Authors: Amie Louellen
Craig’s turned out to be an upscale condo perfect for an up-and-coming attorney with aspirations for City Hall.
Shelby locked the door of the rental, dismayed to see Ritt’s rusty old Ford already in the lot as she made her way up the flower-lined walk. Two hours tops and she would escape and head back to…Ritt’s house.
Staying in the same building with Ritt was proving to be harder than she had originally thought. Then again, when she imagined her plan, the final result—him signing the papers—happened after only one night of being under the same roof. But her husband was proving to be a tougher nut to crack. Why he wouldn’t sign the papers to begin with was a mystery in itself. Bitterness, she supposed, though she would have never thought Ritt one to cave to petty jealousies. And yet she couldn’t say that she wouldn’t feel the same in his shoes. He was exactly where she left him. Living in his parents’ house, driving the same broken-down truck, working part-time at the bait shop. His time for baseball was over, he evidently hadn’t gone back to further his education. He was stuck in a rut and blaming everyone else—her—for his lack of success.
Shelby raised her hand and knocked on the smooth black door.
Delilah answered within seconds as if she had been waiting on the other side for Shelby to show up.
“You made it.” Delilah took a step back to allow Shelby to enter, then gave her a quick sisterly hug. “Come in, come in. Craig’s putting the final touches on dinner. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“That’d be great. Thanks.” As much as she tried not to look in his direction, her gaze automatically slid to Ritt lounging on the couch. He had a beer balanced on one jean-clad knee. Remarkably enough, he looked as at home on the expensive black leather sofa as he did the worn-smooth floral chintz that his mother had owned since Shelby had known them.
Ritt nodded in her direction, his gaze steady on hers. Shelby felt a shiver of familiarity run down her spine. Once she had a glass of wine, she peeled her gaze away from her husband and took a long, fortifying drink.
“Did you say Craig is cooking?”
Delilah nodded. “He loves to cook. It’s like his Prozac, which is fine with me.”
Craig came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron over slacks and a loosened tie, and wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Everyone ready for a salad?”
Ritt was instantly on his feet. Without even at glance at her, he made his way to the dining room. It seemed her husband was no more excited at having dinner with her than she was with him.
Craig was a surprisingly fine cook. Arugula salad with raspberry vinaigrette, veal parmesan, tender pasta, and sweet tiramisu for dessert. But as enjoyable as the meal was, Shelby couldn’t get over the fact that she was once again seated across from her husband, his gaze focusing on everything but her.
Shelby took another long drink of the sweet red wine. Somehow she’d lost count of how many glasses she’d had. But was she honestly expected to remember something so trivial when faced with the roguishly handsome visage of her husband?
“Let’s take our coffee into the living room.”
Ritt patted his stomach and to her dismay shook his head. “I should be getting home.”
No, wait. That’s what she wanted. Ritt could go home, and she could stay and visit. “I don’t know about coffee, but I could use a refill.” She held up her empty wine glass as evidence.
A look passed between Delilah and Craig.
“What?”
“You’ve had enough wine, Shelby.” Ritt’s words were quiet and kind. Exactly what she did not need from him.
“What are you now, my mother?” She instantly regretted her words.
“You didn’t eat much,” Delilah pointed out.
Okay, so she hadn’t eaten that much, and she had downed her fair share of the wine…maybe a little more than. She felt warm and cozy, but she certainly wasn’t drunk.
“Fine,” she said, proud that her words were strong and true and not as blurry as her mind felt at that moment. “Coffee in the living room it is.” What did it matter if she drank caffeine this late? With Ritt so close, she’d be up all night anyway.
She pushed herself up from the table, grabbing the edge as the room gave a quick lurch.
“Whoa.” Craig reached out a steadying hand, and Shelby resisted the urge to swat it away.
“I’m fine.” She smiled.
Delilah turned to Ritt.
He gave a grim nod.
“What?” Shelby asked.
Craig gave her a smile, the kind a person bestowed on drunks and children. “Ritt’s going to drive you home.”
“What? No. That is so not necessary.”
“But it is,” Delilah chimed in.
“Not.” Shelby crossed her arms in front of her, hoping that she wasn’t swaying as much as she felt she was. So she’d had too much to drink. She’d call a cab and…
Randall didn’t have a cab company. She couldn’t drive, that much she could accept, but that didn’t mean she had to go home with Ritt. Maybe she could stay here.
She turned to Delilah intent on doing just that but realized before she asked how crazy the request would sound. She was staying at Ritt’s house—a plan that should have resulted in him signing the divorce papers had he not been so stubborn—it was only natural that he be the one to take her home.
“Fine,” she grumbled, wishing she could start the evening over again. Stupid hindsight.
She gathered her purse, and she and Ritt said their goodbyes to Delilah and Craig.
Ritt opened the passenger-side door, and Shelby slid inside. The truck smelled as it always had, like old motor oil and Armor All.
Her heart beat with anticipation as he made his way to the other side and climbed in next to her. Back in the day she would have scooted across the bench seat to snuggle up under his right arm. The townspeople had joked that it had taken two to drive the old Ford. She and Ritt had laughed and gone about their business of being in love.
But that was a long time ago.
Without a word, Ritt cranked the engine, locked it in gear and turned the grill toward home.
Shelby kept her eyes straight ahead as they drove, concentrating on fighting off the memories that zoomed around inside her head.
She had never had a doubt back then. Ritt loved her and she loved him. That was all they needed to know. Everything else would fall into place. Ah, the arrogance of young love. Or was it innocence? She wasn’t sure anymore.
Twenty minutes and not one word later, Ritt pulled up in front of the little white house.
Shelby opened the door before he killed the engine and was waiting on the porch when he slid from the cab. So much for distancing herself. She’d forgotten the key she had taken from under the mat and now she had to wait for Ritt to unlock the door.
She didn’t move fast enough. He reached around her and shoved the key into the lock, giving it a vicious twist.
Why was he so angry?
She cut her gaze to his darkened features. His jaw was set, a little muscle jerking next to his ear. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and ran her fingers down the twitch. It was only natural from there to push her fingers into the hair at the side of his face and bring his mouth to hers.
His kiss was like coming home. His taste as familiar as her own. The shoulder strap on her handbag slipped and her purse landed with a thump. She raised her other arm to slide it around his neck as his snaked around her waist and hauled her close.
His mouth ravaged hers. It had always been this way between them. Hot, volatile, borderline insane. That was how he made her feel, crazy with wanting him.
She was about to tell him so when he wrenched himself away. Shelby pressed the back of a hand to her mouth, wondering how things had gotten out of hand so quickly. It was unnerving. Thankfully, her relationship with him was over. She couldn’t go through her life out of control.
“Ritt?” She didn’t know what she was going to say, but it seemed something needed to be said.
“Go sleep it off, Shelby.”
She was about to protest when he turned on his heel and stalked back to his truck. She didn’t know how long he stayed gone, but he still wasn’t home when she finally drifted off to sleep hours later.
Ritt stared at the back door of the house and twisted another cap off yet another beer. He pushed the hammock into motion and wondered if it was safe to go back in. How asinine was that? He couldn’t go into his own house because his wife was inside. Slightly drunk, incredibly desirable. And driving him completely out of his mind.
If he had any brains left at all, he’d sign her blessed papers and send her packing, but some demon inside him couldn’t let her off without a fight. He couldn’t let her walk away a second time without paying a few dues.
That was all it was. He wanted her to sweat it out, wonder, pay the piper so to speak before she could have her freedom. He’d let her go, eventually. He had to, but that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for her. No sir, he’d let her go all right, but this time when she walked away, she would know exactly what she was giving up.
Chapter Four
Bright morning sunlight cut through Shelby’s sleep like a white-hot knife. She groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow to cover her face and block out the brutal sun.
Two heartbeats later she remembered why her head hurt so bad and why her stomach pitched. She would like to blame all her problems on the wine she’d drunk the night before. More than half had to do with Ritt.
Why had she thought it a good idea to kiss him? Well, she hadn’t really thought, she’d just done. Now she regretted throwing herself at his feet. It might not have hurt so much if he hadn’t turned her down.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was for the best.
With another groan, she rose from the bed. No time like now to face the music and find Ritt. She pulled on her Kmart robe and padded into the kitchen.
She was spared having to come up with a logical explanation for her amorous intent last night because Ritt was gone. In his place was a quickly scribbled note.
Gone fishing.
Naturally.
There was nothing more important right now than sitting on the lakeshore with a pole in the water. Certainly not signing divorce papers so she could get on with her life.
Shelby growled and crumpled the paper into a tight ball. She pitched it in the trash and grabbed a granola bar from the cookie jar.
She should have expected as much, she thought as she ate. Classic Ritt. Not one care about anything other than fishing and baseball. How did he support himself? Certainly not with a part-time job at the bait shop. He still lived with his parents for pity’s sake!
And speaking of parents, she should call her mother right now. The earlier the better. Maybe today Shelby could catch her before she left the house.
She dug her cell phone out of her purse. Dead, of course. “Grrr…” She’d have to go into town and get a new charger today. Damn Ritt’s stubborn streak. It was costing her a fortune. She tossed her phone back into her purse with a frustrated sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
At the sound of his voice, Shelby nearly jumped out of her skin. She pressed a hand to her heart and turned to face him. “Ritt! You scared me half to death.”
He raised one dark brow. “Obviously.”
“I thought you were fishing.”
“It’s nearly ten. They stop biting when the sun gets up.”
If there was one thing she knew, it was that Ritt could stay at the lake all day without any problems. “You don’t trust me in your house.”
He shrugged. “Can you blame me?”
She supposed not. After all, she had set fire to his kitchen yesterday.
“Having a good morning?” Why was he standing so close to her? She moved a step back and shrugged. “I was going to try calling Mom again.”
“This is really bothering you, huh?”
Shelby tossed back her hair. “Naturally. You are accusing my mother of…of…” What exactly was he accusing Stormy of? “I’d like to call her and get this straightened out as soon as possible. Where’s the phone?”
She tried to escape him again, those magnetic eyes and alluring…everything else.
The phone base was on the desk right inside the living room, but the receiver was not on it. She looked around, moving a packet of papers and a newspaper clipping in her search.
Then Ritt was there, edging her away and finding the phone among the mess. Like there was something on the desk he didn’t want her to see.
Phone in hand, she glanced down at the stacks of papers. Electric bill, junk mail, bank statements.
Ritt grasped her arm and pulled her back into the kitchen.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Why, Ritt…are you hiding something from me?”
For the merest moment he looked…guilty, then his expression reverted back to his usual devil-may-care. “My life is an open book.”
“A very short book.” Shelby immediately wished she could call back the snarky remark. What did it matter to her if Ritt wanted to waste his life lounging at the lake and working part-time at the bait shop? It was no skin from her schnozz if he had no ambition beyond the city limits of the tiny Texas town. He might not be the biggest go-getter around, but that was no reason to be mean.