Page 7 of Against All Odds

I folded my arms and tapped my feet. Petty?Hell, yeah!

“Go ahead, talk.”

He looked flustered because he didn’t know what to say. He’d thought he’d have to get rid of me as I begged him to stay and not abandon me. The fact that this conversation was going well, by all normal standards, was a blow to his ego.

“You can’t have the dining table,” he ground out, his stance aggressive.

I looked at the table and shrugged. “Okay.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

“Jack, keep the fucking table. I’m not married to it…hell, I’m married to you, and I have no problem walking away. That’s just a piece of furniture.” With that parting shot, I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and let myself have the breakdown I’d earned.

That had been six months ago, and now, I was past my breakdown and heartbreak, which was a testament to how terrible our marriage was without me even knowing about it. Since then, I’d moved outandon.

I’d found the cutest place to start over—a little cabin tucked into the trees near Snowmass, close to the main village, but with a view that stretched so wide it felt like the mountains were hugging me. The cabin was brand new and top-of-the-line. It had a lovely little porch where I enjoyed my morning coffee and my evening wine. It smelled like pine and freedom, and for once in my life, I could breathe without worrying about being kicked out.

Also, I was able to live the way I wanted. Simply. With Jack, I’d filled our house with knick-knacks, as he expected, and made it freaking doily hell. But I didn’t know that I didn’t like doilies until I lived alone and had the freedom to decorate my house the way I wanted.

Beyondmyhome, I was also embarking on a new adventure professionally.

Jack ultimately decided to sell the house, which was then snapped up by some out-of-towners looking for a second residence.

I decided to invest half of the proceeds to build a brand-new life, which is why I was atThe Wildflower Tavernearlier in the evening.

It was the most exciting thing I’d ever done. I had signed an intent to buy, an agreement with Ben Greyfeather, for the tavern. I was going to be a bar wench…but as the freaking owner.

Ben had been gracious enough to let me take overeven before we transferred all the funds. So, I’d quit my job at the bank today and was ready to begin a whole new life. People would soon hear about it, and there would be the usual chatter as there had been and continued to be about Jack and my divorce, how Molly was ready to pop out a baby any second now, and how, as Leslie put it, I wassingle and therefore ready to mingle. Every moron with a penis had hit on me.

I mean, the old, divorced lady has needs, doesn’t she, and she’ll ride pretty much any cock.

Men were dumber than a box of rocks—if the rocks were drunk, blindfolded, and trying to text their ex at 2 a.m.

If Jack had been surprised with me the night he announced his impending fatherhood, he was now absolutely shocked.

I was no longer conforming. I was unrecognizable. I was a whole new person who knew how to deal with people like Leslie, who never missed a chance to continue playing mean girl. I enjoyed shutting her down, I thought with satisfaction, while I drank my evening glass of wine, the beautiful mountains at my feet.

I was surprised to see Heath Falkner there. I thought he had divorced Alexa, which, in my book, meant that he had brains to go with his good looks. But the fact that he was hanging out with her crowd told me that maybe the handsome came with a whole shitload of dumb.

Too bad because he was the first man I’d met since I became single who had made my lady parts tingle.

CHAPTER 3

heath

Since the divorce had been, for all practical purposes, amicable—especially after a year of conflict with Alexa—Juno spent time with me whenever we wanted. For all her flaws, Alexa was a decent mother, even if her values could be a little skewed. She never came between me and my daughter.

According to Wyatt, my brother, Alexa’s easygoing approach to co-parenting was part of her attempt at reconciliation.

“I don’t think so,” I told him over the phone when he called as I was getting ready to pick up Juno for the Aspen Saturday Market, where we often went for lunch and a stroll. “She didn’t quibble over money and signed the papers.”

He grunted. He was, I assumed, working as he talked to me. Wyatt was a carpenter who made expensive designer shit people with too much money bought.

“She did that because she knew you were atthe end of your rope, especially since your marriage counselor recommended that divorce was the best option for you two.Buthaving you move to Aspen with her…that was a way to isolate you so she could dig her claws in,” he persisted.

“We were unhappy as fuck,” I reminded him.

“Youwere unhappy. She loved her life.”

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