Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(48)

All five of them burst into laughter. “You’ve been a lot of things in your life, Mom,” commented Dakota. “Vain has never been one of them.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Desiree inclined her head ruefully. “Of course, that’s probably because I’ve never had anything to be vain about.”

“That’s not true.” The words burst from Jesse before he could stop them. “You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.”

Desiree’s eyes widened as they met his. Electricity arced between them, powerful and intense, and her laugh, when it came, was awkward. “Yeah, right. I’m a regular cover model—all six gangly feet of me.”

Rio cleared his throat, disturbed more than he wanted to admit by the sudden tension streaming between his parents. “Do you need any help cleaning up, Mom?” he asked.

Jesse watched as she broke their contact and focused on their son. “Go on to bed, all of you.” She included Jesse in her sweeping motion. “I’m just going to stay and make sure the caterers get things packed up and get off all right. The rest can be cleaned up tomorrow.”

“We can stay and help,” Brooke offered, though she swayed with exhaustion. “With all of us working—”

“Rio, take your wife up to bed. She looks like she’s going to drop,” Jesse interrupted. “You go, too, Dakota. Your mom and I can handle this.”

When the kids had left, Desiree turned to him. “You don’t need to stay. I can handle things, really.”

He studied her, noticing her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes for the first time. “You look exhausted.” His tone was more accusatory than he liked.

She stared at him in disbelief as her hands clenched into fists by her sides. “It’s been a long day, Jesse. Filled with surprises,” she said shakily.

Guilt hit him hard, a quick punch to the gut that nearly had him doubling over. He had done this to her. He had ruined their daughter’s wedding day with his impulsiveness.

He wanted to say something to erase the haunted look in her eyes. It had been his intention to have it out with her tonight; he had planned on confronting her and demanding an explanation about Tom Bradford. But she looked so tired, so beaten, that he couldn’t bring himself to kick her when she was down. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with things between them. He knew her well enough to know that by tomorrow all of her defenses would be back in place.

“Go to bed, Desi.” His voice was husky with everything that had been left unsaid. “I’ll pay the caterers.”

“I can take care of it—”

“Damn it, Desiree. I know you can take care of it. I know you can do everything. But you’re dead on your feet. Go to bed and let me take care of this for you.”

She froze at his tone, her eyes growing wider. When she spoke, her voice was stilted. “Okay, then. Thank you.” Her bare feet whispered across the floor as she all but ran for the door.

He stared after her, cursing himself. He’d hurt her again, though he hadn’t meant to. When had she gotten so sensitive? He laughed unpleasantly. When had he become such a bastard?

He grabbed a beer from behind the bar before sinking into a chair in the corner, as far out of the way as he could get from where the catering staff was packing up. He popped the top and took a long swallow before propping his feet on a nearby seat.

Silently contemplating the beer, he brooded as he listened to the activity going on around him. Long minutes passed before he remembered the book Willow had given him. Desiree’s journal. He pulled it out of his pocket to stare at it. He wanted to open it and read what was inside. But he wasn’t sure, even after all these years, that he could handle it. That he could deal with Desiree’s true opinion of the ranch and of him.

Eventually he did open it, of course, because he could do nothing else. He read the first entry quickly, his eyes widening with disbelief as he skimmed her thoughts on love, on destiny. Page after page, he was shocked and abruptly humbled by this rare glimpse into his wife’s mind. Perhaps that’s what his daughter had had in mind when she’d handed it to him.

He read voraciously, stopping only when his gaze fell on a date he couldn’t bear to remember. He nearly closed the book, nearly walked away from it to avoid reading his wife’s thoughts about what had happened on August 6, 2006. It was a day he had come to think of as the beginning of the end of their marriage. He’d lived and relived it in his thoughts and dreams nearly every night for the past two years, and he really didn’t want to read about it from Desiree’s point of view.

But he’d never been a coward, had never walked away from the more unpleasant tasks in life. So, with a grimace and a long swallow of beer, he began to read.

How do you take back what you say in anger? How do you fight a battle that seems completely unwinnable? I’m so tired that I don’t know if I can fight anymore. How can anyone be this tired at forty-seven—tired and angry and so disgusted with myself that I can barely look at myself in the mirror or my husband in the eye?

Things had been going so well. Rio had just come home from school and was working on the ranch. Jesse and I had managed to smooth out so many of the rough edges that have crept into our marriage through the years. Then I went and ruined it. No, we ruined it, because he must take at least partial responsibility for what has happened.