonight, though. He’d brought a laptop and said something about needing to get some work done.
Jessie had left two small vases on the drying rack last week. They weren’t as delicate as she would have liked, but they’d turned out smooth with graceful curves. If nothing else, they’d make a nice gift for her mother or sister for Christmas.
She set aside the first of tonight’s vases and took a seat at the wheel again. The soft rock music, the scent of the rich minerals, and the feel of the cool clay taking shape under her hands carried her away.
I could get used to this.
A familiar voice from the past greeted Robert over the music, and she caught her breath as feelings of tenderness filled her chest. She wiped her hands on a nearby towel and turned to look at the man who had influenced her more than any other person.
Mr. White had recognized her talents as she struggled through a troublesome time in her life. He’d become a surrogate father figure to her and taught her to believe in herself and nurture her talents in a way that made Jessie fall deeply and irrevocably in love with art.
Her favorite teacher had aged over the past five years, and although he had a slight stoop to his frame, he was still large in stature. His full head of hair was fully gray now. A smile split his face, and his blue eyes twinkled as he opened his arms wide.
“Jessie Sorenson.”
She didn’t hesitate to walk into his outstretched arms and return the embrace. She didn’t bother correcting him with her name. In fact, she’d written the initialsJ.S.on the bottom of the vases she’d left to dry last week. It felt more natural than puttingJ.P.on the bottom when she was trying to leave that part of her life behind.
Mr. White hugged her tight, then released her and stepped back. “You’re still as beautiful and as talented as ever.”
