Page 8 of The Feud

But what in the hell could she think is going on in my head? I’ve never mentioned Ethan’s name or shown any interest in the man.

Ever.

Sure, I think he’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen but that is my secret and while Michelle and I are thick as thieves, I’ve never once admitted such an attraction. It’s silly, flighty, without substance and not worth mentioning. It would never amount to anything other than appreciation of a fine male specimen.

Hell, I think that about Chris Hemsworth too.

Michelle grins at me and it makes me hot under the collar. To prove how well she knows me, she nods from across the table. “You’re really kind of obvious when you’re around him.”

“I am not,” I protest. “That’s ridiculous. I hardly ever see the man. I bet I can count on my hands…”

“Over my entire riding career, whenever you’ve come to watch Carmen compete, or when you’re watching her practice in the barn and Ethan Blackburn happens to walk by—counting up all that? You’ve been around the man dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times. Your face reflects the attraction.”

I clap my hand over my mouth. “Does he know?”

Michelle laughs and shakes her head, her gorgeous auburn hair the same shade as mine fluttering around her face. “No, my love. That man is in his own world. Only I can see it because I know you so well.”

Reaching down into the bowl of chips, I pick one up and throw it at my sister. It bounces off her left shoulder and falls into her lap. Michelle retrieves it with a laugh, dunks it in salsa and pops it into her mouth.

Grinning, she chews and after swallowing, says, “But if you’d like to act on that attraction, I am pretty sure I can arrange a date. If there’s one thing that comes with years of spending money at Blackburn Farms, I bet I’ve got some pull in that department.”

I shake my head. “Oh no you don’t. You’re a horrible matchmaker. Remember Jeff Timmons? What in the hell were you thinking setting me up with that guy?”

“I was hoping to get you out of your post-divorce funk,” Michelle admits. “It was enough to get you showered, a bit of makeup on and out of the house. That was a brilliant idea.”

I grimace as I think about the six months following my divorce where I basically hid in my house or at the school where I work as the principal. The end of my marriage devastated me, but not because I lost the love of my life. No, it had more to do with my forty-eight-year-old, prominent doctor husband trading me in for a twenty-three-year-old trophy wife who was pregnant. All those years I wanted a child, and my douche spouse was against it. It left me regretting my choice to marry George Foyette. And it was a cruel stab and twist of the fated knife that he knocked up his young receptionist and then proclaimed himself madly in love with her, ready to bestow all the love in the world on their baby.

They had a boy almost seven months ago, named him George Junior, and I still get heartburn thinking about the years I wasted on that man.

So yeah… Michelle setting me up with Jeff Timmons, who may have been a world-class douche in the end, did one thing—it got me out of the house. Made me realize I’m a social person who likes to be around people. That I enjoy going out and experiencing things. It didn’t make me want to date any more than I do now, but my social circle expanded more than when I’d been married and, in my opinion, I have a full life.

I’m done talking about dating and opt to change the subject. “I’m not going to be able to take the time off for Mexico.”

Michelle tilts her head, expression crumbling with disappointment. “That’s not fair, Marcie. You should be able to take a vacation like everyone else. You work way too hard.”

“You’re not wrong on any of that,” I sigh, picking up a chip. My gaze meets my sister’s. “But since we lost Rebecca, I’m doing double duty and it’s going to take just that week alone to get me halfway caught up.”

I’m the principal of the county’s largest primary school and it’s a career path I rarely question. The hours are long and grueling, the problems I deal with regarding my students are often heartbreaking, and yet… I can’t imagine doing anything else. Even if it means missing out on a spring break vacation with my sister and niece.

My assistant principal, Rebecca Foster, up and quit last week after proclaiming she didn’t have the stomach for administration anymore. She wanted to go back to teaching, which was all well and good, but she could’ve worked a little on the timing. If she’d just given me a chance, I probably could have put her in a classroom for the upcoming school year and found a suitable replacement. But as it stands, she quit with no notice and now I’m stuck doing two full-time jobs.

“In fact,” I continue, lifting my water versus a margarita like my sister, “I’m going to be there the rest of the day working. Happy Saturday to me.” Raising my glass in a mock toast, I sip and sigh dramatically. “Delicious.”

“Speaking of delicious,” Michelle replies as she props her chin on her hand to laser her eyes across the table. “Let me set you up with Ethan Blackburn.”

“No,” I say with an emphatic shake of my head. “And in case that wasn’t clear enough for you… no, no, no, no.”

“Why not?” It comes out as a petulant whine which, surprisingly, has worked to Michelle’s benefit a lot over the years.

“Didn’t you hear the part where I said I’ve got no time to go on a vacation with you? Which means I’ve got no time to go on dates.”

Especially not with a man who is completely out of my league. Blind dates are bad enough, but to be on one with someone who would never have asked you out if given a clear choice ahead of time would be soul-rending. I almost shudder thinking about it.

“I call bullshit.” She points a finger at me, her bloodred nail expertly manicured and polished. “You might be under the gun now because of Rebecca leaving but you’ve made no effort to date since your divorce from the Antichrist—”

“I went out with Jeff Timmons,” I interrupt, making a pointed reminder that she isn’t quite accurate. “And that date was so bad, you wonder why I don’t—”

“Just stop.” She holds up her hand, palm out, and I snap my mouth closed. “You’re avoiding going out because George did a number on your head.”

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