Roxie sighed. “Someone needs to teach that boy some social skills.”
“He sounded busy.” Susan sank into a chair, her knees as shaky as her emotions. “What’s going on at the paper?”
“Ray and I are making it work, though we miss you.” Roxie poured them each a cup of coffee, then brought the bowls of ice cream to the table. “It’s a lot bigger job than I realized.”
“It’s fun, though.”
“If you know what you’re doing.” Roxie scooped a spoonful of chocolate sauce into her mouth, smiling in bliss. “Hmm. You have to try the chocolate sauce with the ice cream.”
“You didn’t have any ice cream in your sauce.”
“Not this time.”
“This time? How much ice cream have you had today?”
“I had a little bowl at home before I came over here, just to make sure it was up to your standards.”
“The sacrifices you make for me. I’m astonished.”
“Me, too.” Roxie grinned.
Susan ate some ice cream, though she couldn’t help glancing at her cell phone on the counter.
Mark had seemed so hurried when he’d called. He’d asked how she was, inquiring about Dad’s condition, sympathy in his voice. The last thing she wanted from him was sympathy. She wanted— She covered her eyes. What in the hell did she want?
Right now, nothing seemed clear. She raked a hand through her hair and sighed, her heart so heavy it felt as if she’d need a backhoe to haul it back in place. Whatever she wanted where Mark Treymayne was concerned, it was painfully obvious she wasn’t going to get it.
Later, as Roxie put the dishes away, Susan wandered into the living room and ran a hand over the worn cushions of her dad’s chair. Had she done all she could for him? Should she have demanded that he get help? See a doctor? In the past she’d done just that, but she’d slowly come to the realization that no matter what she said, he’d do what he wanted to do.
You can’t help someone who won’t help himself, right, Dad? Your favorite saying. Her throat closed and she knuckled her eyes, moving quickly out to the porch, Krypton at her side.
She sank onto the front step and put her arms around the puppy, trying to distract herself by taking in the green lushness of her yard.
A change of scenery was what she needed. She would take a vacation as soon as Dad was back to normal—actually, better than normal. He couldn’t drink again; the doctor had been adamant about that.
Her puppy licked her ear and she hugged him tighter. “Krypton, what do you think about going on a fishing trip? We could pack up and go camping on Lake Hope—”
The door swung open and Roxie came out. “There you are! Nick wants me to come home as soon as I can. Something about my mother. God only knows what she’s said to him now, because I—”
A red Mustang came down the road. Mark’s red Mustang, to be exact.
He came back. Susan’s heart fluttered, her stomach tightening. Suddenly, she wasn’t only exhausted but slightly ill, her nerves jangling. Don’t get used to this, you idiot. He’s just being nice. He’ll leave soon.
“It’s about time,” Roxie muttered.
“Where are you—”
“Gotta scoot! See you tomorrow. Call me if your plans change.”
“Why would my plans change?”
“Life happens, sweetheart.” Roxie headed toward her car. “Just call, either way!”
“Yes, but—”
“Bye!” Roxie closed the door and backed out, wiggling her fingers at her brother, who’d parked in front of the house and was now climbing out of his car.
He strode across the lawn, looking calm and collected, his crisp khakis and button-down shirt perfectly pressed. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d just run his hand through it, and his eyes were steady through his glasses.
He stopped in front of her, his hands in his pockets, which made his arm muscles bulge. How did he do that?
For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a darn thing to say. “Hello.”
“Hello yourself. I won’t ask you how you’re holding up, because I asked you already. Probably six or seven times.” A deliciously crooked smile crossed his face. “That’s enough for one day. Susan, I—” He stopped and rubbed a hand over his face and started again, “Susan, I— Oh, God, I don’t know where to start.” He gave a rueful laugh.
He’s leaving and doesn’t know how to say it. She rested her head against Krypton’s. “There’s really nothing to say.”
“Yes, there is. There is a lot to say.” He put his hands on his hips, unwittingly assuming the Superman pose—feet planted, hands on his hips, chest thrust out. Lose the glasses and add a cape, and he’d be a dead ringer.
“Susan, we need to talk.”
“Mark, you’ve been very kind to stay with me, but I know it’s time for you to return to Raleigh.”
She would be fine. Really, she would be. Yet deep inside, a more honest voice cried out, I want him here. I need him.
The thought stopped her cold. She didn’t need anyone. She never had. When something needed to be done, she did it without fuss. She did it because that was her job, her place in life. Dad hadn’t been able to provide for her needs—heck, he couldn’t even provide for himself. And Mom had left—
A sob began to bubble in her chest. I am not going to cry right now. I refuse to! Krypton wiggled against her and licked her face, giving her the strength she needed.
She hugged the dog and said softly, “Thank you for all you’ve done, Mark, but I’d rather you left now.”
“No.”
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t leave, Susan. Something is holding me in Glory. And I only hope it will hold me forever.”
She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. “M-Mark?”
Mark stepped forward and lifted Susan into his arms, then sat on the stoop with her snug in his lap. “I’m back, Susan, and I’ll never go away again.”
“B-but your b-business—”
“I sold it.”
She struggled to understand. “All of it?”
He nodded. “I sold the whole thing—even the building. As of four p.m. today, I’m officially unemployed.”
“But … but Roxie said you had a big accounting firm—”
“One of the biggest in Raleigh. I bought it when it was failing and had only eight accountants. Now it has over two hundred, and it just keeps growing. We’ll see if John is as good a manager as I was.”
“John?”
“John Freeman, my second in command. I sold it to him and a group of investors.” He kissed her forehead. “And I made a pretty penny. I may not have a job, but I’m not sure I’ll ever need one again.”
“Never?”
“Not with twenty million dollars in my pocket.”
She choked. “That’s so much money!”
“Yup, but I won’t get it all in one lump sum. The IRS would eat it all up if I did that.”
“Of course,” she said faintly, trying to imagine so much money. “If you stacked that in ones—I can’t even imagine.”
“I took a quarter in cash and a quarter in stocks and bonds, then the rest is coming in a series of payments over a few years. That will give me time to set up new investments to roll those into.”
“I thought you loved that business.”
“I used to, but I lost my taste for it a few months ago.” His gaze met hers, and suddenly he didn’t seem calm, but barely contained. “I lost my taste for the accounting business—and for Raleigh—when I started working at the newspaper. When I began to know you. I was just too stubborn to admit it.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t accept change well. It’s something I’m trying to fix.”
Susan swallowed hard. She must look a mess, all swollen eyes and red nose. Damn it, this was no way to have a conversation with a man she … she thought a lot about. A whole lot.
“So … what are you going to do now?”
“That depends on you.” He smiled into h
er eyes. “I hate to tell you this, Collins, but you’re stuck. I am one stubborn, tough, crazy-about-you guy, and I’ll be damned if I ever leave you again.”
She blinked. “Crazy … about me?”
“About you. About your delicious laugh. About the way you walk, and how you dress so casually yet look so elegant. About how you fix your own Jeep and can wear a tool belt without even thinking about it. About how you renovated this house, and took care of your father, and fought so hard for the paper, and yet could forgive Pat when she messed up. Susan, I guess I just love you.”
Her heart stuttered. “I … I …”
His arms tightened about her. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. But I couldn’t not tell you. I know you’re worried about your dad right now, but when you’re ready to listen to all I have to say, I’ll be here.”
“Here? In Glory?”
“Here with you. Wherever that is. I sold my business, put my house on the market, closed my bank accounts and moved them here to the Glory National Bank.” He grinned. “You should have seen Todd Barkins’s face when I handed him a seven-figure check. I don’t think they’ve ever seen that many zeros.”
Her heart lifted hopefully. “Mark, why did you do all that?”
“Because I wanted to be ready to do this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Mutely, she watched as he opened the box, a sapphire and platinum ring dazzling her. “One day, when you’re ready, I want to be a part of your life. On that day, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
Susan took the box. “It’s beautiful.”
“And colorful and classy and true. Like you.”
He kissed her as if he were a drowning man and she was his life rope. He kissed her as if he couldn’t bear to stop, as if he loved her dearly, as if he would wait for her forever, or longer.
He kissed her as if he loved her as she was, for who she was.
When he pulled back, she tightened her arms about his neck. “Mark, I think you won’t have to wait very long. Like, maybe … now.”
His eyes burned with emotion. “Are you … Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I love you, too.”
He laughed with joy as he scooped her up. Krypton gave a bark of approval as Mark whirled her around.
Susan held him tight. She’d found a real Superman. He might not be able to stop a meteor from hitting the Earth, but he knew when she needed a hug. There might be difficult times in the years ahead, but Mark would be there to hold her. A lifetime of happiness with the man she loved and who loved her, too, was better than any fantasy imaginable.
Find out how it all began!
Turn the page for
Roxie Treymayne and Nick Sheppard
in TALK OF THE TOWN,
Karen Hawkins’s debut contemporary romance.
Available from Pocket Books
On Monday, Roxanne Lynne Treymayne Parker bleached her hair blond, had her navel pierced, and got a tattoo on her right ass cheek. And that was all before noon.
It wasn’t every day a woman could celebrate shedding two hundred and fifty pounds of worthless husband. Today was Victory Day, and in honor of the occasion she’d ditched her sober navy blue suit and sensible pumps for a pair of dangerous, four-inch do-me heels, black miniskirt, and low-cut top.
She straightened her shoulders before she marched up the courthouse stairs. For once, prim and proper Roxanne Lynne Treymayne Parker wasn’t going to stand meekly aside and let life hand her leftovers. This time, she was going to take life by the throat and choke its scrawny ass until it cooked her a four-course meal.
She grabbed the heavy glass door and heaved it open, stepping into the courthouse foyer. She was immediately rewarded when the security guard’s eyes widened appreciatively.
She flicked him a smile as she whisked through the metal detector, collected her purse, and headed for the elevator. She’d been sensible her whole life, and look what it had gotten her—a cheating husband, a boatload of pain, and the loss of her sense of femininity. With one bold, selfish move, Brian had snatched it all away while she’d been busy being a “good wife.”
To hell with being good. She’d tried it and had gotten nothing in return, so now she was going to be bad. No, bad wasn’t enough. She was going to pass bad and jump right into wild. Even better, she was going to do it in a court of law.
The elevator opened and she strutted into the final hearing to end her marriage. Head high, she hid a satisfied smile when her lawyer gasped at the sight of her. Her whole body tingled with bitter happiness when Brian and his lawyer stopped talking in midsentence to stare at her and her incredibly naughty Dolce & Gabbana heels. She took her seat, adjusted her short skirt to an even more scandalous level, and then winked at the judge.
Judge Kempt, who looked to be all of a hundred years old, turned a pleased pink and within twenty minutes had granted her the lion’s share of her requests, leering at her greedily while ignoring Brian’s lawyer’s endless objections.
For Roxie—once Glory High School’s most popular Homecoming Queen, the first Glory resident to be voted Raleigh’s Debutante of the Year, and current Chair of the Raleigh Lakes Country Club Women’s Organization—it was further proof that good girls finished last, while bad girls got whatever their little hearts desired.
As they all waited for the final signatures to be added to the piles of paper that represented the rubble of her marriage, Roxie crossed her legs to make sure Brian saw exactly how short her skirt was, how great her do-me pumps made her calves look, and how her scanty stretch shirt lifted just a bit to reveal her new navel ring.
Maybe she should have gotten her tongue pierced, too. It would have been priceless to stick it out at Brian and see his reaction. But she’d been afraid a tongue-piercing might have made her lisp, which wouldn’t have fit with her “badass” image at all.
She sent Brian a glance from under her lashes. He sat rigidly, his manicured hands gripped together in his lap, looking so startled that one good puff of air might topple him over—Armani suit, Prada shoes, Rolex watch, and all.
Good. It was about time someone other than her got shocked by life.
After the last signature had been added to the towering pile of papers, Roxie’s lawyer took her arm and practically waltzed her out to the hallway.
There, she turned down a not-very-subtle pass from the heavily cologned man, then clickety-clicked down the hall on her to-die-for heels to the waiting elevator.
She drove straight home, an odd whirling noise in her ears. I’ve won, she told herself. Soon I’ll feel it, and things will be better.
She parked her car, went inside, closed and locked the door, stopped in her huge, Italian marble kitchen to collect every bag of chips in the cupboards, then climbed the grand stairway to her bedroom. Once there, she stripped off her new, uncomfortable clothes, kicked off her tippy shoes, and yanked on her favorite jersey sleep shirt. Then she unplugged the phone from the wall, fell into bed, and piled the bags of chips around her in a protective wall. She ripped one open and ate a handful, savoring their salty comfort.
Somehow she didn’t feel like a winner. During the last few weeks, as this day had approached, she’d thought the moment of release would lighten her painful sense of failure. She’d thought that when she won the huge settlement, she’d be vindicated and would no longer feel so … empty.
Instead, sitting in her bed in the middle of her huge, silent house, all she felt was lonely.
A tear landed on her wrist. It was followed by another, and then another. Suddenly the enormity of the last few months hit her, and she pushed away the chips, curled onto her side, and sobbed into her pillows, weeks of anguish pouring out.
Finally, her face salty with tears and chips, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. She slept for the rest of the day and the entire night. She might have slept for most of the next day, but at ten in the morning she was awakened by the insistent doorbell.
She slowly
opened her eyes, aware that something was wrong … oh, yes. The divorce. Her heart sank again, but she refused to cry anymore. She scrubbed her face with the edge of the sheet. The doorbell rang again and her heart leapt with hope. Perhaps one of her neighbors had come to check on her? But no, that would never happen. She might have “won” the divorce and gotten a very generous settlement, but that meant nothing to the inner sanctum of Raleigh society. To the socially elite that made up her snooty neighborhood, Brian was a man with a future, while she was nothing more than an “ex.”
Damn it, she had a degree in political science and could have gone to law school herself if she’d wanted; she’d had good grades. But that would take years—and in the interim, she was positioned for a painfully slow social exorcism. Besides, after three months of emotional upheaval, she didn’t have the energy to start again. Right now, she barely had the energy to eat chips. Thank God the bags were easy to open.
The doorbell rang again, even longer this time.
Roxie pulled the blankets over her head. I don’t need them anyway. I have friends like … like …! She bit her lip. The closest thing she had to a friend was her housekeeper, Tundy. Roxie had been too busy being Brian’s chief cheerleader to find any real friends.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Screw the lot of them!” she told the ceiling defiantly. “Tundy’s always been better company than the Raleigh Wives, anyway.” Thank God for Tundy. The housekeeper was always cheerful, always ready to help, and—right or wrong—always willing to give her honest opinion. Tundy’s frankness was a trusty compass while navigating the unpredictable ocean of guile and Southern politeness that made up the Raleigh Wives.
Brian had snickered when Roxie had named the aimless, avaricious women who populated their exclusive subdivision “the Raleigh Wives.” From the tops of their salon-colored hair to the tips of their perfect nails, the Raleigh Wives were worse than Stepford Wives: they were Stepford Wannabes. At first Roxie had avoided them, until Brian had pointed out that it was her duty to help his budding legal career by accumulating “useful friends.” Pasting a smile on her face, Roxie had submerged yet another part of her pride and made an entire subdivision-worth of false friends. Mother would have loved every minute of it; they were her sort of people.
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