Sold to the Highest Bidder (7 page)

And yet she couldn’t get past the fact that he still got to her, perhaps even more so now that she knew how great he’d been to Betty. What had he gotten out of it? She wished she knew.

As a reporter, she longed to ask him.

As a long lost wife seeking a divorce, she couldn’t afford the distraction.

He’d been her first love. Her only love, if it came to that. She’d never been comfortable doing more than going on a few harmless dates back in Denver, simply for appearances’ sake. She was married, and that meant something to her even if it was in name only. And lately she’d started thinking it was going to be a long road if she wouldn’t have a relationship because of a piece of paper. She was stuck. And Dev had to set her free. He was a detail that would be sure to come back and bite her in the butt later. Maybe if she were free legally she’d be able to get him out of her mind too. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe she needed it legal so she could have closure.

She wheeled the shopping cart to the checkout, grabbing a bottle of wine on the way through—no more hard liquor for her. If she were going to convince Dev to let her go, she couldn’t pick another fight. She’d cook him a nice dinner. After all, her mother had taught her early on that you caught more flies with honey than vinegar, and this morning’s argument had left a definite acidic taste in her mouth. They’d sit and talk like adults. Surely they could manage that much.

And tomorrow she’d take her notes and her laptop and drive back to Denver. She’d write her story, lambasting the insurance industry for failing the ordinary American. God willing, she’d get her promotion. She and Amy would go out on the town to celebrate. She could leave Backwards Gulch—and her past—behind, right where it belonged.

She drove her Miata through Durango, thinking about all she’d heard and seen today. Maybe Devin really thought she was exploiting the situation for her own agenda. He’d certainly accused her of it. And maybe she had been, in part. But not today, not after seeing Betty. She wanted to help. And if it meant Devin got on her case about a story, so be it. Writing was what she knew how to do. It was the only way she could think to bring notice to Betty’s plight, to possibly help others like her.

As she headed towards Devin’s, she realized that the focus had to be on the woman herself, not the numbers. The quiet strength, the appreciation of her neighbors and friends. The woman was anything but bitter, even though she had reason to be. Ella had been touched by it. That was what she wanted to write about.

When she got back to the cabin it was eerily silent. It seemed to echo with scenes past and she fought to ignore them, unloading the bags and putting everything in the fridge. It was only after she’d put the roast in the oven that she heard a rhythmic thunking sound coming from the backyard.

She put on her shoes and followed the sound.

Devin was chopping wood. A stack of logs lay to one side, the pieces landing in a pile as he split them with sure, strong strokes of the axe. She watched, heart skipping a beat, as he lined up a log, hitting it once, twice, three times, splitting it in half. He took the halves, treating them to the same barbaric swings before tossing all four pieces in the growing pile. She looked at him in a different light. She knew the cabin was as run-down as it had ever been, yet he’d helped Betty with groceries and household chores. Had he gone without to do it?

He put his axe down alongside the stump he used as a platform for the wood. Ella opened her mouth to call out, but shut it again as he stripped off his shirt and the T-shirt he wore underneath. Sweat glimmered on his brow, his chest, creating a sheen as he lifted the axe again.

Ella stared with blatant fascination. His shoulders and arms bunched as he lifted the axe over his head, his chest broad as he brought it down, and every single muscle in his upper body froze for a millisecond as the axe bit and held in the wood until he pulled it out again. The muscles above his gloves corded as he gripped the ash handle. Her blood heated. She’d known that seeing him again would be difficult. But she hadn’t quite known how difficult. Or that she’d be tempted. To stay forever? Hardly. But his sculpted body was enough to make her twitchy. To touch him…taste him…yes, definitely.

“Enjoying the show?”

For a moment she wasn’t sure he’d spoken, as his arms kept swinging the axe. He stopped and threw the pieces on the pile, then stood back, his weight on one hip, leering at her.

She had no idea how to respond. She’d been caught out. Any smart comment she might have made ran clear out of her brain. And to admit her thoughts would be a big mistake. Like touching a match to gasoline.

“Go stuff yourself.”

He laughed. “That’s the best you can do? The old Ella wouldn’t have self-edited.”

“The new Ella has a little more class, in case you didn’t notice.”

The moment the retort was out of her mouth, she felt stupid. What was it about him that made her so defensive? Now she sounded uptight and snobby.

He merely raised an eyebrow, making her feel even more foolish. He took the axe and brought it down in one more stroke, leaving it impaled in the stump. He reached down and got his clothing but didn’t put it on. “I need a shower.” He walked past and she smelled him…good clean sweat, wood shavings and hay. It shouldn’t have made for a good combination, but it did. It was a manly scent. Capable and like the outdoors. His chest gleamed and she wondered if it would taste salty against her tongue.

He stopped in front of her. “Well? Did you have a good afternoon?”

I will not argue. I will not pick a fight
, she told herself. Honey, not vinegar. At the same time she rolled her fingers into her palms to keep from touching him.

“I did, thank you. And I brought some food back.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” He frowned.

She smiled, determined to keep things friendly. “Least I could do after you fed me this morning. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard couldn’t be barer.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started to walk away towards the house.

“Dev, I…” She paused, suddenly unsure. She wanted two very different things here. She wanted to be with him. Her body ached to know if his touch would be the same. And yet she wanted him to let her go.

“What?”

He half-turned and her gaze was caught again, looking at the hard wall of his chest. “I bought pancakes for breakfast. Then I have to leave to go back to Denver. I have a lot of work to do.”

She didn’t say it, but she knew he’d registered her implication—the papers had to be signed before she went.

His eyes were cold, his lips a firm line. “Suit yourself,” he repeated, harder this time.

Ella followed him inside. “Dev, don’t do that.” The door shut behind her. “I told myself all afternoon I didn’t want to fight with you.”

“So you thought you’d butter me up with a home-cooked meal, I’d sign the divorce papers and off you’d go to your bright and shiny life.”

It stung when he put it that way. “I prefer to call it an olive branch.”

“Maybe I’m not interested in an olive branch with you. Have you thought of that?” He threw the shirt on a chair and pulled the T-shirt over his head, covering up his magnificent chest. His eyes glinted like icy shards.

“What do you want from me, Devin?” Her voice raised, frustration getting the better of her. “I can’t change what happened. I can’t roll the clock back twelve years.”

“Would you want to?”

Silence fell. It was heavy with questions and dark answers. Would she? She didn’t think so. She’d built a good life for herself. She’d proven she was smart enough, capable enough to stand on her own two feet. But seeing Dev again reminded her of what it had cost her. She’d given him her heart once. And she’d never quite gotten it back.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I just want you to sign the papers.”

He came forward, put his hand on her cheek. She closed her eyes against the touch, suddenly gentle in a hostile world.

“Will saying goodbye to our marriage be that easy for you?” His words were hardly more than a whisper.

No, she realized, and hurt sliced through her. But she couldn’t tell him that. Not in a million years. Telling him would only make it worse.

“I said goodbye to our marriage a long time ago, Devin.”

He stepped back.

“I’m going to have a shower.”

He walked away and she let him. Even as much as she wanted to shove a pen in his hand and tell him to just get on with it, she knew the only way this was going to work was to let him see it was over. Truly over. That the distance between them was too great.

The shower turned on and she thought of him standing beneath the spray, naked. A yearning pulsed through her. She wanted to strip off her clothes and join him as the hot water pounded their skin. To slide the soap over his hard muscles. To feel the touch of her body against his, slick with water. Her breasts tightened as she thought about his hands on them, his mouth…

Damn, staying here was starting to get to her. There were too many reminders. Thank God she’d be going back tomorrow.

Chapter Five

Devin took his time getting dressed, sitting on the bed in his clean jeans wondering what the hell he was going to do about her. She could swear up and down she wanted a divorce, but he’d seen her face earlier. It had been with perverse pleasure that he’d stripped to the waist while splitting wood. She’d wanted to touch him just as much as he’d wanted to touch her. Hell, he’d taken to chopping wood he didn’t need just to try to get her out of his system, to stop remembering how it had felt to hold her last night. To taste her, if only her lips. To want her as much—maybe more—than he’d wanted her years before when she’d belonged to him.

Only his distraction technique had backfired when she showed up, looking seventeen again in a pair of faded jeans and a soft pink sweater.

When Devin came out of the bedroom Ella had tiny potatoes bubbling on the stove and the makings of a salad going into the single bowl he had in his cupboard. He paused, simply looking at her for a moment. So damn beautiful. She still looked like the winsome girl he’d taken to prom, when she’d been freer with her smile. It was like age had forgotten her. Her skin was flawless, a perfect cameo setting for her dark, expressive eyes and pretty lips. She looked up from the vegetables and her hands fell still.

He wanted her so badly it almost hurt. It was a damnable thing, wanting a woman you couldn’t have, especially when that woman happened to be your wife. Even worse when that woman was determined not to be your wife any longer. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He’d never know how she really felt—or what had truly happened that autumn—if he told her his side. It would color everything, and she’d feel sorry for him. He’d rather die than have that happen.

He’d thought he wanted get some answers before he let her go. But she was fighting him every step of the way. He wouldn’t give in easily. The last time he hadn’t been able to fight for her. But now he could. He could at the very least find out why she’d ended their marriage with a letter. And then—if their marriage were finally going to be over—it’d damn well go out with the farewell they hadn’t ever had.

“I hope roast beef is okay.”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the image that had blossomed in his brain at his decision. She looked small and…innocent standing there tossing a salad. His brow furrowed. Yes, tonight they’d be together one last time. But only if she felt the same way. His body tightened at the thought. The only way he ever wanted her was willing, warm and pliant with desire.

He tried to remember what she’d just said—oh yes, the roast. “It’s fine.”

She nodded, looking back down at her salad. “I did some background work for my article this afternoon. I ran some errands and ended up at Betty’s. You…you might have been right there. I’m still writing the story,” she said, and he noticed how her cheeks flushed. “It’s my job. But I don’t want you to think I set out to make a spectacle of her. I know she’s a nice woman. It might be my job but it doesn’t mean I can’t help too.”

“Fair enough.”

“Really?” Her head lifted, and he saw the surprise in her eyes. He knew he’d been heavy handed with her this morning. And it had been more about himself than Betty. Once more he fought off the guilt at not telling her everything. And he called
her
selfish. But Ella didn’t know about his personal issues with the healthcare system. She didn’t know how all the money he’d saved for them to get their start had gone to hospital bills.

Perhaps the more important truth was that she hadn’t cared enough to find out, had she? Perhaps he should remember
that
each time he was tempted to take her in his arms, or when he felt himself softening towards her. She’d left and never looked back. The only time she’d made contact was when she sent the divorce papers.

Still, her voice held a trace of contrition and he almost believed her when she said she wanted to help.

“Really, Ella. I might think a lot of things, but I don’t think you’d deliberately exploit Betty Tucker for your own gains. At least not completely.”

“Thank you. I think.” She smiled and put the salad on the table. “I did want to ask you though…she mentioned you’ve been helping out a lot. Why is that?”

Her voice was smooth, the very pointed question ensconced in velvet. And the answer was one of those truths he wasn’t willing to share with her yet.

“Is it wrong to give a neighbor a hand? I haven’t done much.”

“You helped organize the benefit, took her groceries and put her on to a lawyer. That’s what I’d call much.”

“I knew Mark from before. He…” Devin paused, needing to be partially truthful even as he covered up more of the story. “He handled some of the farm stuff with Mom and Dad.”

Farm stuff. More like them selling off the farm for the cash Devin had needed. Paying them back had been first on his agenda.

“Still, it’s what you’d expect a family member to do, you know?”

He reached over and picked a cucumber out of the salad while his heart beat a hundred times a minute. “Betty doesn’t have any kids to help.” He forced a smile. “When did you say we were going to eat?”

She looked away and he exhaled, hoping that was the end of the interrogation.

“It’s almost ready. I bought some merlot…but maybe you’d rather have beer.”

He almost laughed, part out of relief, part disbelief. She really
didn’t
have any idea, did she? There was no way Ella was that good of an actress. She truly thought this was his life. Just this. She saw him as Devin McQuade, lowbrow redneck. For a flashing moment he considered telling her about all the changes in his life, about DMQ and his condo and the new development on the west side of Durango. But then…no. If she decided to stay it had to be for the right reasons. Not because he’d suddenly become someone different on the outside.

“Wine’s fine. I don’t think we need a repeat of last night, do you?”

“No,” she murmured.

But Devin couldn’t stop thinking about it. Much still stood between them, but he couldn’t erase the memory of how she’d felt in his arms again. How her lips had teased and beguiled, how her fingernails had trailed down his flesh. They weren’t kids anymore. They’d grown up a lot since eighteen. Foolish as he knew it was, he wanted to claim his wife. He wanted to believe in her again. But if she came to him now, it wasn’t going to be because she’d had too much to drink. He wanted her clear-headed and saying his name in the darkness. He wanted it so that he was the only thing she saw, felt, tasted. He wanted all of that first, before showing her how his world had changed.

She finished putting the meal on the table, while the newfound amicability pushed against its constraints. He didn’t want to be polite. He didn’t want to dance around facts anymore. He watched her hands as they poured wine into a glass and handed it to him.

Her eyes twinkled at him as she lifted her glass. “I think toasting is probably a bad idea at this point.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He took one step closer so that he could almost feel her body against his. “How about, for old times’ sake?”

Her smile faltered. “For old times’ sake?”

“There you go.” He grinned and tapped the rim of her glass with his. Drank deeply, letting the flavor envelop his tongue. The taste reminded him of her. Soft, full, seductive, yet in an un-ostentatious sort of way. Her hand trembled a little as she lifted her goblet. Good. A tiny drop of the ruby-red liquid stained the top of her lip. Before she could take a breath, he moved in, dipped his head and drew it away from her mouth with his tongue.

She stepped back like she was on fire. “What are you doing?”

“You had some on your lip.”

“Then give me a napkin!”

He laughed then and saw her lips thin as she got angry. Lord, he loved her angry. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes snapped, ready to take him on. Oh, he hoped so. He really, really did. He was dying to remind her of what she had discarded.

“As you can see, I don’t have any.”

She pushed him aside, going to her seat instead and sitting. Her eyes flashed with irritation. “I don’t know why I tried to do something nice for you,” she railed. “I thought we could have a nice civilized dinner.”

“It’s because you love me.” He smiled blithely and took another drink of wine.

She nearly choked on her first bite of potato.

“I’m here for a divorce, remember?”

“Yes. How could I forget when you remind me every two minutes?” Devin sat and picked up his knife and fork. He cut his slice of beef and speared it, examined it, then looked up at her. “But they are two very different things.”

“What are?

He swallowed. “Love and our divorce.

“Are you saying you still love me, Dev? Because that’s pretty impossible. You told me exactly what you thought of me this morning.”

“You were quite right when you said I was angry. I was. I am. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being angry about it, to be honest.”

It was work to continue eating, but that was exactly what Devin did.

“But do you still love me?”

Ella put her free hand between her knees and squeezed, suddenly nervous at how he’d answer. She hadn’t planned on asking either. But nothing about this trip had gone as planned. She certainly hadn’t planned on feeling like she did. She’d been back for a few hours and she’d been immediately sucked into the past. She didn’t want him to love her. She didn’t. And yet she knew if he said no, she’d be crushed. How irrational was that?

“Let’s just say I never stopped loving the girl I married.” His voice was low, tainted by what she would have sworn sounded like sadness. “But whether or not you’re her, I don’t know.”

She knew without saying a word that this was what he’d meant this morning. And in some ways he was right. Silence enveloped them and they went through the motions of eating, but her heart wasn’t in it. She’d made promises. Maybe she shouldn’t have, but she had. And not for the first time, she felt the smallest bit guilty for leaving him the way she had. She’d been a coward. She’d been so afraid.

Dev crossed his knife and fork on his plate and sat back, swirling the wine in his glass. “That was great, Ell. Really good.”

“Thank you.”

Silence settled around them, awkward and seductive.

“Why did you really come here?” His gaze pinned her from across the table, and she looked down at her lap.

“Because you never signed the ones I sent you.”

“So you really came here for a divorce.”

“Yes.”

“After all this time.”

She lifted her head, squared her shoulders. “Asked and answered.”

Silence fell for a few moments.

“Why didn’t you sign them?”

Her whispered words echoed through the kitchen. Dev looked away for a few minutes. When he looked back, her heart nearly broke from the tortured expression twisting his face. She knew she was to blame for it, no matter how he answered, and she felt guilt spiral through her, knowing she’d caused him so much pain. That she’d been capable of it. No one had ever loved her like that. Hated her like that.

“You wrote me a letter, Ell. I got a piece of paper in the mail that said you thought we’d made a mistake and you weren’t coming back. You’d realized you wanted more and that we should have known better. That we were just kids. But I wasn’t a kid. I loved you like a man. And I hated you with a man’s hate for a long time because you were a coward.” He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “Every time you sent papers through your lawyers, it made me more and more angry. I wouldn’t sign them because I wanted you to have the courage to come and end it to my face.”

Tears quivered on her lower lashes and she refused to blink, knowing it would send them down her cheeks, and she didn’t want to cry in front of him. She was ashamed. Hearing him echo her earlier thoughts only made the cut deeper.

“I’m here now. You’ve got what you wanted.” Her voice was rough, her throat clogged. “So why haven’t you signed them? Are you just trying to punish me?”

“Maybe.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just angry enough that I demanded you live through forty-eight more hours of my company before you go away. Maybe I needed to see for myself how hard you’ve become, thinking that would make it easier to finally let you go. The city changed you. Maybe some of the Ella I knew is still in there. I don’t know.” His gaze delved into hers, and she was gutted to see pain there hiding in the blue depths. “I waited twelve years for you to come. For you to have the guts to do what you didn’t the first time. To look me in the eyes and say goodbye rather than using a piece of paper and a postage stamp.”

She didn’t blink, but the tears rolled over her lids anyway. It did feel so very final. And more painful than she’d anticipated. And at last the question she’d always had surfaced.

“Why didn’t
you
come after
me
?”

He looked away, swallowed heavily. “I kept hoping you’d come back, realizing you’d made a mistake.”

She shook her head, sniffled. “You mean you were too proud.”

Something dark glittered behind his eyes, something she hadn’t seen ever before. Dev was hiding something. She couldn’t say why or how she knew. Maybe it was reporter’s instinct. But he was definitely holding back. Was he afraid of showing her his feelings? Was that it? Would his pride not let him reveal how she’d broken his heart?