Arrogant Devil(82)

He soothes the patch of slightly red skin with his hand. I swoon.

“You could come with me tomorrow?” he continues, obviously noticing how sad I am that he’s leaving.

I smile. “You go. Make all the deals, shake a bunch of hands, sign contracts, kiss babies. I’ll be here, holding down the fort with Edith.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath (like he’s gathering every ounce of resolve inside of him), and then he steps back and releases me.

“So then I’ll see you when I get back?” he asks. “It could be pretty late.”

“I’ll stay up.”

He seems happy about that, stealing one last kiss before he turns back for the farmhouse.

I watch him walk away and a very clear thought flashes in my head like a neon sign. I try to ignore it and it starts glowing even brighter, as if someone flipped a switch to max brightness. I bat the thought away and my brain says, Nice try, then adds exclamation marks. In the end, I have no choice but to acknowledge the intensely blazing thought:

I AM FALLING IN LOVE WITH JACK MCNIGHT!!!!!!!!!



If you’re curious, one day is made up of 24 hours, which is 1,440 minutes, or 84,000 seconds. 86,000 seconds feels like too long to go without Jack. Sure, technically, I went twenty-eight years without him, but now I’m counting seconds. So far, he’s only been gone for 10,800 of them; I have a lot more seconds to live through before he walks through that front door again. Fortunately, life sees fit to make those seconds as interesting as possible.

While I’m scrubbing the upstairs bathroom, an unfamiliar black SUV pulls up on the gravel drive. It catches my attention for two reasons: it’s fancier than any car I’ve seen at Blue Stone Ranch, and it doesn’t park over near the farm trucks. It pulls up right in front of the house. I push to stand and peer out of the bathroom window just in time to see the driver’s side door open and a tall, well-dressed man step out.

My husband, Andrew, has finally decided to come to Texas.

I had a feeling this day would come. I knew he would eventually track me down and show his face. Andrew has built up a large ego in recent years, and I imagine me leaving in the middle of the night was quite a blow to it. He’s either here to demand I come home or to seek some kind of retribution. Either way, he’ll want some kind of apology from me. He loved nothing more than when I groveled at his feet, begging for his forgiveness and love.

I hate the woman he turned me into, and I refuse to revert back to that outdated facsimile of myself—the subordinate housewife, the woman who took his verbal abuse for years without saying a word. I’ve changed.

He’s staring up at the farmhouse with his hands on his hips, a look of disgust contorting his classically handsome face. He spits in the dirt. I move away from the window and whip my rubber gloves off.

I’m surprised; I thought I’d be more nervous than I am. I feel the exact opposite: calm and resolute. I walk out of that bathroom and down the stairs without a moment’s hesitation. I feel like if I unbuttoned my shirt, I’d find a spandex superhero uniform.

I might not have invited him to come, but I’m glad he’s here. I’m glad, because it dawns on me that he probably still thinks I’m the same old Meredith, ready to tremble at the mere sight of him. For the first time in our marriage, he doesn’t know who he’s messing with.

When I make it downstairs, I call out for Edith, but I don’t get a reply. I guess she must have gone into town. Good. I head for the front door. Andrew’s still standing on the gravel drive, apparently waiting for me to make an appearance.

I wonder how different this meeting would be if Jack was here. I doubt he’d let me face Andrew on my own, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m facing my demon all by myself.

It feels better than I imagined it would, similar to how it felt to leave him that night.

The screen door slams behind me as I step outside.

“Morning, Andrew,” I say with an insincere smile.

His piercing gaze snaps to me and I see rage there like I’ve never seen before. I bet he’s pissed he had to come all the way out here to talk to me. He hates wasting time; busy, important men like him never have enough of it.

“Nice of you to make the trip. For a while, I didn’t think you’d bother. How was your flight?” I asked.

My voice is a sugar-dipped cone with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

“Cut the shit, Meredith.”

My smile holds steady. “Manners, Andrew. Remember, you’re in the south now. But, if you’d like to cut to the chase, I have some bad news: I’m not going back to California with you.”

He sneers at the suggestion. “You honestly think I still want you? Look at yourself. Jesus.”

He’s talking about my work clothes, my t-shirt and jean shorts. My hair, which he only ever saw styled and perfect, is in a high ponytail with an abundance of flyaways. I don’t think he’s seen my face without a pound of makeup in a few years.

“Well, you traveled an awfully long way just to tell me I look like shit, though I do recall you always had a flair for the dramatic. What is it that you came to hear? That you ruined my life?”

He laughs acerbically. “Ruined your life?! Ruin—” He shakes his head and pivots on his foot, turning away and wiping his mouth before he jerks back around and points a finger straight at me. “I gave you more than you fucking deserved. You think you’re the only pretty thing worth something? You’re a dime a fucking dozen.”