This Heart of Mine (Chicago Stars #5)(34)

"Stop that." It was bad enough that she had to endure his arrogance and the threatening glare of his good looks. She didn't have to tolerate fresh air, too. "Will you go away?"

As he gazed around at her condo, she noticed the dirty dishes littering the kitchen counter, the bathrobe hanging over the end of the couch, and the dusty tabletops. He was an uninvited guest, and she didn't care.

"You blew off the appointment with the attorney yesterday."

"What appointment?" She shoved a hand into her ratty hair, then winced as it caught on a snarl. Half an hour ago she'd stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth, but she couldn't remember taking a shower. And her shabby gray Northwestern nightshirt smelled like poodle.

"The annulment?" He glanced toward the pile of unopened mail spilling out of the white Crate & Barrel shopping bag next to the door and said sarcastically, "I guess you didn't get the letter."

"I guess. You'd better leave. I might still be contagious."

"I'll take my chances." He wandered over to the windows and gazed down at the parking lot. "Nice view."

She closed her eyes to sneak in a nap.



Kevin didn't think he'd ever seen anyone more pathetic. This pasty-faced, stringy-haired, musty-smelling, sniffling, sad-eyed female was his wife. Hard to believe she was the daughter of a showgirl. He should have let his attorney take care of this, but he kept seeing the raw desperation in her eyes when she'd begged him to hold her legs together, as if brute strength alone could keep that baby inside her.

I know you hate me, but…

He couldn't quite hate her any longer, not after he'd watched her fruitless struggle to hold on to that baby. But he did hate the way he felt, as if he had some sort of responsibility for her. Training camp started in less than two months. He needed to be focusing all his energy on getting ready for next season. He gazed at her resentfully.

You have to set an example, Kevin. Do the right thing.

He moved away from the windows and stepped over her worthless, pampered dog. Why did someone with her millions live in such a small place? Convenience, maybe. She probably had at least three other addresses, all of them in warm climates.

He sank down on the sectional couch at the opposite end from where she was lying and studied her critically. She must have dropped ten pounds since the miscarriage. Her hair had grown longer, nearly to her jawline, and it had lost that silky sheen he remembered from their wedding day. She hadn't bothered with makeup, and the deep bruises under those exotic eyes made her look as if she'd been somebody's punching bag.

"I had an interesting conversation with one of your neighbors."

She settled her wrist over her eyes. "I promise I'll call your attorney first thing in the morning if you'll just leave."

"The guy recognized me right away."

"Of course he did."

She wasn't too tired for sarcasm, he noticed. His resentment simmered.

"He was more than happy to gossip about you. Apparently you stopped emptying your mailbox a few weeks ago."

"Nobody sends me anything interesting."

"And the only time you've left your apartment since Thursday night is to take out your pit bull."

"Stop calling him that. I'm recovering from a cold, that's all."

He could see her red nose, but somehow he didn't think a cold was the only thing wrong with her. He rose. "Come on, Molly. Holing up like this isn't normal."

She peered at him from beneath her wrist. "Like you're an expert on normal behavior? I heard you were swimming with sharks when Dan found you in Australia."

"Maybe it's depression."

"Thank you, Dr. Tucker. Now, get out."

"You lost a baby, Molly."

He'd made a statement of fact, but it was as if he'd shot her. She sprang up from the couch, and the way her expression turned feral told him more than he wanted to know.

"Get out of here before I call the police!"

All he had to do was walk through the door. God knew he had enough aggravation on his plate right now with the publicity the People article had kicked up. And just being with her was making his gut churn. If only he could forget the way she'd looked when she'd been trying to hold on to that baby.

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he tried to cut them off. "Get dressed. You're coming with me."

Her rage seemed to frighten her, and he watched her struggle to make light of it. The best she could manage was a pitiful croak. "Been smoking a little too much weed, have you?"

Furious with himself, he stomped up the five steps that led to her bedroom loft. Her pit bull shadowed him to make sure he didn't steal the jewelry. He looked down at her from over the top of the kitchen cabinets. God, he hated this. "You can either get yourself dressed or go with me the way you are. Which will probably get you quarantined by the Health Department."

She lay back on the couch. "You're so wasting your breath."

It would be for only a few days, he told himself. He was already in a foul mood about being forced to drive up to the Wind Lake Campground. Why not make himself completely miserable by bringing her along?

He'd never intended to go back there, but he couldn't avoid it. For weeks he'd been telling himself he could sell off the property without seeing it again. But when he couldn't answer any of the questions his business manager had posed, he'd known he had to bite the bullet and see exactly how run-down it had become.