"That's right."
"You conceived a child with him, Savannah. That boy who's down in the yard, playing with his kittens. How can you just dismiss that?"
Temper streaked through her. "You'd prefer a different story, wouldn't you, Jared? A different story you could live with. One about the poor, innocent, neglected girl looking for love, seduced by an older man, betrayed, abandoned."
"Isn't that what happened?"
"You don't know who I was, what I was, or what I wanted. You don't want to know, not really. Because when you do, when you hear it, it'll stick in your craw. How many men has she been with? Can I believe her when she tells me she didn't sell herself? Even her own father didn't stand by her, so what does that tell me? Now that I look back, I remember she was ready to hit the sheets with me from the get-go. What kind of a woman have I got myself tangled up with? Isn't that what you're wondering, Jared?"
"I'm wondering why there are so many things you don't tell me. Why you shrug off ten years of your life and how they affected you. And, yes, I'm wondering what kind of woman you are."
She threw her head back. "Figure it out." She started to storm out, then came up hard, toe-to-toe with him. "Keep out of my way."
"I'm in your way, and you're in mine. And it's long past time to settle this. You say you love me, but you pull back every time I touch a nerve, every time I want a clear picture of what brought you to this point in your life."
"I brought me here. That's all you need to know."
"It's not all I need to know. You can't build a future without drawing on the past."
"I can. I have. If you can't, Jared, it's your problem. You know what you're doing?" She tossed the question at him. "You're harping on a face in a photograph. You're insulted by it, threatened by it."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? It's all right for you to have been married before, to have had other women in your life. I haven't asked you how many or who or why, have I? It's all right for you to have been wild and reckless, to have sauntered around town with your brothers, looking for trouble or making it. That's just dandy. Boys will be boys. But with me, it's different. The problem is, you got tangled up with me before you thought it through. Now you want to shift the pieces around, see if you can make me into more of what seems suitable to the man you are now."
"You're putting words in my mouth. And you're wrong."
"I say I'm right. And I say the hell with you, MacKade. The hell with you. You want a victim, or you want a flower, or someone who looks just right at some fund-raiser or professional event. You'
ve come to the wrong place. I don't read Kafka."
"What in the sweet hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about reality. The reality is, I don't need this kind of grief from you."
His eyes narrowed. "It's not just about what you need. Not anymore. That's reality, Savannah. I don't have to justify wanting to know how you could toss out that photograph, or dismiss your father's things and not even tell me you had them. I don't have to justify asking you what you want from yourself, from me. From us. Or telling you what I want, what I expect and intend to have. That's everything. Everything or nothing."
"Down to ultimatums, are we?"
"Looks that way. Think about it," he suggested, and strode furiously out.
Steaming, she stood where she was. She listened to the door slam below. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to race to the window, to watch him. Maybe to call him back. Minutes later, she heard the sound of his car.
So, that was that, Savannah thought. All or nothing. He had a nerve, demanding she give him all, leave herself nothing to fall back on. Nothing to cushion a fall. She'd been there once, and the bruises had plagued her for years. By God, she wasn't going back.
Steadying herself, she went downstairs. She ignored the flowers on the table, the champagne chilling in the refrigerator. Maybe she'd drink it herself later, she mused as she took out some hamburger. Maybe she'd drink the whole damn bottle and get herself a nice fizzy buzz. It would be better than thinking, better than hurting. Better even than this simmering anger that was still hot in her blood.
But when the door slammed and she looked around she hated herself for the stab of disappointment when she realized it was her son.
"Is Jared mad at you?"
"Why?"
"I could tell." Uneasy, Bryan sat down, propped his elbows on the table. "He stopped to look at the kittens and stuff, but he wasn't paying attention. And he said he couldn't stay."
"I guess he's mad at me."
"Are you mad at him, too?"