It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she’d taken Number Two to the cleaners, too, but he bit it back. It would be petty of him in the face of Erica’s grief. Once he would have said it, once he had been bitter enough that he wouldn’t have cared who he wounded. Maddie had changed that.
“She had started drinking heavily,” Erica continued. “We tried to convince her to get therapy, to control it, and for a while she tried to stop on her own. But she was sad, Reese, so sad. You could see it in her eyes. She was tired of living.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “Suicide?”
“Not technically. Not intentionally. At least, I don’t think so. I can’t let myself think it was. But she couldn’t stop drinking, because it was the only solace she had. The night she died, she’d been drinking heavily and was driving back from Cape Cod. She went to sleep, or at least they think that’s what happened, and she became one more statistic on drunk driving.” Erica’s voice was calm and unemotional, but the pain was in her eyes. She reached out and awkwardly touched his arm, a woman who found it as difficult to receive comfort as she did to give it.
On the taxi ride into the city he asked, “Why did she make me her main beneficiary?”
“Guilt, I think. Maybe love. She was so wild about you in the beginning, and so bitter after the divorce. She was jealous of the ranch, you know. After the divorce, she told me she would rather you’d had a mistress than own that ranch, because she could fight another woman, but that chunk of ground had a hold on you that no woman could equal. That’s why she went after the ranch in the divorce, to punish you.” She gave him a wry smile. “God, how vindictive people can be. She couldn’t see that she simply wasn’t the type of wife you needed. You didn’t like the same things, didn’t want the same things out of life. When you didn’t love her as much as you loved the ranch, she thought it was a flaw in her rather than accepting it as the difference between two very different people.”
Reese had never thought of April in that light, never seen their marriage and subsequent divorce through her eyes. The only thing he had seen in her had been the bitterness, and that was what he had allowed to color his life. It was a blow to learn the color had been false, as if he had been wearing tinted lenses that had distorted everything.
He spent the night in a hotel, the sort of hotel he had once taken for granted. It felt strange to be back on firm financial ground again, and he wondered if he had ever truly missed the trappings of wealth. It was nice to be able to afford the posh minisuite, but he wouldn’t have minded a plain motel. The years without money had rearranged his priorities.
The reading of the will the next day didn’t take much time. April’s family, too caught up in their grief to be hostile, was subdued. So was her father. April had thoroughly thought out the disposal of her possessions, as if she had anticipated her death. She divided her jewelry and personal possessions among family members, likewise the small fortune in stocks and bonds she had owned. It was her bequest to him that left him stunned.
“To Gideon Reese Duncan, my former husband, I leave the amount of his divorce settlement to me. Should he precede me in death, the same amount shall be given to his heirs in a gesture of fairness too long delayed.”
The lawyer droned on, but Reese didn’t hear any of it. He couldn’t take it in. He was in shock. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, staring at the Oriental rug under his feet. She had given it all back, and in doing so had shown him the stark futility of the years of hatred.
The most ironic thing was that he had already let go of it. The inner darkness hadn’t been able to withstand Maddie’s determination. Even if he had never been able to rebuild the ranch to its former size, he would have been happy as long as he had Maddie. He had laughed with her and made love with her, and somewhere along the way his obsession had changed into a love so powerful that now he couldn’t live without her, he could only exist.
His heart suddenly squeezed so painfully that he almost grabbed his chest. Hell! How could he have been so stupid?
Come home with me.
Give me one good reason why I should.
That was all she’d asked for, one good reason, but he hadn’t given it to her. He’d thrown out reasons, all right, but not the one she’d been asking for, the one she needed. She’d all but told him what it was, but he’d been so caught up in what he needed that he hadn’t paid any attention to what she needed. How simple it was, and now he knew what to say.
Give me one good reason why I should.
Because I love you.
HE STRODE THROUGH the door of Floris’s café and stood in the middle of the room. The increase in customers was still going strong, maybe because Floris was safely isolated in the kitchen and Maddie was out on the floor charming everyone with her lazy drawl and sexy walk.
As usual, silence fell when he entered and everyone turned to look at him. Maddie was behind the counter, wiping up a coffee spill while she exchanged some good-natured quips with Glenna Kinnaird. She looked up, saw him and went still, her eyes locked on him.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt and winked at her. “Riddle me this, sweetheart. What has two legs, a hard head and acts like a jackass?”
“That’s easy,” she scoffed. “Reese Duncan.”
There was a muffled explosion of suppressed snickers all around them. He could see the amusement in her eyes and had to grin. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that excluded everyone else in the café and made several women draw in their breath.
Her mouth quirked in that self-amusement that made him want to grab her to him. “This isn’t one of my good days. The only thing holding me together is static cling.”
“Come home with me, and I’ll take care of you.”
She looked him in the eye and said quietly, “Give me one good reason why I should.”
Right there in front of God and most of Crook, Montana, he drew in a deep breath and took the gamble of a lifetime, his words plain and heard by all, because no one was making even the pretense of not listening.
“Because I love you.”
Maddie blinked, and to his surprise he saw her eyes glitter with tears. Before he could start forward, however, her smile broke through like sunshine through a cloud bank. She didn’t take the time to go around the counter; she climbed on top of it and slid off on the other side. “It’s about time,” she said as she went into his arms.
The customers broke into applause, and Floris came out of the kitchen. She sniffed and looked displeased when she saw Madelyn hanging in Reese’s arms with her feet off the floor. “I suppose this means I’ve got to get another waitress,” she muttered.
Someone muttered back, “Hell, Floris, if you’ll just stay in the kitchen we’ll find you another waitress.”
“It’s a deal,” she said, and startled everyone in the café by actually smiling.
HE DIDN’T WAIT to get back to the house before he made love to her; as soon as they were on Duncan land he stopped the truck and pulled her astride him. Madelyn thought her heart would burst as she listened to his roughly muttered words of love and lust and need. She couldn’t get enough of touching him; she wanted to sink into his skin, and she tried to.
When they finally got to the house he carried her inside and up the stairs to their bedroom, where he placed her on the big bed and began stripping her. She laughed, a drugged, wanton sound, as she stretched languidly. “Again?”
“I want to see you,” he said, his voice strained. When she was naked he was silent, struck dumb and enchanted by the changes in her body. They were still slight, but obvious to him because he knew every inch of her. There was just beginning to be a faint curve to her belly, and her breasts were a little rounder, even firmer than before, her nipples darkened to a lush reddish brown. He leaned forward and circled one with his tongue, and her entire body quivered. “God, I love you,” he said, and laid his head on her belly, his arms locked around her hips.
&nb
sp; Madelyn slid her fingers into his hair. “It took you long enough,” she said gently.
“What I lack in quickness, I make up in staying power.”
“Meaning?”
“That I’ll still be telling you that fifty years from now.” He paused and turned his head to kiss her stomach. “I have something else to tell you.”
“Is it good?”
“I think so. Things are going to be changing around here pretty soon.”
“How?” She looked suspicious. “I’m not sure I want things to change.”
“I have a new partner. I called Robert a week or so ago, and he bought in. We’ll be expanding in a big way as soon as I can get started on it. This is now the Duncan and Cannon ranch.”
Madelyn burst into laughter, startling him into lifting his head from her stomach. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don’t call it the D and C. I don’t think I could live on a ranch named after a surgical procedure!”
He grinned, feeling everything in him come alive under the magic spell of her laughter. “It’ll keep the same name,” he said.
“Good.” Slowly her laughter faded, and she gave him a somber look. “Why did you call him?”
“Because I trust you,” he said simply. “Through you, I can trust him. Because it was a good business decision. Because I wanted to show you how a really good ranch operates. Because we’re having a baby. Because, damn it, I’m too damn proud to be satisfied with a second-rate operation. Is that enough reasons?”
“The first one was good enough.” She put her hands on his face and stared at him, her heart in his eyes. It rattled him, even while it made him feel as if he could conquer the world, to see how much Maddie loved him. He started to lean down to kiss her when she said seriously, “Did you know that a ten-gallon hat will really only hold about three quarts?”
ON THE THIRD of November, Madelyn lay in a labor room in Billings, holding Reese’s hand and trying to concentrate on her breathing. She had been there over twenty-four hours and she was exhausted, but the nurses kept telling her everything was fine. Reese was unshaven and had dark circles under his eyes. Robert was somewhere outside, wearing a rut in the tile of the hall.
“Give me another one,” she said. Reese was looking desperate, but she needed something to get her mind off herself.
“India ink really comes from China.”
“You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren’t you? Let’s see.” A contraction interrupted her, and she squeezed his hand as it surged and peaked, then fell off. When she could speak again she said, “The sounds of stomach growling are called borborygmus.” She gave him a triumphant look.
He cradled her hand against his cheek. “You’ve been reading the dictionary again, and that’s cheating. I’ve got a good one. The San Diego Chargers got their name because the original owner also owned the Carte Blanche credit card company. ‘Charge’ is what he wanted the cardholders to say.”
She laughed, but the sound was abruptly cut off as another contraction seized her. This one was a little different in intensity, and in the way it made her feel. She panted her way through it, staring at the monitor with blurring eyes so she could see the mechanical confirmation of what she felt. She lay back against his arm and said weakly, “I don’t think it’s going to be much longer.”
“Thank God.” He didn’t know if he could hold out much longer. Watching her in pain was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he was seriously considering limiting the number of their children to one. He kissed her sweaty temple. “I love you, sweetheart.”
That earned him one of her slow smiles. “I love you, too.” Another contraction.
The nurse checked her and smiled. “You’re right, Mrs. Duncan, it won’t be much longer. We’d better get you into delivery.”
He was with her during delivery. The doctor had kept careful watch on the growing baby and didn’t think she’d have any trouble delivering it. Reese wondered violently if the doctor’s idea of trouble differed from his. It was thirty-six hours since her labor had begun. Less than half an hour after he’d told her about the San Diego Chargers, Reese was holding his red, squalling son in his hands.
Madelyn watched him through tear-blurred eyes, smiling giddily. The expression on Reese’s face was so intense and tender and possessive that she could barely stand it. “Eight pounds, two ounces,” he murmured to the infant. “You just barely made it under the wire.”
Madelyn laughed and reached for both husband and son. Reese settled the baby in her arms and cradled her in his, unable to take his eyes from the both of them. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life, even if her hair was matted with sweat and coming loose from her braid. God, he felt good! Exhausted but good.
She yawned and rested her head against his shoulder. “I think we did a good job,” she announced, examining the baby’s tiny fingers and damp dark hair. “I also think I’m going to sleep for a week.”
When she was in her room, just before she did go to sleep, she heard Reese say it again. “I love you, sweetheart.” She was too sleepy to answer, but she reached out and felt him take her hand. Those were three words she never got tired of hearing, though she’d heard them often during the past months.
Reese sat and watched her as she slept, a smile in his eyes. Slowly his eyelids drooped as he succumbed to his weariness, but not once during his sleep did he turn loose of her hand.
Keep reading for a sneak peek
from Linda Howard’s next thrilling romance,
TROUBLEMAKER
Coming Summer 2016 from William Morrow
CHAPTER 1
WASHINGTON, D.C., AREA
IT WAS ONE of those bright, early-March days that made you think spring had to be here, even though you knew the winter bitch wasn’t yet ready to loosen her grip and move completely out of town. Morgan Yancy sometimes lost track of what season it was anyway. He’d have to stop and think: was he in the Northern Hemisphere, or the Southern? His job demanded that he travel to hellholes at a moment’s notice, so he could find himself going from the Arctic to the Iraqi desert, from there to South America—wherever it was in the world that his talents were needed.
Thirty-six hours ago he’d arrived at the small condo that passed for home these days, slept the first twenty-four hours and awakened to the discovery that his days and nights were mixed up. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. So he stayed up a while, ate some peanut butter smeared on stale crackers, worked on his gear, ran seven miles in the dark city to tire himself out, then conked out again.
When he woke, it was spring—or as good as.
He took a cool shower to blow the rest of the cobwebs out of his head, then rummaged in the refrigerator and found that his last bag of ground coffee had enough in it to make half a pot. Good enough. He opened the carton of milk, sniffed, winced, and poured it down the drain. There was some fuzzy green cheese in the fridge too, so he tossed it. No doubt about it: he had to do some grocery shopping while he was home this time. He could do without cheese and milk, but things got dicey if he didn’t have coffee. Funny how he could go days, weeks, without it, drinking whatever was handy, but when he was home he damn well wanted his coffee.
The bright sunlight lured him out onto his postage-stamp patio. Coffee cup in hand, he stepped out and assessed the situation.
The weather was perfect: just cool enough not to classify as warm, but warm enough that he was comfortable without a jacket. There was a light breeze, and a few cotton-ball clouds floated by.
Well, fuck; life was tough sometimes. He didn’t have a choice about it: he had to go fishing. He’d lose his man-license if he let a day made specially for fishing slip by without taking his boat out.
Besides, the old Shark needed to have the cobwebs blown out of the motor every now and then. He did upkeep on it whenever he was home, but it hadn’t had a good run in about five months—which, come to think of it, might have been how long it had been since he’d had more than a day at ho
me. The team sure as hell had been on a grueling stretch.
He fished his cell phone from the cargo pocket on his right thigh, and called Kodak, a buddy from his GO-Team. Kodak’s real name was Tyler Gordon, but when you have eidetic memory, what the hell else could people call you besides Kodak?
Kodak sounded a little groggy and froggy when he answered, not surprising considering he’d been on the last job with Morgan. “Yeah, wassup?” The combination of hoarseness and borderline consciousness made the words barely intelligible.
“Fishing. I’m taking the Shark out. Wanna go?”
“Fuck, don’t you ever sleep?”
“I’ve been sleeping. I’ve slept for most of two days. What the hell have you been doing?”
“Sometimes not sleeping. I’m sleeping now. Or I was.” There was the sound of a huge yawn. “Have fun, buddy, but I won’t be there having it with you. How long you going to stay out?”
“Until about dark, probably.” He should’ve expected this; Kodak was a horn dog, pure and simple. He’d have thought about getting his
rocks off even before putting some decent food in his belly. Not that Morgan hadn’t thought about getting his own rocks off, but that had come after food, and he hadn’t gotten any further than the thought.
There was another yawn. “I’ll give it a pass this time. Catch you later.” The air went dead as Kodak disconnected.
Morgan shrugged and slipped the phone back into his pocket. So he’d be fishing alone today. He didn’t mind. Most times, he preferred it. The sun, the wind, the water, the blessed solitude—it was great, especially when he was unwinding from a job.
Within five minutes he’d downed enough coffee to get him by, pulled on a shirt and some socks and boots, and was in his truck heading for the marina. Breakfast came from a fast-food drive-through, but hell, it wasn’t as if he didn’t eat crap most days of his life anyway. Besides, in his opinion America had some great-tasting crap. If the fat police really wanted to complain about food, they should go to some of the shit-holes he’d visited; after that, then maybe they’d have a deeper appreciation for tasty crap.