#1-3--The O’Connells

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  It felt as if everything in her life was changing into something unknown and unfamiliar.

  “You’ll have to be the one to tell my family,” she said.

  He laughed and slid his hands over her cheeks, then leaned in again and kissed her. “That,” he said, “is the very least I can do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You still haven’t told my family, and now they’re wondering where I am,” Karen said. “It’s not like me to just take off. I have clients and work…”

  “And they’re not going anywhere,” Jack replied, cutting her off. He was behind the wheel of her practical Honda, and of course he looked completely out of place. His top-of-the-line Lincoln was impounded, and he didn’t want to wait until morning to pick it up. “I need my things, my clothes. At least I’m out of my tux and into something clean. I told you already that I’ll talk to your family, but these are your brothers. I need to do it right. There’s so much I just left in limbo and need to take care of first.”

  She took in the darkened highway, feeling uncertain in the passenger seat, dressed in a simple blue sleeveless dress with a sweater overtop and her feet shoved in her ridiculous black pumps. She had an overnight bag in the trunk with her sweats and sneakers and was wishing she’d opted to change. “I can’t just drop everything. You tell me to pack a bag, we’re going, and I can’t believe I let you talk me into it. No, wait. You didn’t talk me into it. You basically ordered me to pack a bag, took my car keys, and said we’re driving to Missoula instead of going to my brother’s just because you want clothes! This could have waited until tomorrow. You know what? I have commitments, a law practice, with clients and work…”

  He sighed, and she dragged her gaze over to him instead of finishing her thoughts, seeing how good he looked even in her brother’s faded jeans and old T-shirt. It seemed he could wear anything and look good. From the lights in the distance, they were getting closer to Missoula.

  “No, it can’t wait, Karen. I just have this feeling that there’s something in the wind, and I don’t want to leave anything to chance. I’ll have to get my car out of the impound lot. The cops still have it. Then there are your things. You’ll need to pack up. We have to make arrangements.”

  She just stared at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “I have a bag in the back, an overnight one,” she said. “What else do I need to pack? We’re going to your place so you can grab some clothes, whatever you need so urgently, and then we’re turning around and going back to Livingston.”

  He signaled, and she took in the sign for some community outside Missoula. She could see more lights in the distance. “Afraid not, Karen,” Jack said. “You’ll need to pack up everything you want to keep. Everything else, get rid of it. I’ll send people to move your things.”

  He was kidding, right?

  “I’m not leaving Livingston,” she said. “Why would you ever think I would even consider that? I have a life there, my own practice as a lawyer. I’m confused. You seem to be under the assumption that I’m going to leave my life and everything I’ve created. That isn’t going to happen. And you know what? I’m having a hard time with the fact that you think I would just drop everything because you want to stay married. Is it because I’m a woman, seriously?” she snapped. “It isn’t lost on me that you’re not having a conversation with me, either. It’s like you’ve decided this in your own head and I’m supposed to just fall in line. Have you always been like this? Evidently, I don’t know you—but then, how could I? In case I haven’t made myself absolutely clear, this trip is to pick up your things. You want to stay married, and you talked me into it, but now I’m having reservations. If you think I’m going to just say goodbye to my life, close up my business, and move to Missoula, you’re mistaken. No, my family is in Livingston, in case you didn’t realize, and I’m not moving away from them, because we have each other’s backs.”

  She hadn’t answered the texts from Suzanne, Marcus, Ryan, and Owen, each of them wanting to know what the hell was going on, considering she’d texted Luke to say she couldn’t make it that night and to pass it on. Luke’s response? Nothing.

  She reached for her cell phone in the pocket of her purse, which was at her feet on the floor, as Jack pulled off the road and into a gated community with big houses and big yards.

  “Well, let’s table that discussion for now,” he said. “I know you have a life in Livingston, and your family is there. I get it, I really do—but, Karen, there’s more at stake, and right now I need you to be a little reasonable and flexible.”

  She just stared at him as he pulled into a driveway. The house was two stories, with a double attached garage, and from the outside it looked to be more than three thousand square feet. Huge, way too big for a single man.

  He turned off her car and yanked on the door to open it, then turned to her for a second and gave her everything. She didn’t remember him being the kind of guy who would expect her to just drop everything for him.

  “You must be delusional,” she said, “if you think I’m going to walk away from everything I’ve worked for as if it’s of no importance. You know how it sounds when you speak to me this way, telling me how something is going to be? Chauvinistic. Were you always like this?”

  Under the overhead light in the car, he took her in, then made a rude noise and stepped out, giving the door a shove closed behind him. She too stepped out as he walked around the back and opened the trunk to pull out her overnight bag.

  The outside lights flicked on—she supposed he had security lighting—as he started toward the house, reaching for her hand and pulling her alongside him to the double doors. When he let go of her hand to unlock the door and step in ahead of her, she was met with the solid wall of his back, furious and dismissive.

  Inside, he flicked on the lights, and she took in the impressive front entrance, the vaulted ceiling, the stairs, which reminded her of something from the Old South. It was definitely a key feature of the house. She closed the door behind her, hearing the click of her heels on the stone tile as she turned.

  He dropped her bag off to the side and tossed his keys on the hall table as he strode toward her. Her heartbeat kicked up. She wasn’t sure what to make of the pure arrogance on his face. He rested his hands on her shoulders and dragged them down intimately, then locked the door behind her. He touched her face, slid his hand under her chin, and lifted it.

  Jack leaned in and kissed her, pressing her against the door. It wasn’t just a kiss. It lingered with heat, and when he pulled back, teasing as he bit and pulled at her lower lip, she felt things she had never thought she’d feel again, there in the circle of his arms.

  “So you think I’m a chauvinist, really?” he said. “Maybe you forgot to add sexist, dismissive?” He lowered his head to kiss her again, a motion that would be too easy to allow herself to slip into.

  She pressed both her hands to his chest and shoved just enough that he lowered his arms and stepped back. “You basically told me I’m moving here because you decided so, because you’re a man and everything you do is more important.”

  He wasn’t smiling as he stepped back farther. She thought for a second he was going to snarl, but he just shook his head and said, “I need to change.” Then he started up the stairs, leaving her standing where she was.

  So what did she do but follow him up? She ran her hand over the dark railing, taking in the green and brown carpet runner. She knew she had obviously been mistaken about the size of the house. It was much bigger than three thousand square feet.

  He topped the landing and stepped into a room she knew was the master suite. She followed on his heels, taking in the spaciousness, with a king-size four poster, a dresser, end tables, and two ottomans in front of a gas fireplace. He’d pulled open a huge walk-in closet, and she wasn’t sure what to say as he flicked on the light to reveal that it alone was the size of her bedroom.

  She didn’t have to follow him in to know he had a lot of clothes. Everythi
ng about the furnishings of the house told her that money clearly wasn’t a problem for him. The window overlooked the back, which, from what she could see, had to be about an acre, with a covered outdoor pool.

  She heard him behind her and turned to see him in a pair of dark pants, pulling on a navy long-sleeved shirt. His eyes connected with hers for a second, and she could see the edge to him. He was angry, upset. Good. So was she.

  Then he just shook his head without saying a word and started out of the bedroom, leaving her there. She wished he’d say something, considering this silence gave her nothing to fight with. She stepped out of the bedroom and looked over the rail to see he was already down the stairs.

  “Jack, seriously, have you always been this dismissive?” she called out, but he had disappeared down a hall, so she hurried as fast as she could down the stairs in her heels and started behind him to a large open kitchen, which would have been any chef’s dream. It seemed to have everything: a huge island with a gas stove, the same impressive vaulted ceilings. It was open to the family room, which had an impressive stone fireplace that drew her attention. But then, so did everything in this house. The furnishings were tasteful pastels. She wondered who had designed the place for him.

  At the same time, it wasn’t lost on her that he wasn’t answering or fighting back.

  He pulled out steaks from the fridge and set them on the counter, then opened a door to reveal a walk-in pantry. Karen crossed her arms, feeling so unsettled. He walked back out with potatoes in hand and set them on the counter.

  “You’re making dinner?” She gestured toward the steaks.

  “We need to eat,” he said, an edge in his voice. “I’m hungry. I’m sure you are, too.”

  He scrubbed two potatoes in the sink at the island, saying nothing, then turned on the oven, poked the potatoes with a fork, and tossed them in to bake. He took another second before looking her way.

  “You’re beautiful, Karen, and I’ve loved you from afar for years, but don’t ever talk to me like that again. I’m not dismissing you. I’m very aware of what you’ve created, what you’ve done. I’m proud of you, but hear me when I say it’s impossible for me to move to Livingston. It can’t happen. I have a house here, a law practice with five junior partners and a staff of ten. I can easily move you into a position here. It’s about practicality, among other things.”

  It was the way he said it, all humor gone. It was as if he wasn’t going to hear her.

  “There you go again, saying you can’t, and this is the way it has to be, end of story,” she said. “Anything else?” She knew she sounded sarcastic, and she meant to. “You tell me not to talk to you that way… You’re kidding, right? Because you are being dismissive, and I’m getting the very distinct feeling you believe I’m your subordinate, that my one-woman show as a small-town lawyer is something to turn your nose up at. Are we taking a step back decades, saying because you’re a man, everything must center around you, and because I’m a woman, I need to make sure I don’t steal the spotlight?”

  From the way he was looking at her, she could see she was poking at every one of his very male alpha ideals, and there was likely a point where he would stop hearing her. “But I’m not beneath you, or answering to you,” she continued. “I’m very good at what I do. I’m the kind of lawyer I like to think is making a difference out there for the average person who needs someone like me, the kind of clients who couldn’t even afford to sit in the lobby at your law firm, even if I were, as you call, it a junior clerk there. Your hourly rates probably start at, what, two or three hundred dollars?” She jabbed her hand toward his chest, feeling more than unsettled. The mental sparring between them was beginning to build, and it was exciting. She wasn’t about to back down.

  “Five hundred an hour is the firm’s rate,” he said, “but there’s room for negotiation on a case-by-case basis. Again, Karen, this has nothing to do with me being more important. I have more than you, so I need you to be reasonable.”

  She could feel him trying to shut this down. “You know what?” she said. “Maybe this isn’t a great idea. You’re not hearing me. I love my job, where I live, and the way I practice law. You’re here. This is your home. How about I leave now? I’m sure you can figure out how to get your car back, and I’ll just head home. We’ll forget about this…”

  He walked around the island, shaking his head. “No, Karen, you’re not leaving, and don’t put words in my mouth. I’m not dismissing you or saying what you do is less important, and I’ve certainly never said you’re beneath me. Don’t be ridiculous. I know what you’ve done, and I’m impressed—hell, blown away by some of the cases you’ve handled, the clients you’ve fought for that no one else will. But I never took you for the kind of woman who would cut and run when it got tough. You’re a fighter. Look, let’s just have some dinner, and we’ll talk. I’m tired and hungry. Let’s not fight right now.” He was right in front of her again. She had to remind herself that he was the kind of man who could talk her into anything if she wasn’t careful.

  “It depends, Jack. Does your idea of talking involve you doing all the talking and me listening and agreeing. Because if it does, you’re married to the wrong woman. I’m not the same stupid girl you married—and even when you married me, I was never the kind of girl who would fall into line and follow you anywhere and put all my dreams on hold. If that’s what you’re looking for, that’s not me. I have a life, one I’m not suddenly uprooting because you say I have to.”

  He scrubbed his hands over his face, over his whiskers, having gone three days without shaving. Then the doorbell chimed, and he pulled his hands away and glanced toward the door. The chime echoed through the house.

  “You expecting someone?” she said as he started to the door.

  “Nope,” was all he said, the edge still in his voice.

  She started down the hall, following him, heels clicking, and he unlocked the door and pulled it open. A man was there, dark hair, medium build and height, in a dark sports jacket and dark pants.

  “Well, there you are,” the man said. “Whose piece of shit car is that in the driveway? Please tell me it’s a delivery person or something…” He stepped inside, handsome, around the same age as Jack.

  “Pierce, seriously?” Jack started as he closed the door.

  The man took her in. “Hello,” he said with some amusement, giving everything to her.

  She crossed her arms. “Hi, I’m Karen O’Connell—and that piece of shit is my car,” she added as she stepped forward, but she didn’t hold out her hand.

  Jack just shook his head. “Pierce, this is Karen, my wife,” he said. “And, Karen, this is my cousin, Pierce.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  She found herself seated to the right of Jack, who sat at the head of his dining room table. The dining room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. She had counted four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and she realized this was the kind of house that had everything, including a formal dining room with its own fireplace. She was having a hard time understanding how he lived this way as a single man. It just seemed too much, in her mind, anyway. But then, when she married him, Jack had been about flash and money and nice things. She now knew a little more about him and where he came from, while back then, she hadn’t had a clue.

  “Wow, I still can’t get over the fact that you’re married, and to such a beautiful woman,” Pierce said. The man talked a lot and was polished in a way that had Karen gripping her knife harder than normal as she sliced into the steak Jack had cooked, side by side with his cousin in the kitchen, while Karen had excused herself and explored the house, hoping to get a better idea of who Jack really was and why she now had even more questions about the man, his life, and how she was supposed to fit in.

  She had loved him so deeply, but as she wandered his house, seeing the artwork on the walls, knowing they were originals, not prints, she understood he was a man of means. The place was neat and tidy, not a speck of dust, with expensi
ve furnishings in his home office and master bedroom, all dark woods. What did she really know about who Jack was? Evidently nothing.

  She lifted her glass of water, wishing for something stronger, and realized both men were staring at her. “Sorry, did you say something?”

  Pierce glanced to Jack, and something passed between them. “I asked what you did for a living,” he said.

  Karen said nothing, staring over to Jack. She didn’t know why he wasn’t saying anything, either, so she gave everything to Pierce. “I’m a lawyer,” she said, gesturing toward herself while still holding her knife and fork. Jack rested his hand on hers. The motion was unnerving. Right, table manners. She really was out of her element.

  “Wow, a lawyer. I’m impressed. What, corporate, tax…?” Pierce started.

  “Karen does a lot of small-time criminal cases,” Jack said.

  She was stuck on “small-time.” Was he serious? “Well, actually, I do a little of everything. But mainly it’s criminal law, yes, for those who don’t have anyone else to help them—and no, it’s by no means small-time, not to my clients, who have nothing and no one to fight for them. These are very real cases for very real people who are just seeking justice. Or are we measuring who is more entitled?”

  “Ah, I see, a bleeding heart,” Pierce said.

  Karen squeezed her knife so hard she was positive she would bend it, her hands on either side of her plate. She didn’t care how it looked with the utensils sticking up.

  “So you work for basically nothing?” Pierce said. “I guess someone has to do it for the lower class. Wow, that will look good for you. Brilliant on your part, Jack.” He looked over to Jack as if what Karen had said was amusing.

  She knew her mouth was agape, and she thought she heard her breath squeak.

  Jack shook his head, just taking a bite of steak as if he wasn’t interested in talking about it. “Pierce, knock it off,” was all he said.