Conflicting Evidence. Lena Diaz
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never bothered her in the past. Now it seemed like a looming barrier between them.
“Nice. Really nice. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for any ingredients I use.”
“That’s not necessa—”
“I’ll pay you back or I can’t do my baking here. And I really need to have product ready Sunday morning.”
His jaw tightened but he didn’t argue. “Are you hungry? And don’t tell me you won’t eat my groceries. You’re my guest. I insist.”
Guest. What a sad, lonely word. At eighteen, she and Colin had been ready to take on the world together. She’d expected that by twenty-eight she’d be working alongside him, fighting for justice. Coming home every night to a couple of kids, preferably boys with their father’s deep blue eyes and blue-black hair. Every night, she’d fall into his arms in the king-size bed and make love until dawn.
“Thanks.” Her voice came out barely a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I couldn’t eat anything right now. Actually, I’m kind of exhausted. It’s been a rough day all around.”
He studied her a moment, as if he wanted to say something. But then he turned and led her back into the family room. He didn’t stop until they reached the stairs on the far right side. “The guest bedrooms are upstairs. Pick whichever one you like.”
She admired the industrial black metal handrail, smoothed her fingers over the iron cables. Modern farmhouse. A little more masculine and contemporary than she’d have wanted. But gorgeous, just the same. Seeing their dream brought to life—without her—somehow hurt worse than if their dream had never been realized.
“It’s beautiful, Colin. Your home is...perfect.” She smiled wistfully. “I don’t suppose you have a horse barn out back with a palomino mare?”
He shook his head, a faraway look in his eyes. Was he remembering all the times they’d ridden trail ponies through the foothills? Or taken turns on the palomino her father got her for her sixteenth birthday? The same horse she’d had to sell when Brian was arrested and they scraped for every penny to pay for his defense.
“I’ve got a workshop out back, that’s it. You were the one crazy about horses when we were young. Not me.”
Her hand tightened on the railing. “I see.” She took a deep breath, then another, struggling against the urge to cry. She’d rather die than let loose with another onslaught of tears in front of him when he was being so cold.
“Make yourself at home.” His voice sounded strained. “I’m going to bed.” He opened a door to the right of the stairs, a few feet from the main entrance to the house.
He needn’t have bothered shutting the door behind him. He’d already shut her out just fine without one.
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