Mitch climbed off the ladder, sweat saturating his entire body. Once he was on the ground, he reached for the handkerchief in his back pocket and wiped his face, just so that he could see.
“Hey, boss, why didn’t you let me do that?”
Mitch waved a careless hand at Jesse. “Mainly because you were doing something else.”
“The other coulda waited.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mitch raised his eyes to the roof of the greenhouse. “Those sheets of roofing won’t blow off again. I can guarantee you that.”
“Man, the wind sure has been something lately, especially for this time of year.”
“I don’t like it, either—not when we’re trying to finish a project.” Mitch dusted off his jeans with his right hand, then turned and gave the greenhouse a closer look. “Won’t be long now till it’s done.”
Jesse grinned. “I think we done a good job, too, don’t you?”
Mitch grinned back. “The best.”
“Has the doc seen it yet?”
“Not that I know of, though I’m about to get him down here. I want to make sure it’s on the money.”
Jesse scratched his head, frowning against the brutal sunlight. “Well, it oughta hold all the plants he wants from now till kingdom come.”
“That’s a given,” Mitch said, half-smiling.
“So what do you want me to do now?” Jesse asked. “Me and the boys finished trimming and weeding around the south pond.”
“Bring ’em back here, and we’ll get started on the inside.”
“Gotcha.”
Mitch watched Jesse amble off before facing the ladder once again and frowning. He hated like hell to climb back up on that metal roof. But since it had already given them trouble, Mitch felt the need to make one more inspection.
He also needed all the backbreaking labor he could stand—the harder, the better. That way, when he fell into bed at night, he wouldn’t think. He would be too weary in both mind and body.
Fearing where his thoughts were leading, he cursed, then got back on the ladder. By the time he’d checked everything out, the hands were back.
“Yo, boss,” Jesse said. “Give us our orders.”
Mitch did.
Hours later, Jesse pulled off his wet hat and squinted his dark eyes on Mitch. “Man, this was a killer day.”
“Is that a nice way of saying I’m a slave driver?”
Jesse grinned. “Yup.”
“Consider it a job well done. Go on home now, and get some grub and some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A short time later, Mitch was in his cabin, having had his shower and his supper. With a second beer in hand, he made his way into the living room and practically fell onto the sofa.
What a day. He didn’t know when he’d been so bloody tired. But that was a good thing. Maybe he would sleep, instead of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, watching Lindsay’s face dance across it.
He hated the sudden leap in his pulse.
But he had only to think her name, and every nerve in his body responded. His eyes dipped south. Bingo. His dick bulged against his jeans, as hard as a baseball bat, making him bloody uncomfortable.
He wished… Hell, it was too late to wish. He’d already wished himself into a pickle of a mess. More to the point, he had probably wished his ass right out of a job.
Mitch closed his eyes, then opened them, wishing that making love to her had been merely an erotic dream. There he was, wishing again. But it was no damn dream, and that kind of game-playing was wearing thin. He’d always been one to face the stark realities of life head-on, then deal with them.
Now, however, that philosophy didn’t seem to be working.
Lindsay and his hot desire for her had blindsided him. Fool that he was, he hadn’t seen it coming until it was too late and he was in too deep.
After going to great lengths to simplify his life, he had once again complicated it. What he should do was pack his bags, get the hell off this property, out of Mississippi, and never look back.
Who was he kidding?
He wasn’t about to do that. Lindsay had managed to find a crack in his carefully erected barrier and slip through it. He hated to admit it, but he was smitten.
He groaned, thinking of how she’d looked when he’d caught her watching him through the window—frightened, yet unrepentant. And when he’d practically dragged her into the house and backed her pliable body against the wall, she still hadn’t quailed under the sucking-down heat that he’d pressed against her.
So where did that leave him, for chrissake?
In a world of hurt.
He reached for his beer and drank, then slammed it back down on the table. Right now, he would give almost anything for another shot at her in the sack.
She’d been so hot. So willing.
But no way could he lure her back into his bed. He couldn’t afford to get any more involved, not with the likes of her. As he’d already pointed out to her, she was just a spoiled little rich girl out for kicks because she had too much time on her hands.
Suddenly his conscience pricked him. He recalled the conversation he’d had with her the evening she’d brought the picnic basket. He had learned there was another side to Lindsay Newman, a side with a soul—damaged, maybe, but a soul nonetheless.
Still, that didn’t mean she should be exonerated for showing up at his place. She had asked for that romp in the sack. But if she was out for any more kicks, she would have to look elsewhere.
Yet he had to admit that keeping his hands off her was going to be tough. Making love with her had been the best—the best ever. She had radiated guilt-free sex, and he’d taken the bait.
A chill darted through Mitch. Nothing was ever free. He’d learned that the hard way. He hadn’t used any protection—that was how hot and fast the heat had flared between them. He cradled his head in his hands, praying there would be no repercussions from that stupid move.
Nah. He was worrying needlessly. He would bet she was on the pill. After all, she had What’s-His-Face drooling over her. Mitch jerked his head up, jealousy cutting through him like a whipend. The thought of that sap touching her the way he’d touched her made him crazy.
Then, realizing what he was thinking, Mitch released a string of expletives. He guessed that was why he didn’t hear the knock on the door until it became a bang.
His stomach dropped to his toes. Lindsay? With a gait that was jerky, he went to the door and opened it.
“Hello, Mitch.”
He cringed inwardly as he stared into the eyes of his ex-wife. What next? There was just so much a man could take in one day. But she was here, on his porch, and he would have to deal with her.
“Surprised to see me?” Sarcasm lowered her usually high voice.
“You know the answer to that, Wendy,” he responded in a tired but resigned tone.
She tilted her head. “Are you going to ask me in?”
He moved aside. Once she swept past him, he closed the door and leaned against it. Instead of saying anything, he simply looked at her, feeling all the old guilt from the past resurface—something else he didn’t want to feel.
If only he had loved her enough, maybe both their lives would have turned out differently. They would probably have a brick home in the suburbs with two children, etc., etc. Only he hadn’t loved her enough. He had often wondered if he’d ever loved her at all.
She wasn’t a bad-looking woman. At one time she’d been lovely, with dark hair and eyes and a well-proportioned body. No longer. Too much booze, too many cigarettes, too many men—all had made an overweight old woman out of her, even though she was two years younger than he was.
Right now he felt nothing but pity for her, and he hated that, for both of them.
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here?”
Mitch folded his arms across his bare chest. “You could say that.”
For a moment he tracked her eyes as they slid up and down his body. He c
ouldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a flare of desire. He hoped not. If that was why she was here, then she was sure as hell out of luck.
“How about something to drink?”
“Beer’s all I have.”
She frowned. “Forget it, then.”
“How did you find me?” Mitch raised his hand, then shoved himself away from the door. “Forget I asked that. I know.”
“I’m sorry you’re not glad to see me.” She tilted her head a bit more. “I was hoping…”
“What, Wendy?”
She picked up on the flatness in his tone and flushed. “That maybe we…maybe you…” Her voice faded, and she glanced away.
“That’s not ever going to happen. You know that. It’s been over between us for a long time. Besides, you’re still married, right?”
She nodded.
“Then what is this all about?”
“I’m leaving him, Mitch.”
“So leave him.”
“It’s not that simple. He’s cut me off.”
“Ah, so you don’t have any money.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Wendy, you’ve got to get some help, get control of yourself and your life.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “Like you’ve done, I presume?”
“That’s right,” he said, fighting down a surging anger.
Wendy bowed her shoulders, then said in a forlorn voice, “If only you hadn’t fallen out of love with me.”
“If only you hadn’t slept with my best friend.”
She flinched visibly. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”
“Oh, I forgave you, but I also stopped loving you. Maybe I never loved you, at least not enough to try and repair the damage.”
“I guess that about says it all.”
“You knew that when you came here.”
“Are you happy, Mitch?”
“Who knows? I’m not sure I even know what that word means.” He paused. “Look, has husband number three hurt you? Physically, I mean?”
“No. He’s just spending his money on his other women.” She gave him a bitter smile. “I’m sure you’re thinking I’m getting exactly what I deserve—that it’s payback time.”
“Actually, I wasn’t thinking anything at all. If it’s money you need, I can help you out there.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, but there is a string attached—don’t come back here anymore.”
Her face drained of color. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Mitch. But I was lonely. Your work came first and—”
“Stop it, Wendy. Don’t try and flog a dead horse. We gave him a decent burial. Let him rest in peace.”
Having said that, Mitch crossed to the bedroom, picked up his wallet and returned with a wad of bills in his hand. “Maybe this will get you by for a while.”
“I may not be able to pay—”
He cut her off again. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want the money back.”
Before she could say anything, Mitch strode to the door, opened it and gestured for her to go ahead. She walked out on the porch, and he followed her.
Silence filled the air as he stared at her for a long moment, suddenly feeling free of his ex-wife for the first time since he’d met her. No more guilt and no more regrets. Life was too short.
“Take care, Wendy. I wish you the best.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Mitch. In spite of yourself, you’re a decent man.”
Long after she was gone, Mitch remained on the porch, his eyes on the big house—on one room in particular.
Blood.
It was everywhere. On her hands, on her face, on her clothes, on her body.
“Get it off me!” she screamed.
No one heard her. Or if they did, they ignored her. Why were they treating her like this? Couldn’t they see she was covered in all that red, sticky stuff? Couldn’t they see that? They weren’t blind, were they?
And the smell! God, it was driving her mad. She couldn’t stand it on her another second. She stared at herself in the mirror, then began tearing at her clothes. Once she was naked, she stared at herself again. But it was still on her hands, on her body. Oh, God! It was never going away.
She sank to the floor and screamed.
And screamed. And screamed some more.
Lindsay sat straight up in the bed, her breathing coming so fast she couldn’t control it, nor could she control her thundering heart. She thought it was going to pound through her chest wall.
Calm down, she told herself, her eyes darting around the room. You’re not in that horrible place. You’re home. Although her heart settled somewhat, the feeling of fear and hopelessness remained with her. Still, she lay back down, but she knew she wouldn’t stay there. Once she had that dream, sleep turned elusive.
Turning her head, Lindsay peered at the clock. The hands were on eleven. Usually it was way past midnight before she even attempted to go to bed, but tonight had been an exception. She hadn’t felt good, and she’d had a long day, so she had indulged herself.
A lot of good it had done her.
Disgusted, she tossed the sheet back and sat on the side of the bed, where she rubbed her throbbing temples. Would she ever get over her mother’s suicide? Would she ever get over finding her bloody body?
The blood was the worst part. Her fixation on that and her inability to cope with it had been the catalyst that had sent her to the private hospital to start with.
Shuddering, she wiped the tears off her face.
Now, years later, she was still having that dream. And she always awakened with the same fear haunting her.
Suicide.
Was it hereditary?
She knew such a thought was ludicrous. But the fear associated with her mother’s fate was so deep that she felt it was permanently tattooed on her soul.
Don’t panic, she told herself, continuing to suck air into her lungs. She was going to be fine. She wasn’t going to sink back into that black hole. She no longer felt that she didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone, or that she was inadequate. No more doubts.
Liar.
When she had this nightmare, it usually followed something traumatic… Mitch. That evening spent in his arms had turned her world upside down.
Suddenly she scrambled off the bed, opened the doors to the balcony and walked outside. Even though the air was hot and humid, it felt good to her battered body.
But if she had it to do all over again, she would do the same thing. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop thinking about how he made her feel. Was that why she’d walked onto the balcony? Had she hoped to get a glimpse of him?
Suddenly Lady Luck smiled on her. As if on cue, Mitch walked out on the porch. Only he wasn’t alone. A woman was with him.
The fire that had flared inside her was instantly snuffed out. Lindsay clutched at her stomach, feeling sick with jealousy.
Was Mitch having an affair with someone else?
Sixteen
“Was that Peter?”
Lindsay cast troubled eyes on her daddy as she sat back down on one end of the plush sofa. “Yes, it was,” she admitted in a hesitant tone.
She had just returned from a meeting with a group of volunteers who had agreed to finalize the banquet plans and the subsequent golf tournament. When she walked in, Cooper had been in the sunroom; she had joined him there.
Shortly after Dolly had brought her a glass of flavored iced tea, the phone had rung. It had been Peter.
Cooper’s green eyes pinned hers. “He asked you to dinner, didn’t he?”
“That he did.”
“Forgive me for sounding like a broken record, but are you going?”
“No.”
“So what’s your excuse this time?”
“The same as before. I don’t want to.”
Cooper’s lips thinned. “I won’t tolerate you being rude to him.”
“Well, from what I heard, it came across that way.”
“Daddy, I don’t want to discuss Peter.”
He snorted. “You never do.”
Switching the subject, Lindsay said, “You’re not supposed to have that drink.”
“Don’t you start.”
“Turnabout’s fair play, you know,” she said, her tone mildly teasing, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Cooper flapped a hand at her. “We’re talking about apples and oranges here.”
“No matter. Your doctor wouldn’t be happy if he saw you with that glass in your hand.”
“Hell, it’s just wine. And I’m a heart doctor, too, remember—the best. The fact that I’m no longer practicing doesn’t mean I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that, and you know it. It’s just that I’m concerned about you.”
“I don’t need your concern. I need your cooperation.”
“Daddy—”
“You might be able to run from Peter, but not from me. I’m not giving up on the two of you marrying.”
Lindsay didn’t say anything. What was there to say that hadn’t already been said a dozen times over? Sooner or later, her father would be forced to face reality. She would just bide her time until that happened.
Meanwhile, she had to make sure he never found out about her liaison with Mitch. Lindsay’s blood suddenly ran cold, then hot, through her veins. God, but she was playing a dangerous game.
“If you don’t marry soon, I’m going to be too old to enjoy my grandchildren.”
“I don’t buy that for a second.”
Cooper’s lips stretched even thinner. It was in that moment that Lindsay realized he was indeed looking older, even though he wasn’t old. Her heart faltered. She couldn’t lose him. As it was, she had already lost too much; her recent nightmare had been a grim reminder of that.
She shook her head to clear it at the same time that Dolly made her appearance. “Will both of you be having dinner?”
“Yes,” Lindsay said. “Or, at least, I will.”
Cooper nodded, as well.
When they were by themselves again, Lindsay asked, “What do you hear from Tim these days?”
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