That was how much she’d loved her husband, how devoted she’d been to him.
“You can’t hide your hurt from me, Tara. I know how hollow you feel right now. You loved that man, and he’s taken all your happiness and trust and left you with nothing. You will never be the same. Never.”
No.
The single word came from a place deep inside Tara, an absolute denial of her mother’s assessment of the situation. She’d planned a future with Simon, but she hadn’t made him her everything. She’d never given a man that kind of power over her life and happiness. She might feel foolish, she might be embarrassed, but she wasn’t broken. She wasn’t shattered.
She frowned, trying to grasp the realization she sensed hovering just out of reach. Then that moment in the corridor at work today came back to her—Reid’s thumb brushing her cheekbone, the heat from the small contact ricocheting through her body long after he’d gone—and something shifted inside her. Blinking stupidly, she suddenly understood something she’d never allowed herself to acknowledge before.
She had never loved Simon the way a woman should love her husband. He had never set her world on fire or consumed her thoughts. He had been good and steady. He had been attentive and kind. A good choice, in other words, for a woman bent on not repeating her mother’s mistakes.
“Mom, you’ll make yourself sick,” Tara said, urging her mother toward the kitchen table so she could take a seat.
Inside, she was reeling as the full repercussions of her epiphany hit home: she’d almost married a man she didn’t love.
“I’ll take her. Why don’t you see if she’s got any of her tablets left?” Scarlett said from the doorway.
Tara had been so distracted, she hadn’t heard the front door or her sister’s footsteps in the hall. Scarlett edged Tara out of the way, giving Tara a sympathetic look before guiding their mother into a chair. Tara seized the reprieve her sister had offered and escaped to the hallway, walking briskly to her mother’s bedroom.
She sank onto the end of the bed, feeling a little as though someone had sneaked up behind her and smacked her on the head with a two-by-four. She’d felt foolish yesterday when Reid had told her what he’d seen, but that was nothing compared to the searing sense of her own stupidity she was experiencing right now.
She’d made a deal with the devil, trading off love and passion for security and dependability—and then her stable, safe husband-to-be had cheated on her with a seventeen-year-old.
Her mother’s voice floated down the hallway, tinged with hysteria, and Tara pushed herself to her feet. There would be plenty of time for self-recrimination later. Right now, she had her mother to deal with.
Chapter Five
It was past ten that night when Tara opened the door to her sister.
“Well. That was a barrel of laughs,” Scarlett said. “Finally got Mom to go to bed. A minor freaking miracle.”
At her sister’s insistence, Tara had left her sister to finish the Herculean task of calming their mother. Scarlett had argued that with Mitch away, settling his affairs in Australia so he could move permanently to Montana, she had plenty of time on her hands, and Tara had let herself be talked out the door. There was only so much a person could handle, and Tara recognized that she had already pushed the envelope once today.
Now, Scarlett brushed past her as she entered the house, stopping in her tracks when she saw the packing boxes piled all over the living room.
“Don’t tell me you’re moving out?” Scarlett couldn’t look more aghast if she tried. “He’s the rat, Tara. He’s the one who goes, not you.”
“Relax. I’m just packing his stuff.” As well as anything that reminded her of him. Which, it turned out, was quite a bit.
“Oh. That’s all right, then. Do you need a hand with anything?”
“Sure. Grab a box. Shove some stuff in it. Join the party.”
Scarlett gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Have you been drinking?”
“Maybe.” She’d needed it after her epiphany.
“Thank God. Hit me with whatever you’re having.”
Tara led the way into the kitchen, pulling down two glasses and pouring vodka shots for both of them. Scarlet gave her a look.
“You been drinking out of the bottle up until now?”
“Yep.”
Tara was well aware that her younger-by-five-minutes sister considered her to be a stick-in-the-mud goody-two-shoes. Scarlett looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or appalled by the fact that she’d caught her sister drinking hard liquor straight from the bottle.
Tara knocked her shot back, hissing as the alcohol burned its way down. Scarlett followed suit, shaking her head.
“Yow. Okay, that should take the edge off.”
Tara walked back into the living room and resumed stacking Simon’s books into a box.
“Has he called?” Scarlett asked.
“Five times.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No, ma’am, I did not.”
“Good. Have you spoken to the school yet?”
“Why would I do that?” Tara asked, frowning at her sister.
“Because he’s screwing one of his students. He needs to lose his job.”
Tara smiled grimly. “I think you’re forgetting we live in a town with a population of ten thousand people. I guarantee that the school principal knew about Simon’s extra-curricular activities about five seconds after I did.”
“Good point. So he’ll be out of a job first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’m guessing he’s already had a phone call telling him not to come in.”
Simon’s life was in the toilet, no question about it. His career was shot, his reputation ruined. Then there were Paige’s parents...
“You know Paige’s dad used to be a pro football player?” Tara said conversationally. The vodka had set up a little heat factory in her belly, sending warmth radiating through her body.
“You’re kidding me.”
“He played two seasons with the Patriots. Apparently they used to call him The House.”
Scarlett pressed her fingers over her lips to try to hide her smile.
“And Paige’s mother is the head of the local chapter of the NRA.”
Scarlett laughed outright. “No shit.”
“No shit.”
Scarlett’s smile faded as she studied Tara. “You must feel so goddamned betrayed and heartbroken.”
Tara glanced down at the box full of Simon’s books. “Well, one out of two isn’t bad.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Scarlett asked.
Tara eyed her sister, then walked to the couch and dropped into the cushions. She needed to be sitting for this conversation, she was pretty sure.
“I didn’t love Simon. At least, I didn’t love Simon in the way you should probably love the person you’re planning on spending the rest of your life with.”
“What are you talking about? You and Simon were great together. You were glowing when he asked you to marry him.” Scarlett was looking at her as though she had rocks in her head.
“He was safe.” There was a bunch of other stuff she could say, but that was it in a nutshell, really.
Scarlett was frowning, looking confused. “Well, yeah. He’s a school teacher. He loves history. Sometimes he wears white socks with jeans. But you loved him, Tara.”
“As a friend. As a person that I liked spending time with. But he didn’t make me breathless. He didn’t make all the little hairs on my arms stand on end sometimes, just because he walked into the room. I didn’t dream about him. He was... a good choice. Solid.”
Scarlett sat down beside her. “You really mean it.”
Tara nodded. It had taken her most of the evening to sift through her own feelings and responses after her moment of clarity at her mother’s house. For instance, she now understood that the anger she’d had so much trouble bottling up today had been all for herself, because she had very de
liberately played it safe and picked a man who had Good Husband stamped all over him in an attempt to ensure her marriage would go the distance, and life had blown a big fat raspberry at her.
If you stepped back far enough and squinted, the irony of it all was kind of funny—especially if you’d had enough vodka. It was also really, really unfair. She’d been prepared to sacrifice a lot of things in order to secure her future happiness.
She’d been prepared to ignore the way she felt when Reid looked at her or touched her. She’d resigned herself to always wondering, never knowing. She’d accepted warmth and friendship instead of the intensity she’d witnessed between Scarlett and her new husband, Mitch, when he’d flown into town from Australia a few months ago and swept Scarlett off her feet and all the way to the altar.
And for what? Simon had betrayed and humiliated her anyway. She’d sacrificed all the good in an attempt to avoid the bad and gotten the bad anyway, regardless.
“I don’t know what to say,” Scarlett said, breaking the silence. “No, actually, that’s not true. I do know what to say—I’m glad. I’m glad that dirty cradle-robber didn’t break your heart, and I’m glad that you aren’t going to spend the rest of your life married to someone you don’t love.”
Tara studied the pale mark on her finger, the only sign she’d ever worn an engagement ring. “I’m not quite at the glad stage yet. But I can almost see it, on the horizon.”
“It doesn’t mean Simon isn’t a complete asshole,” Scarlett said.
“Oh, he’s definitely an asshole.” An asshole with no self-control or ethics, and dubious values.
An asshole who had made it necessary for her to make an appointment for an STD check first thing tomorrow morning.
“Tara... “ Scarlett reached out and took her hand. “What happened with Mom and Dad... it sucked. But that doesn’t mean we should spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, worried the same thing is going to happen to us.”
“You appreciate the irony of saying that when it already has happened to me, right?” Tara said.
“No, it hasn’t. Mom adored Dad. He took a part of her with him when he left,” Scarlett said quietly.
Tara stared at her sister for a long moment. Then she nodded.
“You’re right. It’s different.” That was the realization she’d had today, after all. The hurt she was feeling was nothing compared to her mother’s, because her feelings hadn’t been as deeply engaged.
“The truth is, life is a crapshoot,” Scarlett said. “You can die choking on a peanut, or you can live to be a hundred.” She shrugged. “No one knows. But you know what? I’m not gonna stop eating peanuts. I love Mitch more than I can say, and if something happens to him, or between us, I am going to be a hot mess for a long time. But I’m not going to give him up, either.”
Her sister’s words had the ring of absolute truth about them. Tara squeezed her sister’s hand.
“You’re braver than me,” she admitted.
“No, I’m not. We’re just brave in different ways. I would never have been able to make myself marry Simon, for example. Not for all the security in Fort Knox.”
“I would never have taken off for the other side of the world to marry a man I’d met on the internet,” Tara said.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “And look how well that turned out.”
“You still did it. There are so many things I have never done because I was too scared or I thought it wouldn’t look good or some other stupid, dumb reason.”
“Like what?” Scarlett asked.
Tara thought for a moment. “‘I’ve never traveled.”
“Easily fixed. Next.”
“I always wanted a motorbike.”
Scarlett’s jaw dropped. “Shut the front door.”
Tara nodded. “Not a Harley Hog or anything huge. It looks like fun, you know?”
“What else? No, wait!”
Scarlett scrambled to her feet and rushed into the kitchen. When she came back she was carrying the bottle of vodka and a pad and pen.
“We should make a list, so you don’t forget any of this stuff. A bucket list.”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“Okay, a fuck-it list, then.”
They both laughed. For the first time in days, Tara felt okay. Not happy—it was going to be a while before she could forgive herself for the mistakes and decisions she’d made—but okay.
“Item number one: a new haircut,” Scarlett said, pretending to write it down.
Tara shoved her sister in the shoulder. “Nice try. Put the motorbike at the top of the list.”
Scarlett grinned and did so. “What next?”
Tara gazed off into the distance. There were so many things...
“I want to have a reckless, wild affair with a man I can’t say no to,” she said, the words popping out of her mouth without her even thinking about them.
“Better than the bike. Way better,” Scarlett said, adding it to the list. “I’m putting it at the top.”
Tara reached up to scratch her nose, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. Thank God her sister wasn’t a mind reader, because she didn’t want to have to explain why she’d had Reid’s image in her head when those words had slipped out of her mouth.
“What next?” Scarlett asked, pen poised.
Tara reached for the vodka bottle. It was going to be a long list.
Five days later, Reid shouldered the ladder and began the walk back to the house. They’d have to start netting soon, the fruit being at a point where birds would soon be interested in trying their luck, but the apple scab his father had been worried about appeared to have finally been vanquished. For now. The battle with Mother Nature was never truly over, and no side ever really won or lost. Growing up on the orchard had taught him that.
“Reid.”
He looked up to see his mother making her way toward him, his phone in her hand
“Hey. I was just coming in now,” he said.
This was his first day off all week, and he’d spent the bulk of it in the orchard, taking care of all the little jobs his father wasn’t quite up to tackling.
“Your phone made a noise. I knew you’ve been expecting something, so... “ His mother passed the phone over.
Reid set down the ladder. “It’s probably just one of the guys.”
But when he opened the email, the first thing he saw was the Klieg Security Group logo.
“Well?” his mother asked.
“It’s from Klieg.”
“And?”
He scanned the email. “I’ve been shortlisted. They want me to go back for another interview.”
“I knew it. Congratulations.” His mother rested her hand on his shoulder as she leaned in to give him a kiss.
She was smiling, but her eyes were sad as she released him.
“Did they say when they might want you to start?”
“I think all of that’s up for grabs,” he said. “If I get the job.”
“They’d be crazy not to take you.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket and hefted the ladder. They both began walking. His mother was uncharacteristically silent, and when he glanced across at her she looked pensive.
“Might as well spit it out, Mom,” he said.
Because she clearly wanted to talk about something. His dad, probably. Although why she thought Reid’s nagging would have any more affect than hers he didn’t know.
“All right, smarty pants.” She ran her hand over the top of her head, smoothing her dark, shoulder-length hair. “Hank Dearborn called me yesterday. He wanted to talk to me about buying out the orchard.”
Reid frowned. The Dearborn family had a smaller orchard a little further out of town, and last year they’d started bottling their own cider and marketing it locally.
“I thought Dad rejected an offer from them a few years ago?”
“He did. But things are different now, and I wanted to talk to you before I spoke to your father.”
Reid stopped and let the ladder rest on the ground. This wasn’t the kind of conversation you had on the run.
“He’s going to say the same thing he said last time—no,” Reid said.
“He might. Or he might see things the way I do. Neither of us is getting any younger, and since you’re not interested in taking on this place, we need to think about the future. If we sell now, we won’t have the pressure of it hanging over our heads. Your father can relax a little.”
“Dad doesn’t want to relax.”
“Well, he needs to,” his mother said, her tone a little sharp.
“Mom, what’s he going to do? Sit around and read the paper all day? He’s sixty-three.”
“And he’s got more metal in his leg and pelvis than that damned ladder you’re holding. The fact is, we have to make this decision sometime, Reid, and it’s never going to be easy.”
Reid glanced up at the Macintosh apple tree spreading its branches over her head. His grandfather had planted it in 1954, along with the Granny Smiths. The Early Golds had come later, and the Cortlands were his father’s additions. When he was ten, he’d planted a row of trees, too, and every time he was home he made a point of checking on them.
“We don’t expect you to give up your dreams to live ours,” his mother said. “But we can’t hang onto this place just because it holds sentimental value for you. It’s not a pocket watch, it’s a dirty, great big orchard.”
It was true, his parents had never so much as hinted that they were disappointed he hadn’t followed the family tradition and studied law. He’d made it clear from his early teens that he wanted to travel, and they had encouraged him to do so and always been interested in what work he was doing and the places he’d seen. But he didn’t believe for a second that they didn’t care about the orchard, or that they wouldn’t feel it if they had to let it go. Hell, he’d feel it, and he’d always resented the place.
Almost A Bride (Montana Born Brides) Page 5
