She sneered at the word. In a wife.
She hated him for that, really hated him for making her start to think, start to hope and even plan along those lines, without her even being aware of it. Until Bryan brought it up, she hadn't realized she was dreaming, just a little, about happy-ever-after.
Like the fairy tales she illustrated, with their strong and passionate princes.
It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. A woman like her, a woman who had managed through sheer will and grit to shrug off the bruises life handed out, to be brought this low by a man.
She'd survived alone. She'd gone hungry, worked until she was dizzy with fatigue, had taken jobs that scraped at her pride. She'd been turned out by her own father when she needed him most.
And none of that, not one of the painful or difficult experiences in her life, had ever left her as low as this.
And none of that, she had made certain, had ever brought Bryan one moment's sadness.
She took a deep breath, then another. She would show Jared MacKade just what kind of woman she was. The kind of woman who didn't need him.
Jared decided brooding on the front porch with a beer on a Saturday afternoon wasn't such a bad thing. He was almost enjoying it. It was a beautiful day, and he was pleasantly fatigued from the morning's work.
His brothers were with him, and it was a good feeling, to have all of them there. Just passing an hour, he mused, at home. Watching the grass grow and the dogs race over it.
Maybe, just maybe, in a little while, he'd stroll on over to the cabin. He figured he'd given her time enough to stew, to calm down and see reason.
He'd given himself almost enough time, as well. He was almost ready, not quite but almost ready, to admit he'd been somewhat heavy-handed. Maybe just the slightest bit unreasonable.
Still, she'd been ridiculous. Accusing him of being threaten
ed by a photograph, of wanting a different kind of woman. Of not being satisfied with her because she didn't read Kafka.
God knew where she'd come up with that.
He didn't appreciate the comparison of her life with his, either. Made him sound like a narrow-minded sexist. Which he certainly was not.
It was different, that was all.
"Talking to himself," Devin commented as he whittled as a piece of wood.
"Been doing it since he got here yesterday." Shane yawned and kicked back in his chair. "You ask me, Savannah kicked his butt out."
That, and Rafe's snorting laugh, snagged Jared's attention. "She did not. I left to make a point."
"Yeah." Rafe winked at Devin. "What point was that?"
Eyes narrowed, Jared tipped back his beer. "That she'd better start seeing things the way they are."
This statement was greeted by hoots.
"His way," Rafe pointed out. "It always has to be his way or no way."
"Bull." Unoffended, Jared crossed his ankles. "It just has to be the right way."
From his perch on the top step, Devin shifted, leaned his back against the post. "So, what was she doing wrong?"
"She holds back. I get a call from Howard Beels this morning, thanking me for introducing them. Seems she went over there yesterday and he bought three of her paintings." Just thinking of it had him simmering again. "Does she tell me? No. What kind of relationship is that? I don't get anything out of her without a direct question, and then she only answers half the time."
Amused, Shane stretched his arms. "And I just bet you've been full of questions, too. What happened then? What did you do? What chain of events led to that? And where were you on the night in question?"
Jared's punch would have been stronger if Shane hadn't been a full arm's length away. "I don't interrogate her. I ask. I want to know about her. A man has a right to know the woman he's going to marry."
Rafe choked on a gulp of beer. "When did that happen?"