Sold to the Highest Bidder (5 page)

The thought of food made her stomach lurch and she stopped the mug on the way to her lips. “Breakfast?”

He laughed in response to her weak question. “You’ll only feel worse with nothing on your stomach, Ell. The liquor will stew in there for hours. Trust me.” He looked back over his shoulder but the smile was gone. “I learned the hard way.”

She got the feeling he was talking about more than a few nights out with the boys, and stared at the empty doorway. What did he mean he’d learned the hard way? They’d snuck down to the river with a contraband bottle now and then as teenagers, but he’d never been a drunk. She wondered if her leaving had left more of an impression than she thought. He’d never come after her, and she’d assumed he was ambivalent about the whole thing. But clearly not. Had he attempted to drown his sorrows?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was somehow convincing him to sign the papers today. Then she’d be on her way back to Denver, she could finish up her article and life would get on once more. There was a position opening up on the East Coast in the next few months and she knew someone at the paper. If she could break this story, she might have a good chance of getting it. There was a big world out there waiting, and being married to Dev—even on paper—had meant that she never really felt free to explore it. She was always looking over her shoulder.

Gingerly, she stepped out of the bed. She considered pulling on her skirt, but it seemed pointless. The bathroom was just across the hall. She looked out the door, but all she could see was Dev’s back at the stove.

Her bag was sitting beside the toilet. She grabbed her change of clothes—a pair of jeans and a snug pullover—and her makeup kit. Within five minutes she’d showered, and in another five she’d brushed her teeth, put her damp hair up in a ponytail and brushed on a little bit of makeup. The outside felt better than the inside, but she could smell breakfast in the kitchen. Not that she’d admit it to him, but it smelled
good
. All she’d eaten last night was a packet of peanuts she’d picked up at her last fill-up. It was no wonder the bourbon had gone straight to her head.

She was standing in the doorway to the short hall when he spoke, his back still to her. “Sit down, it’s ready.” She didn’t know how he knew she was standing there, and she uncomfortably moved ahead and sat at the small table. A faint smell of spilled liquor surrounded it and her stomach lurched. Last night she’d definitely been stupid. But being faced with him after all this time…and realizing quite unexpectedly that not all of her feelings had faded…

All in all, bourbon had been the easy way out. She’d only tried to justify it with machinations of getting her own way.

He placed a plate in front of her—scrambled eggs and a couple of slices of buttered toast. Suddenly she felt a craving for something sweet.

“Jam?”

“Out.”

“Marmalade?”

He laughed. “Marmalade? Are you serious? When have I ever eaten marmalade?”

She picked up her fork, recognizing that he probably didn’t have a stocked kitchen, and feeling the need to point it out. How in the world did he live? But she didn’t want to fight anymore, and he had at least made an effort. She’d just have to do without an adornment for her toast. “Thanks for breakfast, Dev.” She speared a piece of egg and tentatively placed it in her mouth. It tasted good, and she knew it would sit just fine. She nibbled on a corner of her toast. He took the chair opposite and scooped up eggs, layering them on his toast, and took a huge bite.

“If you’ll sign the papers I can be out of your way after breakfast.”

He put down his toast and took a drink of coffee. “That wasn’t my deal. You got somewhere you need to be? It’s the weekend. You can’t work
all
the time. Maybe you should relax. De-stress.”

She didn’t have anywhere she had to be, exactly. At least not today. But it seemed better to get this over with as quickly as possible. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“I don’t know why you insist on me staying the weekend. It’s not going to change anything.”

He calmly ate more eggs.

“You’re not going to tell me why?”

“I have my reasons. Maybe if you tell me why you need to leave, I’ll think about it.”

“Denver. I have to finish up my story and get it to my editor first thing Monday morning.”

“Ah,” he nodded, knowing. “Of course. Work.” She stared at him blandly. “Sorry.
Career.
”

She could have thrown her egg at him the way he used that patronizing tone with her. And the fact that he was sitting there as unperturbed as could be, a layer of sexy stubble on his chin and his perfect teeth glaring at her every time he smiled. She wished he could understand what her job meant to her.

“It’s what I do. You know that. And this article is part of a bigger picture, and if I do a good job I can move up at the paper.”

“And that’s what you want? To move up?”

“Of course it is. I don’t want to be in the Lifestyles section forever. I didn’t spend all that time and money in school to cover tea parties and write articles on the season’s recipes. I want to hit the big time. I can’t do that where I am. I need to go after the big stories. And after that…” She let the idea hang. It wasn’t the right time to tell him about the opening in Boston. And it wasn’t important. After this weekend, nothing she did would be any of his business.

His fork hit his plate and his eyes darkened. What had she said to set him off now?

“So what, an article about how the insurance company’s giving Betty the shaft? She’s just another victim in a long list, right? Might as well make an example of her. What the hell. Bonus if it furthers your career at the same time.”

She didn’t understand why he was so angry about it. This was the way life worked. “So what if it is? I hate to tell you, but people make news. The healthcare system is a farce. Betty’s case is one of many. Why shouldn’t I work on a story that might change all that? The media has a lot of influence, you know. It’s
important
.”

He pushed out his chair, taking his half-empty plate with him. It clattered on the counter top. “Cut the noble cause bit. You’re not interested in change. Reporters have sniffed around before. Betty isn’t a face for reform, Ell. She’s a human being. A human being who’s really sick. And you’re trying to profit from it. You and the rest of the vultures.”

Ella put down her toast and dusted her fingers off on her jeans. “So is it me you have the problem with or my profession in general?”

He dumped the remainder of his breakfast in the garbage. “Maybe both. The old Ella would have cared about more than paper distribution and a promotion.”

She swallowed. She did care, but why did it have to be one or the other?

It was impossible to be here and not be assaulted by memories in every corner. Young, idealistic, full of dreams that in hindsight seemed so simple, so naïve now. He was going to start his own contracting business. She was going to get her degree and write the great American novel. They’d been so full of themselves, so oblivious to the way the world really worked.

“The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive, you know. I do care. I just grew up.”

He spun around from the sink. “Grew up? You went away to college and never came back. You didn’t just spend time and money to get where you are. You also turned your back on our marriage. You sold out.”

The bitterness soaking his words cut into her. “No, I didn’t.” She pushed out her chair and stood too. “I just stopped being a besotted teenager and started living in the real world.” She looked around the sparse house. Had he changed anything since she left? Anything at all? “You might try it some time.”

He laughed then. “Right. You go off to the city and suddenly your world’s the real world and everyone else’s is what, the Stone Age?”

“They don’t call it Backwards Gulch for nothing.” She fired the words back at him. “Look at this place. The furniture’s the same. Your truck’s the same. You probably get up the same time every Sunday morning and go fishing. Am I right?”

“And there’s something wrong with that?” His eyes narrowed, criticizing.

“God, yes!” Couldn’t he see that he was going nowhere staying in this hell hole? Didn’t he ever want more? “I can’t believe I was considering finishing the article here. I mean, my laptop’s all well and good, but I’d have to have Internet, wouldn’t I? And God knows
that’s
not going to happen.”

“You’re right. There’s no Internet here. And I’m perfectly okay with that.”

“Of course you are.”

“There is technology outside of Denver.”

She sniffed. “Yeah, right. It sure as hell isn’t here. Don’t you ever want more than horses and fishing? What about your dreams? Don’t you have any of those?”

Devin clenched his fingers. He’d known this argument was coming, but he’d be damned if he’d slap her in the face with the truth. Of course he had dreams. And he had wanted more. Most of it he’d achieved and he was damn proud of DMQ. If this cabin was anything, it was an escape from the world he’d learned about very quickly after she’d gone. He liked it this way. Quiet. Simple. Disconnected from the rat race.

But he’d waited a long time for her to make her way back and she needed to figure it out for herself. If she didn’t…it would truly be over. He wasn’t going to beg. But he wasn’t going to let her off easy either. She knew nothing about the man she’d left behind. Knew nothing of what he’d been through since she walked away, or what he’d accomplished. Or how difficult it had been.

“You’ve focused so much on your own ambition that you don’t see anyone else. All you see is what you want to see. You did sell out. I know because I remember your dreams as well as mine.”

She laughed, a bitter, harsh sound that made him want to punish her with another kiss just to wipe the sarcastic grin off her face.

“You mean your dreams of owning your own business, Dev? How you were going to make us rich one day? And look at you. You’re still right here. Exactly where I left you.”

“Don’t turn this on me right now.” He fought to keep his voice level, the words of his own redemption sitting on his tongue. No. Either she didn’t know the truth or she was goading him, and he didn’t like either option. If she was completely oblivious to his success she’d have to work for the truth. By the end of this weekend he’d show her exactly what she’d walked away from. What she could have had and had so blithely thrown away.

“Do you even remember what you wanted back then? What happened to those dreams? What happened to you wanting to be a writer—and don’t tell me you are one because you know that’s not what I mean. You weren’t thinking of journalism when you said it. You wanted to be a novelist. You had plans.
We
had plans.” He let the words hit their mark before he continued, quieter but no less biting. “Now look at you. Do you care about anything at all?”

“That’s not fair! How dare you judge my life? You know nothing about it!” She stepped forward, crossed her arms across her chest as her dark eyes snapped with fury. “You stayed here like I knew you would. Never changing. Never seeing!”

He gritted his teeth. He saw very well, thank you. He had seen a damn sight more than she knew about. Fury bubbled up as he remembered going through the dark years, wanting her beside him but unable to ask. “Talk about blind! You see what you want to see. So maybe I’m not signing the papers today. Maybe I’m doing
you
a favor.”

“Me a favor.”

He heard the ripe skepticism and it made him angrier. She knew nothing about him anymore. And that had been
her
choice. The girl he’d known—loved—would have made an effort to understand. He’d missed her, the girl he’d said he’d spend the rest of his life loving. Cherishing. He had missed her every single day since she’d left him. For a long time he’d pretended he hadn’t, but he was older now. He was too old for self-delusion. But maybe he was deluding himself right now. Maybe that caring, loving girl was gone forever. Maybe she was so caught up in herself, in her quest for glory, that she’d truly left him behind like yesterday’s trash.

He was no one’s trash.

“I grew up too,” he muttered.

“You what?” And her derisive laugh echoed through the house.

It made him almost mad enough to sign the papers right then and there, but he knew he’d regret it. There was more. More he needed to know. He had to protect himself legally. If he’d learned any lesson it was that all agreements needed to be in writing. And if she was pretending, and she did know about DMQ, he needed to guard his assets.

There was also more she needed to see—bits that went beyond dollar signs. But right now he could only see his own frustration ripping away any sense of perspective.

“You know what, Ell? You’re really pissing me off.” He went over to the fridge, took out a canned juice and snapped the top open viciously.

“Then let’s just end this farce of a marriage right now,” she asserted.

“You’d like that.” He nodded. “You’d like to take your snooty hair and pointy little chin and drive back to Denver pleased with yourself that you were right all along.” Maybe it was time for him to tell her exactly what he thought. Maybe it was time to clear the air and let the chips fall where they may. “Here’s the thing, Ella McQuade. And don’t tell me it’s Turner because you were sure as hell proud enough on the day we were married to tell everyone that you were a McQuade now. Do you suppose your leaving was easy for me? Huh? What do you suppose happened? I just read your letter and said, ‘Well, that’s it’ and went on my merry way? I didn’t. It wasn’t easy for me. I’d wanted you since I was old enough to know what sex was and I loved you before that. So why in hell would I make it easy for you now? Huh?”