“Of course not,” she said in a rush of words. “It’s not like I ever asked him anything about you anyway.”
Jack winced. Of course he didn’t matter to her at all. He hadn’t when they were together, or after she lost their baby. He hadn’t mattered when she left him. Why would he now? Although…
He cleared his throat and began to speak, then paused, staring at his estranged wife once more. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on her face and arms, still fresh from what must have been a drive from hell, followed by her meet-and-greet with Magnus the bull. Her hair, wild and loose, still reached down to her shoulders but was free and unrestrained, not Barbie doll perfect any more. The wavy, thick tresses looked like she’d just stepped out of bed. Unbidden, memories of Lola, her legs wrapped around his hips, her nails digging into his shoulders, screaming his name as he impaled her, flashed into Jack’s mind. A current of longing surged through him. Again. Fuck. Why couldn’t I feel this for Mel or any other woman?
Mel, the perfect contender to be his wife one day and mother of the children he so badly wanted. If things continued at this rate, he’d need a cane to walk his son to the park. Just like his father, who raised him after his mother bolted on them.
Lola glared at him with huge, brown eyes. The creased purple dress hugging her delicious curves made his blood pump thick and hard, and all he wanted to—
“You own other properties. Why do you need to live here of all places?” She made a circular movement with her fingers in the air.
“I like it here.” An understatement. When he’d grown up at Red Oak, he promised himself one day he’d buy it. That’s why he’d bought the surrounding properties. From a young age, the ranch had brought joy and hope to his life—and never betrayed him. “I told your father he should have persuaded you to sell me your share.”
She shook her head. “I trust he did what he thought best.”
“He sold me most of the cattle. Did you ever see any money, since he represented your affairs?”
She broke eye contact, drumming her fingers on both sides of her waist. He followed the direction of her stare, the damn swordfish he’d kept because it seemed wrong to change anything Milton had touched.
“My dad didn’t make good decisions. You took advantage of him.”
“Advantage? He went bankrupt, Lola. In the end, he made bad business decisions.” He raked his hand through his hair. Too late to take it back. Wasn’t it the truth? Milton had helped him in the beginning, yes, and Jack would always be grateful. But he had since paid back his mentor tenfold.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” she said with a hitch in her throat that made him soften. “You’re still an insensitive jerk. Only worried about your own needs.”
Her voice betrayed a pang of pain, almost changing his resolve. Almost. Pain remained a vivid reminder of how wrong they had been for each other, but there was no going back now. Or ever.
“I just don’t want you to follow the same path. I’ll buy your share, and then you can sign the divorce papers and get on with your life.”
The most dragged out divorce in the world. He had known very little about the woman he had seen in passing while he worked for Milton, and then later, married— after a hot, whirlwind four-month affair and an accidental pregnancy. After her miscarriage, she had packed her bags and left, but never signed the divorce papers he’d sent her. He believed she was unable to relinquish the last bit of control she had over him. She didn’t want him, but wouldn’t let him go. His lawyers had advised him not to rush things, afraid she’d rip his assets in half. Nonsense.
She’d already ripped the most valuable thing he possessed to pieces. His heart.
“I’m going to make this place a success.” She brought her head up and gave him a once over. “It’s what Daddy would have wanted.”
“You’re all talk today, but what about tomorrow? You can’t make this another one of your crazy ideas. You give up on things when they become too difficult. I won’t let you ruin this place, or the few defenseless animals left, or the people here who need to work. You can’t pack their bags and kick them out of your life one day on a whim.”
She turned her back on him, inspecting the wall art, hands on her waist. Handling the truth was still not her forte. The distant bleating of a goat floated from the barn, calling out to break the silence.
“Okay. This is what we’ll do.” She spun on her heels and lifted her chin. “If you agree to give me some time to turn my idea in reality, I’ll sign the divorce papers at the end. I won’t ask for any alimony or spousal support. You have my word.”
He cocked his head to one side, entertaining the idea. Signed divorce papers would give him the closure his conscience needed to move on in every way. And this way, he wouldn’t have to force her to divorce him, especially after just having lost her father.
As for Jack, he hadn’t been able to consider bedding Mel or any other woman because of his marital status. Damn fool he’d been. If he got divorced, his body would respond to a woman besides Lola again. It had to.
“And if you don’t turn it into a reality?” The most probable scenario.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll sell you my share.”
And I’ll have exclusive rights to the land—and the river.“That’s all?”
“No. If I make it work, you’ll have to legally agree to sell your share of Red Oak to me in the future when I can afford to buy it. It’s all I have left of my father.”
He suppressed the laughter floating up from his throat and pressed his lips together.
She raised her chin. “And you’ll have to move out of here.”
“No way.”
She tossed her brown hair to one side. “Well, that’s just a technicality. Now I’m back, we can’t live in the same house.”
“Why not? We’re married.” The word brought a familiar stirring inside him. Married. Had they really been caring spouses who made plans together? When he’d agreed to live in California with her, he’d never imagined they’d spend most of their time in parties and dinners with her vapid friends. She never lived up to the commitment of being his wife.
“You can move into the cottage.”
“The cottage next door is nothing but a storage room now.”
Her eyes widened. “How come?”
“Your pa needed room to put some stuff.” The junk from the business ideas that didn’t work. Milton’s career had had more ups and downs than a carnival’s Ferris wheel. Though most of his life had been successful and wealthy, in the past several years Milton had begun to invest in odd products that never took off.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Jack…”
“You can live out there, but not me. There’s no AC. If you wanna fry like an egg on an oiled pan, be my guest.”
“We can’t live here…together. You must own another house on the surrounding properties?” She clenched her fists.
“One of them is going through major remodeling.” He cleared his throat. The last thing he’d do was let Lola have the upper hand and give her what she wanted. No. Enough of her having what she wanted.
“Where do the ranch hands live?”
Annoyance zapped down his spine. She had some nerve. If he didn’t buck up, pretty soon she would be splashing hot pink paint on the walls. “I’m not going to bunk with my employees.”
“This place has a helipad, for crying out loud. Can’t you just fly away to one of your other properties and come back to check on things as needed?” She offered him a compromising smile, along with the note of hopelessness in her voice. “How about the penthouse apartment in Houston?”
Nice try. “And leave you running the show and ruining everything?”
Silence descended for lengthening seconds. She paced in circles a few times, her heels clunking on the timber floor. The body he had once known inch-by-inch now looked more filled out. He had always wondered why she insisted on going on those senseless diets. Now, not an ounce was out of place insi
de her tantalizing purple dress. Each time she took a breath, her full breasts strained against the fabric. His gaze slid downward, to the indent of her waist and her curvy hips. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat.
“Jack,” she spoke softly, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, mustering the courage to look her in the eye once more. He remembered then the voluptuous, desirable woman hadn’t changed from the Lola St. James he’d known. The selfish, conniving bitch who left him four days after her miscarriage because she couldn’t be bothered to experience a real relationship.
“I suppose we can be…roomies for the time being,” she said.
Roommates? Oh, shit.
Chapter 2
Lola stepped out of the garden tub and wrapped herself in a towel. She had hoped the hot soak would have turned her into a brand-new woman. Yeah right. Sea salt and warm water didn’t wash away memories or mistakes. It certainly didn’t shut a certain someone from her mind.
Jack Canyon.
She blow-dried her hair and slipped into her red kimono-style robe, one of the few luxuries she had indulged in keeping and not sold in the most coveted garage sale in Hollywood Hills. She’d paid off her father’s debt with the money, and pocketed the rest. She’d really have to use yoga skills to stretch the money if she wanted to open her B&B. Thankfully, her graphic designer friend, London, had offered to do her logo and marketing material pro bono. Most of her L.A. friends had been quiet ever since she’d lost her money. Or maybe she had withdrawn—didn’t matter.
Dwelling over it wouldn’t fix her problems.
She inspected the spacious suite, complete with a polished-oak bed and mattress, too firm for her taste. On either side stood a nightstand, shaped like a longhorn, the drawer where the animal’s mouth would be. A strand of warmth moved through her. They were as tacky as shit, but her father through and through.
She grabbed a notepad from her bag and started writing down things she would keep and things she would change. Her shrinking checking account didn’t allow any splurge. “I guess I’ll call this the Southwestern Suite,” she whispered to Pepper, who lay on a rug with the Texas flag embroidered on it.
This had to work. Her whole life had been one experiment after another, and distracting like a stroll on Rodeo Drive with a black American Express card. For two years, she’d studied entertainment law before dropping out. She’d failed at running a boutique on Venice Beach. And she’d never finished a yoga training class—she’d spent more time buying yoga pants than actually learning the craft.
With a shake of her head, she scribbled a few more ideas. The sound of powerful footfalls in the hallway made her straighten her spine. As they came closer a shiver rolled down her back.
“Hey! Can’t you knock?” Air whooshed out of her lungs and she gathered her Kimono tightly around her waist.
“I’m not used to knocking.” His eyes roamed around the room, inspecting her suitcases and the closed boxes she had managed to bring in from the U-Haul on her own.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, and have everything you need.”
A freshly washed scent blended with the leatherish notes of his cologne, and hinted at a recent shower. No longer wearing his hat, his short hair was damp and ruffled—still the perfect length for a woman to grab onto as she brought him closer. She cleared her throat with a pitiful sounding cough.
“I’m great, thanks,” she said, expecting him to turn around and leave.
But he loitered. His patronizing smile made her shift in the chair. “Lola, if you change your mind about this whole thing… I won’t think any less of you.”
Of course not. Impossible to think even less than he already does.
She forced a smile. “And if you want to move out earlier, it’s your call too. I’ll totes understand.”
He sighed. “I’m fixin’ to go to town.”
“Still trying to meet your dream breeder to populate the Earth?” she blurted, and managed to hide the sadness welling up inside. When she’d lost her baby, she’d felt sadness and relief. Now most of the sadness was gone, but guilt clogged her throat and squeezed her heart whenever she remembered the baby who had left so soon—they’d never agreed on a name.
A slow, suspicious grin formed on his lips. “I might have already found one.”
“No wonder you want the divorce,” she said more to herself than to him. Her stomach tied itself into strange knots—those knots didn’t belong there, because none of this should matter anymore. Been there, done that. Posted on Instagram. Shared on Facebook.
“I thought you wanted the divorce when you left.” He clenched his jaw, and his translucent blue eyes turned into a dark turquoise. “Why didn’t you sign the papers?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but clamped it shut. Getting him out of her life had been critical to her well-being. But signing the papers would have been the painful evidence of yet another failure. She’d promised herself she would divorce him legally as soon as she succeeded in something. It’s just taking longer than I expected.
“I’m really doing your next victim a favor. So you’ll think long and hard before catching new prey.” She swallowed the razors in her throat.
For no longer than an instant, a touch of softness filtered across his face, and it snatched the air from her lungs. Desire pooled in her belly, unsettling her every nerve. Don’t go there.
She blinked, and the tenderness vanished.
He frowned, stretched to his full height. “Puff your chest all you want, but for a while you ached to get caught.”
How dare he? “Getting caught was never the problem. It was the release.”
“A release you’ll have to do without.” With an arrogant smile, he nodded and left, slamming the door behind him. The bedside table vibrated, and her notepad, along with the remains of the sandwich she’d made earlier fell to the floor.
She wanted to throw something at the door, but settled for a groan. Best not to damage the door, or her belongings. Jack wasn’t worth it.
I’m tired of him acting like he owns the world.
He may own a large part of this rural world in Nowhere, Texas, but not her half of this ranch. Now, making Jack Canyon realize that fact had jumped straight to the top of her priority list—right next to pulling her life together, finding her birth parents and learning how the hell to fry a freaking egg.
The sound of freshly cracked eggs hitting the hot frying pan made Lola suck in her breath, hoping this time they wouldn’t stick. Just in case, she reached for the bottle of Italian extra virgin olive oil and added some. The eggs soon bubbled in the pan. Yes. They wouldn’t burn. She’d reach her small yet attainable goal—first the eggs, then the world. Make it the rural world.
She glanced over her shoulder, but no one had witnessed her third attempt at cooking eggs on her first morning of country living. Rays of sunshine trespassed through the closed colonial-style blinds from the kitchen window. Either Jack hadn’t returned from his foray into town or he had already jetted somewhere.
Great. Better this way. She turned her attention to the pan and increased the heat level on the stove. Hmmm…maybe they can be over easy instead of scrambled eggs. Hey, as long as they are edible, who cares, right?
“Morning.” Jack’s deep voice sent a chill through her spine—an annoying reaction she wasn’t sure she would ever get used to. She gave him a once over and found him leaning against the threshold, cool and collected. With a nod, she turned her attention back to the pan, but somehow the image of the eggs turning too brown got out of focus and gave way to an abstract remoteness. Stubborn thoughts pounded in her head.
Did he really find someone? Was that why he wanted the divorce so badly—enough to put up with her under the same roof?
It doesn’t matter. It would be beyond dumb to care.
His powerful footfalls into the kitchen pulled her from her thoughts, and she blinked. The sm
ell of burned eggs entered her nostrils—the sound of them crackling against the non-stick frying pan.
“Trouble?”
She scraped the sticky eggs off the pan and dumped them into the trash, holding a deep breath just for a second before letting it out in small gasps. Tomorrow they won’t burn, stick, or taste like burned plastic. “Just distracted.”
“Try using butter, next time,” he said. “I have a housekeeper, Consuelo, who comes over a few times a week.”
She faced him. The thread of sweat moistening his forehead hinted he hadn’t just returned from a night out. He’d been working. Warm relief consumed her chest, and she almost picked up the pan and knocked her own head with it. Get real, Lola.
She leaned against the counter. “Good for you. Since we aren’t together anymore, and I can’t afford her yet, I don’t see how your housekeeper benefits me.”
He studied her for a couple of seconds, and flickers of a darker blue surrounded his light-blue irises. “Whatever.” With a shrug, he reached toward the piled-high fruit bowl and grabbed a red, juicy apple. “Go get ready. Earl and I will show you around.” Jack crunched into the apple.
“Earl?” She dropped her arms to her sides.
“The foreman. You met him yesterday. He suggested we show you the farm since you and I co-own it so you’ll know what you’re getting yourself into. Since you wanna be the big bad ass cowgirl,” he said and took another bite.
“Sounds good to me. Be back in a sec.”
“Be quick, it ain’t no Malibu cocktail party.”
Jerk. She sauntered out of the kitchen, swaying her hips lazily from one side to the other as if his request had gone over her head. But when he marched from view, she raced to the staircase and scurried to her room.
Of course, he expected her to spend a good hour choosing what to wear, like when they’d been together. But she had to prove to him and herself she could do this. Fake it until you make it.
The Cowboy’s Socialite Page 2