“Mark Randall offered to do it for free.”
Mark Randall—the name didn’t ring a bell for Ella. And he was taking on her case pro bono? “Is Mr. Randall a friend of yours?”
“Oh no, he’s a friend of Devin’s, you see. That boy…he’s been a godsend. I couldn’t have managed this far without him.”
Ella tried to swallow her surprise. Devin? She looked around the very plain, dated room. The furniture was at least two decades old; the paint needed freshening, but everything was as neat as a pin. Betty worked at the drugstore, Devin was still up in his ramshackle cabin in the woods. And yet he knew a lawyer named Mark Randall? One capable of a high profile case?
“Devin? What’s he done?”
Betty tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa now, finally relaxed while every nerve ending in Ella’s body seemed to be tightening. Devin was involved in this? But why? How? He wasn’t doing such a great job of managing his own life, after all.
Then she remembered him walking out on stage last night, all faded jeans and sexy boots and dimples. Damn him. Back less than twenty-four hours and already she was feeling sucked in to the Gulch and all the things she’d wanted to get away from in the first place.
“Oh, that Devin. He put the bug in Ruby’s ear, you know. To hold that benefit last night. I was planning on going, but I ended up at the Medical Center.” She gestured weakly at the right side of her chest. “Still healing. I got a bit of infection, but they put me on antibiotics right away.”
“I’m sorry.”
Betty waved a hand. “That’s the least of my worries, so don’t trouble your pretty head about it. Heard the night was quite fun at the end.” She aimed a sly grin at Ella. “Heard you up and bought Devin for two thousand dollars too. I guess I should thank you for that.”
Ella covered her fluster by reaching forward and shutting off the recorder. “Lots of boys on the auction block last night, not just Devin.” She tried to make her voice light, not sure if she succeeded or not. “Some I haven’t seen since high school.”
Betty’s eyes held a film of moisture. “Don’t I know it. The people around here…” She broke off, swallowed as emotion thickened her voice. “Well, I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but they’ve been a blessing. And none more than your Devin.”
Devin again. Ella was starting to get annoyed with how often Betty was singing his praises, and ignored the deliberate addition of “your” to his name. He wasn’t her Devin. Not anymore. Nor would he be again. So what if he’d been right about Betty. Their marriage was over and before the weekend was out he’d sign the divorce papers and they’d wash their hands of each other.
“I’m glad he’s been helpful,” she offered weakly, putting the recorder in her bag. She’d gotten what she came for. It was time to leave.
“Helpful?” Betty pinned her to the chair by the exclamation and the happy smile. “He came by and mowed my grass a few weeks ago before everything turned brown, and put a new coat of paint on the porch. And he showed up the day after I was home from the hospital, arms full of groceries. He stocked up my kitchen and made me eat. Then he went and hired Eunice Sharpe to come and clean each week until I’m back on my feet. He’s a good man. Like a son to me.”
Ella’s heart sank. Could Devin do no wrong? Betty’s glowing testimonial did as much to make Ella feel like an outsider as anything had since she’d returned. Saint Devin. Meanwhile Ella knew how she must look to the people of Backwards Gulch. She was the one who’d run away. She looked like the girl who thought she was too good for them. It was so far from the truth.
Oh no. She’d spent the last decade of her life trying to prove herself. To be worthy. To be something better than where she came from—the orphan of a deadbeat father and an overworked mother.
But that was a little closer than she wished to look. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me this morning.” She smiled, sliding her bag over her shoulder and straightening her sweater as she got up from her chair. Betty rose too, a little slower but with a warm smile.
“You’re welcome. It was right nice seeing you again too, Ella. You grew up so pretty, and you made something of yourself. Good for you.”
Ella’s eyes stung. The praise was unexpected and felt almost…motherly. In Ella’s world, that was absent, and it was bittersweet.
On impulse, she went forward and gently hugged the older woman. “Take care of yourself. And good luck, Betty.”
Betty carefully hugged back, then gave a light cough and backed away. “You get on now. I hear the winning bids last night got forty-eight hours of beck and call service. You get back to your Devin.”
Ella blushed and headed towards the door.
“Ella?”
At Betty’s soft call, she turned back, touched once again by the soft, sad look in the woman’s eyes.
“Did you want to add something more?” She could have her notebook out in a flash. Sometimes these little incidentals were the gold mine of quotes. The little throwaways that could be the true heart of the story.
“Just…I know your mom would be proud of you. That woman worked herself to the bone. I’d hate to see you do the same thing and miss out on something great.”
Was Devin the something great she meant? How could he be? Their relationship had ended years ago. And Betty…there was so much that she didn’t know about what had happened. It was far more likely the woman was waxing nostalgic because her mortality was staring her in the face.
“Take care,” she repeated softly, and shut the door behind her.
***
Ella stopped at a supermarket in Durango and picked up enough groceries to get by for a few days—the prospect of the packaged ham and white bread in Devin’s kitchen wasn’t the most appetizing. She wasn’t sure what he ate but it couldn’t be much from home—not after seeing the contents of his fridge. It was clear he was going to hold her to the whole forty-eight hours, and they needed to eat. She refused to let it be scrambled eggs and take-out.
As she wheeled the cart through the store, she mulled over her conversation with Betty. What would it have been like if she’d stayed in Backwards Gulch? She picked up a package of salad greens and sighed. Even the sound of it was ludicrous. It was impossible to picture herself stuck in Dev’s cabin, day in and day out. Why would she, when she could have her downtown apartment and her friends, a job with a byline and an actual social life? Restaurants and events and real shopping rather than a turn around the corner market. Plays and concerts instead of fly fishing and baseball games on television.
And yet she couldn’t get past the fact that he still got to her, perhaps even more so now that she knew how great he’d been to Betty. What had he gotten out of it? She wished she knew.
As a reporter, she longed to ask him.
As a long lost wife seeking a divorce, she couldn’t afford the distraction.
He’d been her first love. Her only love, if it came to that. She’d never been comfortable doing more than going on a few harmless dates back in Denver, simply for appearances’ sake. She was married, and that meant something to her even if it was in name only. And lately she’d started thinking it was going to be a long road if she wouldn’t have a relationship because of a piece of paper. She was stuck. And Dev had to set her free. He was a detail that would be sure to come back and bite her in the butt later. Maybe if she were free legally she’d be able to get him out of her mind too. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe she needed it legal so she could have closure.
She wheeled the shopping cart to the checkout, grabbing a bottle of wine on the way through—no more hard liquor for her. If she were going to convince Dev to let her go, she couldn’t pick another fight. She’d cook him a nice dinner. After all, her mother had taught her early on that you caught more flies with honey than vinegar, and this morning’s argument had left a definite acidic taste in her mouth. They’d sit and talk like adults. Surely they could manage that much.
And tomorrow she’d take her notes and her lap
top and drive back to Denver. She’d write her story, lambasting the insurance industry for failing the ordinary American. God willing, she’d get her promotion. She and Amy would go out on the town to celebrate. She could leave Backwards Gulch—and her past—behind, right where it belonged.
She drove her Miata through Durango, thinking about all she’d heard and seen today. Maybe Devin really thought she was exploiting the situation for her own agenda. He’d certainly accused her of it. And maybe she had been, in part. But not today, not after seeing Betty. She wanted to help. And if it meant Devin got on her case about a story, so be it. Writing was what she knew how to do. It was the only way she could think to bring notice to Betty’s plight, to possibly help others like her.
As she headed towards Devin’s, she realized that the focus had to be on the woman herself, not the numbers. The quiet strength, the appreciation of her neighbors and friends. The woman was anything but bitter, even though she had reason to be. Ella had been touched by it. That was what she wanted to write about.
When she got back to the cabin it was eerily silent. It seemed to echo with scenes past and she fought to ignore them, unloading the bags and putting everything in the fridge. It was only after she’d put the roast in the oven that she heard a rhythmic thunking sound coming from the backyard.
She put on her shoes and followed the sound.
Devin was chopping wood. A stack of logs lay to one side, the pieces landing in a pile as he split them with sure, strong strokes of the axe. She watched, heart skipping a beat, as he lined up a log, hitting it once, twice, three times, splitting it in half. He took the halves, treating them to the same barbaric swings before tossing all four pieces in the growing pile. She looked at him in a different light. She knew the cabin was as run-down as it had ever been, yet he’d helped Betty with groceries and household chores. Had he gone without to do it?
He put his axe down alongside the stump he used as a platform for the wood. Ella opened her mouth to call out, but shut it again as he stripped off his shirt and the T-shirt he wore underneath. Sweat glimmered on his brow, his chest, creating a sheen as he lifted the axe again.
Ella stared with blatant fascination. His shoulders and arms bunched as he lifted the axe over his head, his chest broad as he brought it down, and every single muscle in his upper body froze for a millisecond as the axe bit and held in the wood until he pulled it out again. The muscles above his gloves corded as he gripped the ash handle. Her blood heated. She’d known that seeing him again would be difficult. But she hadn’t quite known how difficult. Or that she’d be tempted. To stay forever? Hardly. But his sculpted body was enough to make her twitchy. To touch him…taste him…yes, definitely.
“Enjoying the show?”
For a moment she wasn’t sure he’d spoken, as his arms kept swinging the axe. He stopped and threw the pieces on the pile, then stood back, his weight on one hip, leering at her.
She had no idea how to respond. She’d been caught out. Any smart comment she might have made ran clear out of her brain. And to admit her thoughts would be a big mistake. Like touching a match to gasoline.
“Go stuff yourself.”
He laughed. “That’s the best you can do? The old Ella wouldn’t have self-edited.”
“The new Ella has a little more class, in case you didn’t notice.”
The moment the retort was out of her mouth, she felt stupid. What was it about him that made her so defensive? Now she sounded uptight and snobby.
He merely raised an eyebrow, making her feel even more foolish. He took the axe and brought it down in one more stroke, leaving it impaled in the stump. He reached down and got his clothing but didn’t put it on. “I need a shower.” He walked past and she smelled him…good clean sweat, wood shavings and hay. It shouldn’t have made for a good combination, but it did. It was a manly scent. Capable and like the outdoors. His chest gleamed and she wondered if it would taste salty against her tongue.
He stopped in front of her. “Well? Did you have a good afternoon?”
I will not argue. I will not pick a fight, she told herself. Honey, not vinegar. At the same time she rolled her fingers into her palms to keep from touching him.
“I did, thank you. And I brought some food back.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” He frowned.
She smiled, determined to keep things friendly. “Least I could do after you fed me this morning. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard couldn’t be barer.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started to walk away towards the house.
“Dev, I…” She paused, suddenly unsure. She wanted two very different things here. She wanted to be with him. Her body ached to know if his touch would be the same. And yet she wanted him to let her go.
“What?”
He half-turned and her gaze was caught again, looking at the hard wall of his chest. “I bought pancakes for breakfast. Then I have to leave to go back to Denver. I have a lot of work to do.”
She didn’t say it, but she knew he’d registered her implication—the papers had to be signed before she went.
His eyes were cold, his lips a firm line. “Suit yourself,” he repeated, harder this time.
Ella followed him inside. “Dev, don’t do that.” The door shut behind her. “I told myself all afternoon I didn’t want to fight with you.”
“So you thought you’d butter me up with a home-cooked meal, I’d sign the divorce papers and off you’d go to your bright and shiny life.”
It stung when he put it that way. “I prefer to call it an olive branch.”
“Maybe I’m not interested in an olive branch with you. Have you thought of that?” He threw the shirt on a chair and pulled the T-shirt over his head, covering up his magnificent chest. His eyes glinted like icy shards.
“What do you want from me, Devin?” Her voice raised, frustration getting the better of her. “I can’t change what happened. I can’t roll the clock back twelve years.”
“Would you want to?”
Silence fell. It was heavy with questions and dark answers. Would she? She didn’t think so. She’d built a good life for herself. She’d proven she was smart enough, capable enough to stand on her own two feet. But seeing Dev again reminded her of what it had cost her. She’d given him her heart once. And she’d never quite gotten it back.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I just want you to sign the papers.”
He came forward, put his hand on her cheek. She closed her eyes against the touch, suddenly gentle in a hostile world.
“Will saying goodbye to our marriage be that easy for you?” His words were hardly more than a whisper.
No, she realized, and hurt sliced through her. But she couldn’t tell him that. Not in a million years. Telling him would only make it worse.
“I said goodbye to our marriage a long time ago, Devin.”
He stepped back.
“I’m going to have a shower.”
He walked away and she let him. Even as much as she wanted to shove a pen in his hand and tell him to just get on with it, she knew the only way this was going to work was to let him see it was over. Truly over. That the distance between them was too great.
The shower turned on and she thought of him standing beneath the spray, naked. A yearning pulsed through her. She wanted to strip off her clothes and join him as the hot water pounded their skin. To slide the soap over his hard muscles. To feel the touch of her body against his, slick with water. Her breasts tightened as she thought about his hands on them, his mouth…
Damn, staying here was starting to get to her. There were too many reminders. Thank God she’d be going back tomorrow.
Chapter Five
Devin took his time getting dressed, sitting on the bed in his clean jeans wondering what the hell he was going to do about her. She could swear up and down she wanted a divorce, but he’d seen her face earlier. It had been with perverse pleasure that he’d stripped to the waist while splitting wood. She’d wante
d to touch him just as much as he’d wanted to touch her. Hell, he’d taken to chopping wood he didn’t need just to try to get her out of his system, to stop remembering how it had felt to hold her last night. To taste her, if only her lips. To want her as much—maybe more—than he’d wanted her years before when she’d belonged to him.
Only his distraction technique had backfired when she showed up, looking seventeen again in a pair of faded jeans and a soft pink sweater.
When Devin came out of the bedroom Ella had tiny potatoes bubbling on the stove and the makings of a salad going into the single bowl he had in his cupboard. He paused, simply looking at her for a moment. So damn beautiful. She still looked like the winsome girl he’d taken to prom, when she’d been freer with her smile. It was like age had forgotten her. Her skin was flawless, a perfect cameo setting for her dark, expressive eyes and pretty lips. She looked up from the vegetables and her hands fell still.
He wanted her so badly it almost hurt. It was a damnable thing, wanting a woman you couldn’t have, especially when that woman happened to be your wife. Even worse when that woman was determined not to be your wife any longer. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He’d never know how she really felt—or what had truly happened that autumn—if he told her his side. It would color everything, and she’d feel sorry for him. He’d rather die than have that happen.
He’d thought he wanted get some answers before he let her go. But she was fighting him every step of the way. He wouldn’t give in easily. The last time he hadn’t been able to fight for her. But now he could. He could at the very least find out why she’d ended their marriage with a letter. And then—if their marriage were finally going to be over—it’d damn well go out with the farewell they hadn’t ever had.
“I hope roast beef is okay.”
He cleared his throat, trying to push away the image that had blossomed in his brain at his decision. She looked small and…innocent standing there tossing a salad. His brow furrowed. Yes, tonight they’d be together one last time. But only if she felt the same way. His body tightened at the thought. The only way he ever wanted her was willing, warm and pliant with desire.
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