by Red Garnier
No matter what she’d done to him, no matter that she’d lied and betrayed him, Landon had given her his word. She would have her son back at any cost, and Landon would have Halifax’s head.
It had been four months and twenty nine days. Why had he not celebrated his victory over Halifax yet?
Because she’s still here.
Landon wrenched off his tie, shoving it into his pants pocket. Halifax didn’t deserve to be walking on the same planet Beth and her son were. And therefore, he would not. He was answering to a hell of a lot more charges now and would probably spend the rest of his life behind bars. Not only had the insurance companies sued him for millions the man in all likelihood did not have, but the District Attorney had charged him with distribution of illegal substances, and criminally negligent manslaughter. His situation was bleak.
As bleak as…Landon’s bedroom.
“Damn it,” he cursed. Before he knew what he did, he removed his coat, rolled the cuffs of his shirt, yanked the door open, and scoured the house for his wife.
She’d tried talking to him several times, always uneasily, but the intense sting of betrayal he felt kept building inside of him, and it left no room for listening to Beth. No room for coddling her. No room for anything except waiting to recover whatever life he’d had before her, and forget he’d ever married her.
He found the door to her bedroom partway open. Something tightened inside him as he pushed it wider and gazed into the dimly lit room. “Beth? Can we talk?”
Beth sat at the vanity, brushing her hair as though the act calmed her, and stopped when she heard him. She spun around on the upholstered ottoman with wide unblinking eyes, her mouth slightly parted. The picture of Halifax leaning in unbearably close to those pretty pink lips came back to Landon, making him want to rip down the drapes and toss them out the window.
He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, take her, but instead his hands curled in on themselves, clenching tight at his sides.
“I thought you were at dinner with your brothers,” Beth said.
“They were irritating me, so I left them to irritate each other.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame, struggling to steady his heartbeat. He’d been inventing dinners all week—anything to stay away from home. From her. But tonight was different. “I merely wanted to see if you were all right.”
Her smile held a hint of sadness. “So now you’re talking to me.”
He did not deny his lack of attention. How could he? He didn’t want to see her, couldn’t stand eating with her, could barely keep on living in the same house with her without going insane. Holding her little hand in his at court had been painful. Hearing her say she loved him with the same mouth she’d both kissed and lied to him had been among the most painfully mocking things in his entire goddamned life.
She rose to her feet in an easy, effortless move that made her body sway under the loose pastel green robe she wore. “Landon, about what I said at court—”
“I didn’t come here to talk about what you said,” he interrupted.
The hurt that came to her eyes made him want to charge across and do something to erase it. But she quickly wiped her expression clean, and he quickly dashed the thought of doing anything for her except what he’d promised he would and had already accomplished. Getting her son back.
Made visibly nervous by his visit, since he’d been doing a damned fine job of staying away from her room for weeks, Beth chewed her lower lip. “What did you come up here to talk about, then?”
I wanted to look at you one last time.
“I came to let you know…” His blood swirled. After the brutal feel of his own exposure at court, admitting to a room full of people what he had not admitted even to himself, every atom, cell and nerve in his body vibrated with yearning for her. Every night, every day. He had to leave, now, before he regretted it. He clamped his teeth and shook his head, frustrated with himself. “Forget it.”
He spun around, but she called his name.
“Landon!”
He stiffened, and his head came up a bit, but he didn’t turn until several slow, painful seconds passed. He faced her once more, not wanting to notice how her hair fell in a golden waterfall past her shoulders, framing her delicate face, not wanting to think that she looked vulnerable and beautiful and ready for bed.
“It’s about the divorce, isn’t it,” she said.
Something cracked inside, but he’d be dead before he showed it. He nodded. “I wanted to say goodbye.”
The next day started easily enough, ordinarily enough, except for the yellow folder Beth found on her nightstand. Landon must have gotten close to leave it there during the night, and her stomach tumbled realizing she must have slept through it.
So…
It was indeed goodbye.
During the morning she felt numb. Couldn’t bring herself to open it. But she knew what it was. She accompanied Thomas to drop David at school, then she called her mother to let her know they’d be coming over today and staying for a week or two, until she could rent the small one-bedroom house at Crownridge she’d spotted.
David would miss the dogs. Between packing for them both and stealing sidelong glances at the envelope, Beth scoured through the dog books in Landon’s study in search of the right breed for them. Maybe a little dog, which wouldn’t bark and disturb the neighbors. She pored over the books, and stopped at: Old English Mastiffs.
Her insides wrenched as she read the description. So. This was why Landon didn’t have a Doberman, or a German Shepherd. Mastiffs were loyal to the death. And it struck her how, above anything else, her husband valued loyalty, and how Beth had disappointed him.
She and David moved out that afternoon, before Landon returned from work, but even then, she didn’t dare open the envelope.
She found herself staring at it the next morning, torn between finding out its contents or setting it on fire in the kitchen stove.
“Your father says Hector’s going to get a life sentence, and there’s really nothing he can do about it but serve it. Beth! Are you listening to me? I don’t appreciate seeing you moping, Bethy. We really must do something about it.”
Beth sat at the small old breakfast table—the envelope next to her plate. Outside, cars drove by. But no. No black Navigator or blue Maserati pulled over in front of Mom’s home. Probably, there never would be.
She sipped her coffee, wondering what to do, wondering if she’d always been such a coward, when her mother’s frequent, worried glances prodded her to speak. “I heard you,” she said at last, sighing. “Hector’s getting at least thirty years. I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m not pretending to be surprised. The man had gotten away with it for too long.”
“Speak louder, Bethy, I’m not wearing my hearing aid. And stop looking at those papers and open them, for heaven’s sake. Here. Take this knife.”
Okay, then.
Opening them now.
Beth’s hand trembled as she sliced into the top folded edge, her pulse jumping in fear. “We agreed on this, you know,” she said, to the kitchen in general. But had they agreed on kissing each other senseless? On telling each other secrets, fears, opening themselves up for heartbreak?
The memory of Landon telling her—Before you give me anything else, Beth, I want your trust—made her eyes start to burn. He’d given her his own trust, clearly. And she’d proved it a mistake.
“Well? Are those divorce papers?”
“Yes.” Beth clutched them to her chest as though they were a declaration of love, while in her mind she imagined ripping, stomping on or losing them. Landon thought this was it, then? That she’d just take the papers and not be allowed an explanation? Not allowed a formal goodbye other than that brief, angry visit he’d paid her room last night? “Mom, can I borrow Dad’s car for a bit?” Beth said, loudly enough for her mother to hear.
“Oh yes yes, of course!”
She fell deep into thought as she drove, the envelope her only passenger.
>
Now with her business up and running, she could find a place—nearby, in the same school district. And buy a car. She could start over as she’d always wanted to. Her and David, against the world.
But not before she saw Landon.
Dread coiled around her throat as she was led into his office. Then, coming around the desk in all his glory was Landon Gage. His was a face she would not see every day again, a voice she would not hear again. Here was a man who wanted to get rid of her.
On tenterhooks, Beth lowered herself on to the chair across the desk from his. “I thought I’d personally bring you these,” she said, then cleared her throat and slightly raised the envelope to his attention.
“Not necessary.” His timbre was about as inanimate as a lamp.
Beth bit her lip, then, trembling, set the papers on his desk. “I also thought you’d want this back.” The small diamond on her finger flashed as she twisted off the ring.
She laid it over the envelope with a tiny but deafening “click”.
Neither could bear to look at it.
Landon reclined in his seat and clasped his hands behind his head, his eyes slowly raking her body. “How are you? How’s David?”
She smiled, tremulously, and wondered how she could even manage it. Just as you managed to sign the divorce papers, Beth. Very grudgingly.
“Happy. David’s happy. Landon…thank you. You did as you promised and you were so good to me.” So good for me…
She counted the prizes hanging behind his wall, recognitions of him as a newspaper genius, and tried to calm down. Once, when she was little, she’d shattered her tiniest, most prized crystal figurine into what seemed like a hundred little pieces. It was a swan her mother had given her, and she had treasured it. But no matter how much she prayed, the figurine was beyond repair, the shards so tiny they only cut and cut at her fingers when she tried to mend it. Was that the case with Landon? She could wish and pray and want but she would only cut herself more. He didn’t look at her with warmth. He looked at her not like a husband, but an enemy. They. They were beyond repair. But she had to try.
“If that’s all…” He shuffled some papers—and Beth got the message clearly, even though he spoke again in interest. “Kate tells me you’re officially a partner in her business.”
She waited for him to say more, something about them, words welling in her throat. No. She should not do this. She would divorce him and she would bury her past and start a new life for herself. But she did not want a divorce. She wanted, needed forgiveness. Her own and his. And love. It still thickened her veins, danced in her thoughts and in her heart. Her nerves quivered. Inside, she screamed. Love me back. Have pity on me and hold me…like before…like when you loved me with your body….
“Business, yes. We’re doing great with online advertising on our recipe section.”
“Good. Very good, Bethany.”
“Landon, why are we doing this?” she blurted. “Why won’t you listen to me?”
One eyebrow lifted, as though he could not for the life of him have heard correctly. “We had an agreement. We’ve fulfilled both our ends.”
“So what happened between us…? We’re to pretend it never happened at all?”
“Beth,” he said with a significant pause, and she could see him grapple for words. “I expect…things of my wife.”
He left them unsaid, the things he wanted.
His voice dropped a decibel, became a terse, quiet confession. “Is it wrong that I expect you to be loyal and truthful with me?”
Beth gulped as she watched him rise, eager to dismiss her. She leapt to her feet. “What if I was trying to protect you? What if you have me all wrong? I’m not who you think I am, Landon! If you’d only let me show you…”
He went rigid when she sailed around the desk.
“Bethany—” He caught her shoulders, but didn’t push her away. “We were a bad idea. I thought I could live with it, knowing you were Halifax’s first, but I can’t. I can’t stand the idea. I can’t stand the idea of you…lying to me.”
“I can’t stand it either, but I can’t change the past, please understand. I just didn’t want to hurt you.”
Frantically, she slid her palm up his shirt, his chest solid, hot through the cotton. She could feel every sinew of muscle underneath. Deep, forgotten places inside her clenched. “Landon, please.”
“Beth, what are you playing at?” His voice grew husky. Desire trembled there. His hand on her back began to squeeze her, began to want and feel and knead.
She pressed closer, a little in agony, seeking ease for the horrible burn growing inside her. “Last night I saw you… I thought my husband came to get his good-night kiss.”
He groaned. Images of his sculpted body began to tease and tantalize her. Him in nakedness, the male form in all its glory, chiseled like a statue but warmer. Just one time—they’d been together just one time—and it haunted her. She pressed her legs together and tried to breathe slowly. But the images remained. Clearer, more vivid. They were memories. Of when he’d been inside her. Of him biting at her breasts. Of her nails sinking into his back. Of that consuming passion they had shared.
He pressed her back against the window, caging her in with his body. “Damn you.”
He swept down—but stopped a hairbreadth away. Opening her mouth, she flicked her tongue out to lick the firm flesh of his lips. Explosions of colors. Mouths melding. Skin, heat, ecstasy. “Is this wrong?” she taunted. She draped a leg around his thigh and flattened herself against his chest, her breasts crushed against his ribs, her tummy to his. “How can this be wrong?”
“I don’t…” His hand fisted in her hair and he opened his mouth, giving her the mist of his breath. She waited for that kiss, the searing kiss that would put everything behind them. It didn’t come. “Want you anymore,” he huskily murmured, the graze of his lips across hers so bare and fleeting she mewled with a protest for more.
His hold tightened on her hair before he released her. “Goodbye, Miss Lewis.”
Fifteen
Landon prowled the city, simmering with pent-up need, anger and despair. He couldn’t bear to go home. It felt empty, the house, his room, his bed. Beth was gone, and the relief he’d assumed he’d feel with her departure wasn’t coming.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, what she’d said about a ten-month-old baby. How she’d looked in his office, desperate as that first day, this time desperate for something Landon could no longer give her.
He drove along the highway, and before he knew where he headed, Landon stopped by Mission Park cemetery. His son’s gravestone; he’d visited only once before years ago. Why now? Why was he back here at this place that held his most haunting memories?
Because he’s my son.
He gazed down at the lettering, engraved in the granite headstone. Nathaniel Gage.
He’s not your son, he’s Hector’s…
To hear his own wife say it had been a blow, but once the words registered, he’d felt more than anger, more than despair. He’d felt betrayed and played and violated.
They’d won at court—but the satisfaction of winning hadn’t accompanied the success. Landon had lost. Because it was just the kind of cruel twist of fate that Landon should love something of his enemy’s. It was just the kind of cruel twist of fate that even knowing Nathan was not his son, and belonged to the bastard, Landon still loved him.
Nathaniel was a Gage.
He stroked a hand over the curved top of the gravestone. He didn’t understand. He never would. One second his attention was elsewhere, and when he’d looked back his wife and kid were gone. The accident had revealed her treachery. Phone calls, emails, letters. Years betraying him behind his back. But never had he imagined it had dated to before. Before Landon had met her, before he’d married her.
To think how she’d snagged him, young and in his prime, pretending he was the father of her unborn child. For the length of their short marriage Landon had been faithful,
making an effort, for her, for Nathaniel. And all that time, she’d been seeing Hector.
His son would’ve been thirsty for life.
And Chrystine’s treachery robbed him of it.
But now, even now, when he’d taken everything of Halifax’s, his practice, his respect and his freedom, Landon could not enjoy the victory. He could not go back to the way he was before. He loved that son, wanted him as his, and the path of revenge had opened up a whole new wanting for him.
He wanted Bethany—the son she and Halifax had. That, too, he wanted. Because it was hers.
Yes, a cruel twist of fate it was. To love the two things that had first belonged to the enemy.
A bouquet of flowers appeared out of nowhere—white roses suddenly laid there, over the grave, tied by a sleek white ribbon. Landon glanced past his shoulder to confirm his suspicions, and sighed.
He wasn’t alone. Comfortably clad in a flowery dress and a pair of maroon cowboy boots, his mother nailed the Texan matron look down to a tee.
“What are you doing here?”
“I come here every week. Why wouldn’t I visit my grandson?” Her weathered hand stroked the name, and Landon lowered his face, said softly, “He’s not mine, Mother.”
She didn’t jerk at the news, only regarded him with that impenetrable coolness of hers. “You were always the one ready to make the tough decisions for the family. And I think you’re so used to making them, you can’t believe anything can be good and simple anymore.”
“Nothing in my life has ever been good or simple.”
“But it is. Bethany fell in love with you. And you with her. Good. And simple.”
Landon didn’t respond, fought not to think of her, remember the ways her lips curled into all kinds of mischievous or shy or soft smiles.
He tossed a twig into the air. “I’m not sure she loves me. I’m not even sure what was real and what wasn’t.”
“I know what you were fighting for, Landon. You’ve never been vindictive. You’ve always done the honorable thing. You weren’t fighting for revenge, you were fighting for a family. The family you deserve. A woman touched your heart, even when you didn’t want her to, and you were fighting for her. Are you going to quit now? When you’re so far ahead in the game?”