Chirp(77)

As Blaze walked across the courtyard, she wanted to scream. Odette had taken over her life. She was making decisions for her. At least the exhibit didn’t start until January. By then she’d be in Houston running Montgomery Steel, and it would be fine for her to reveal her identity. Even so, the attention would be too much. People not only judging her work, but her, too.

Dizzy from the alcohol and the news, she passed the last pile of pumpkins and stepped to the bottom of her stairway. A figure, sitting in the shadows, startled her. Breath rushed from her lungs.

“Rance.”





35


Rance


An hour earlier, when Chirp had disappeared into the house, all Rance could do was wait and rehearse what he’d say.

The wind picked up and scattered leaves from beneath the maple trees lining the street, creating a swirl of red. It wouldn’t be long until the weather turned cold for good. He’d thought about lying in front of the fireplace with her curled against him. But what if she didn’t want him anymore? Served him right.

He glanced at his watch, got out of his car, and ambled across the street. Shrubs hid the view of the stairway from the main house, and he settled on the second step. A catering van sat in the drive, so they must be having a party. There were no sounds of music, laughter or conversation, but that meant nothing. Chirp might even have a date.

He texted Seth and Nick. Wanted them to know he’d found her and promised an update later. Then he turned off his phone so he wouldn’t have any interruptions once he had her alone.

A door closed across the way. Footfalls. A cadence he recognized. He sucked air into his lungs as she rounded the corner. He eyed her from head to toe, trying to make her plain, back at the farmhouse in jeans, digging in the dirt, planting flowers. No luck. Not with her dark hair, trendy clothes, and dangling earrings. She wasn’t Blaze Bledsoe anymore. She was Wren Montgomery. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Rich. And he wasn’t good enough.

“Rance.” Her hand flew to her chest and her voice trembled. “What are you doing here?”

“You left without saying goodbye.”

“There wasn’t time.” Unsteady, she grabbed on to the railing.

Even in the faint light, he saw how pale she was. He wanted to touch her, feel her softness. Have her arch against him as he buried deep inside her. Whisper his name. Beg him for more. “Are you okay?”

“Champagne went to my head.”

“You’ve been drinking?”

“A little. But I’m all right. Let’s go inside.”

He stepped back for her to pass, and she opened the door without a key. “You really shouldn’t leave your place unlocked. Never know when an ex-con might show up on your doorstep.”

She faced him. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Yeah. You’re getting good at recognizing that.” He scanned the room, his eyes settling on the painting of a half-naked man. A young, handsome dude. Clean-cut. About her age. Rance leaned down and studied the guy’s cuticles. Hell, he couldn’t tell if they hugged his fingernails or not. He nodded toward the canvas. “Somebody important to you?”

“He mows the lawn.”

“But—you’d like him to be important?” Rance straightened his shoulders and prayed for the right answer. What if she’d moved on and didn’t love him anymore? Or realized it’d been a crush all along? She’d never said the words because he hadn’t allowed it. His stupid rules. But she’d told Hanna, and women confided in their best friends things they didn’t share with anyone else, so it had to have been true then. But now?

“No.” She turned away, but not before Rance saw a tear roll down her cheek. He wanted to grab on to her and never let go. Tell her what a fool he was. How he’d finally come to his senses. But not before he got everything off his chest.

She walked into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Do you want something to drink? All I have is water.”

What he wanted was to get her naked and fuck her into next week, but that wasn’t a great opening line. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s my fault the PI found you, and I’m sorry. Curiosity got the best of me, but I should have waited until you were ready to tell me about yourself.”

“It’s okay. I don’t blame you anymore. I mean, I did at first. But not now.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Well, I do, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

She took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, gulped, wiped at her eyes, then faced him again. “You look terrible. Not ugly terrible. Because you look really good. I mean, you look worried terrible. So, what’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

She rushed to him. “I love you. I know you don’t want me, to and I’ve tried not to, but I can’t help it. I kept telling myself if I could make a whole day without thinking about you it would mean I was getting over you. But it’s been 153 days, and it hasn’t happened yet.”

Damn. He’d been doing the same thing. He’d argued with himself about how wrong it was on so many levels. She had no business falling for the first man she slept with. An ex-con would never fit in with her rich friends. But the most important reason was the deal breaker. “Once you know me, you won’t love me.”