Page 37 of Silent Deception
It was all a waste of money, doctoring something that was perfectly fine. His heart felt strong. Healthy. He wasn’t a weakling like Enfield, a man who was all hat and no cattle, far as Clint could see.
Pocketing his billfold, he slipped into his Italian loafers, ran his hands over his short-cropped hair, and went out to the kitchen where Adelfa would be waiting to hand him a cup of dark roast coffee on his way to Trevor’s truck.
A familiar voice in the kitchen stopped him dead in his tracks before he walked in.
Clint Gallagher bowed to no one, but now he felt his pulse grow unsteady and he had to force himself to move forward.
Adelfa stood by the stove, her round face wreathed in smiles. A tall, elegant figure stood facing her, one hand propped carelessly on the counter. Well-cut linen slacks molded to the woman’s long, slender legs. A sweater—something in one of those nubbly, natural weaves—skimmed her graceful back.
“Ah, here he is,” Adelfa beamed at him as if she’d just come across a great prize. “Look who is here—Senora Gallagher!”
As she turned, he was struck—as always—by the loveliness of her sculpted cheekbones. The elegant flare of her eyebrows. The quiet beauty of her large, expressive eyes. She was—and always would be—the most beautiful thing in his life, despite the divorce.
She was also the one person in the world who could argue him to the ground with an amused and patient look in her eyes that made him angry enough to spit nails.
She gave him a leisurely head-to-toe assessment. “Nothing’s changed here, I see. You’re looking well.”
“I wasn’t expecting a visit.”
“Ever the gracious host.” Her musical laugh filled the room. “I believe you’re supposed to say, ‘And you’re looking good, as well.’”
Adelfa, apparently sensing trouble, nodded to both of them and sidled out of the kitchen.
He knew his social graces—he hadn’t risen to prominence in state politics by sounding like the backwoods kid he’d once been. But with Charlotte, it was generally best to cut to the chase. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t worry, dear. I want nothing from you. If you recall, I didn’t even ask for much of anything in our divorce.” She wandered over to the windows facing the sweep of lawn and beyond that, the stables. “I drove in from Dallas this morning because Ryan is here. I doubt I’ll be much of a nuisance if I stay a few days.”
A few days.
A few days of turmoil. Subtle insults traded over supper. Glances filled with hostility. Tension that would have him popping antacids and Tylenol.
“That would be fine. Adelfa can prepare the guest room.” He ground the words out. “I suppose now that Ryan is back in Texas, it’s finally more convenient for you to see him?”
He caught a flash of hurt in her eyes, but then she lifted her chin and leveled a haughty stare at him. “I wasn’t able to go to Walter Reed to see him, if that’s what you mean. But I called him every day. Did you go? No, wait—you were too busy.”
“Trevor and Garrett went.” There’d been no point in flying cross-country. He and Ryan had never gotten along, and the State Senate had been in session. Still, Charlotte’s words cut deep. “But you can hardly judge, right? His own mother didn’t bother.”
“I...couldn’t.”
Something wasn’t quite right, he realized. She’d always been angular, in a sophisticated Kate Hepburn way, but... “Why, Charlotte?”
She lifted her hand in an airy wave. “You know, the usual. We had a showing at the gallery, and Harris was gone for a few weeks, so everything was up to me...and then there was a buying trip...”
At her longtime boyfriend’s name, Clint bristled. He strode to the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup and lifted it in a mocking salute. “I have an appointment. Make yourself at home.”
* * * *
CHARLOTTE WRAPPED HERarms around herself against a sudden chill as Clint walked out the door. It had always been like this. Fire and fuel, the two of them. They’d made so many mistakes. Selfish mistakes born of passion and stubbornness and personalities too strong to ever truly mesh. It had been the children who’d suffered the most.
But nothing of that painful past could be changed.
This would be her last chance to try to heal old wounds and make things right. And if God was willing, she’d have enough time left to do it.
