Page 7 of Beat of Love
And he’d had the audacity to blameherfor their marital failure?
“Mother fucking bastard,” she whispered, slamming her fist against the steering wheel. She had the wherewithal to glance in the rearview mirror before executing a U-turn and retracing her earlier route.
The man had made her give up Weeping Willows — the equestrian business she had grown from the ground up — by piling on guilt thatshehad broken their marriage. Meanwhile …
“Ugh!” she yelled, slamming to a stop at the intersection. There were no other vehicles, and she gunned the engine, shooting forward. Thirty seconds later she screeched to a stop in front of Richard’s new house, cutting the engine.
Seething, she glared at the dwelling — ariverfronthouse that costdoubleof what she received in settlement for their eighteen-year marriage — he now shared with the woman and child he’d kept hidden throughout their divorce proceedings.
Bastard.
She stormed up the flagstone pathway and the extra wide front door swung open as she neared the covered porch. “I canexplain,” Richard the Dick said, stepping out, closing the door behind him.
Brandy took a moment to look him over — from his perfectly coifed hair, down over his trim body clad in a blue golf shirt and white chino shorts, to the leather loafers he wore sockless. Once, she had loved this man. Now she seethed with contempt for the way he had manipulated her before they even got married. “You impregnated a woman while sharing a bed with me.” She folded her arms and tapped her foot. “Explainthat, asshole.”
He stretched out his arm. “Now, Brandy, be reasonable,” he implored.
Oh, hell no, he hadn’t just … “Reasonable?”
The door opened again; their three kids stood clustered together. “We’re ready,” Amelia whispered, wide-eyed.
“You’re not going,” Richard protested.
“Go get in the Yukon,” Brandy countered, stepping closer to her former husband, giving the kids room to move behind her.
“Stop—”
She placed a restraining hand on his chest and shoved him back. “We agreed, before a judge, to give our children the right to decide where they want to be,” she said, sotto voce. “They don’t want to be here right now. Don’t be a fucking prick and distance them further.”
“Still so uncouth,” he muttered.
The angry bawl of a baby drifted from within the house, followed by a wailing, “Riiickieee.”
Richard turned his head to look inside, and his mouth thinned.
A measure of righteous glee surged through her.
If there was one thing Richard Springer detested, it was whining.
“You’re wanted, Rickie,” she mocked. “Better listen to your new woman.”
The baby’s crying increased in volume. He moved sideways across the threshold. “This isn’t over, Brandy.”
“Oh, but it is, Richard. And you’ve only yourself to blame.”
She spun about and walked toward her children where they waited beside the vehicle. “Guess y’all coming to Buchanan Lake.”
“Won’t Aunt Jackie mind?” Amelia asked.
“Never,” Brandy said. Childless and unmarried, Jackie adored her kids — the three musketeers as her friend called them. “Bags in the back?”
“Yeah,” Preston replied.
“Shotgun,” Olivia called out, grabbing the passenger handle.
“Not so fast, kiddo.” She hooked an arm around Livvie’s neck, turning her girl to face her. “You okay?” Her youngest was the sensitive one. And a daddy’s girl.
Olivia’s doleful stare drifted to the house. “Not really.”
