Kiss Me (Fool's Gold #17)(40)

His father had stared at him, his eyes bloodshot, his skin gray.

“I have to be with her,” he’d said. “I can’t live without her.”

Zane had wanted to protest that he couldn’t live without his mother, either, but somehow he managed. He wanted to yell that he was still a kid and that it was wrong for his dad to want to die and leave Zane alone. But he didn’t say anything. He just stood there—watching.

Eventually his father had put the gun away. They’d never talked about it, but every day when Zane came home from school, he wondered if his dad would still be there. Every night as he lay in bed, he listened for the sound of a gunshot.

Zane shook off the memories. His father was gone. The old man might not have paid much attention to his oldest son, but he’d taught him a good lesson. Love turned a man inside out. It ripped him in two and destroyed his world. Better to keep things simple. Better to want than to need.

He turned his attention back to Phoebe, to the curve of her cheek and the way she tucked her hair behind her ears. To the swell of her breasts and the question of what she would taste like if he licked and kissed his way from her toes to the sweet, salty wetness between her thighs.

Dammit all to hell, he thought as he tossed down his fork. All it took was one image like that in his brain, and he was hard as a rock. He was too old to be that out of control. Yeah, it had been a long time since he’d had a lady friend to visit in town, but so what? He often had long stretches without relief. That didn’t mean he had to go around all jacked up like a kid in puberty. It was embarrassing.

Besides, Phoebe wasn’t like the women he usually chose. She wasn’t divorced, widowed or old enough to know better. She had happily-ever-after scrawled across her face as clearly as if it was a tattoo. He knew her type, and he steered clear of them. Sally had been like that, and he still felt badly when he thought of how their marriage had ended.

Nope, he knew what was right, and that meant staying away from the brown-eyed beauty with the full mouth and big heart. When they got back to the ranch, he would make a point of going to Fool’s Gold or maybe Sacramento to find himself a nice woman looking for a little uncomplicated action.

* * *

C.J. IGNORED THE chill in the water as she washed her hands after lunch. She used the towel Cookie had given them, then hesitated, not sure if she should wait for Thad to finish or make her escape while she could.

She knew he wanted to talk, and she had a feeling she knew what he was going to say. After this many years together, she understood how his mind worked and what he was thinking. The thing was, she didn’t want to hear it.

“Lucy and Tommy seem to be having a good time,” he said.

Trying not to feel trapped, C.J. nodded. Thad was a good man, she told herself. One of the things she loved about him was his goodness.

“Their foster situation doesn’t seem suitable.”

She sucked in a breath. “We have no way of knowing that. You know how kids exaggerate. Besides, that’s not our responsibility. We’re here to make sure they have fun and stay safe. They’re doing both.”

She braced herself for Thad’s response, but he surprised her by not saying anything. In a way, his refusal to remind her that children were everyone’s responsibility made her feel empty inside. As if he had finally figured out there was no point in trying to convince her that adopting any child would be better than having no child at all.

He’d never understood, no matter how many times she’d explained. He was softhearted and she... C.J. handed him the towel, then started back toward camp. She wasn’t sure what she was. Of course she felt badly that Lucy and Tommy seemed unhappy in their foster home. She wasn’t a complete bitch. But their unhappiness had nothing to do with her. It wasn’t her fault, and she was in no position to fix the situation. She couldn’t fix anything—certainly not herself.

Thad caught up with her and touched her arm. She stopped walking but refused to look at him. Instead she stared at the bright green leaves on the tree next to them, then at the patterns and colors of brown making up the bark.

“C.J.?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then gave in because she’d loved him from the first moment she’d seen him back in college. She opened her eyes and stared at his face.

He smiled gently, then brushed her cheek with his fingers.

His gentleness, his compassion, made her throat ache.

“I wonder if we could figure out the actual odds of there being something wrong with both of us,” she said bitterly. “Is there some statistical table we could consult to find out the mathematical impossibility of our situation? It’s so unfair. Why couldn’t it just be one of our faults? I want someone to blame, even if it was me.”

He slipped his hand to the back of her neck and drew her close. “There’s no fault in any of this.”

“There should be.”

“Blaming won’t help. It’s just one of those things.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder and inhaled the familiar scent of him. Soap, fabric softener and that indefinable essence that would allow her to pick him out in a crowd, even if she was blindfolded.

“You’re so reasonable,” she whispered.

“Is that bad?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I just want to scream and pout and be unreasonable. Sometimes I think I won’t stay sane any other way.”