The Texas Rancher's Vow. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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of acknowledgment in Jen’s eyes. “Calling me would have been nice.”
Matt had never been one to shift the blame for his mistakes, but in this instance, he knew he wasn’t at fault. Stupidly naive, maybe, to think his gallantry would be received in the spirit it was given. He pushed on. “It would have been a waste of time. Yours and mine. Because the end result would have been the same. You would have ordered the repairs and had them done here, by the person we told you was the best.” Matt sauntered closer and saw her eyes widen in sensual awareness. “And you know why?” he murmured.
Her lower lip thrust out petulantly. “Because I had no choice?”
He shook his head, his heart going out to her, because he knew what it felt like to want things to go one way, and have them constantly go another. “Because you love that van as much as I love my pickup.”
“I didn’t tell you that so you could use it against me,” she retorted, looking distraught.
Matt put his hands on her shoulders and held her there when she would have run away from what was happening between them. “Say that again?”
Turbulent emotion tautened her pretty features. “I don’t want you taking charge of my life.”
He watched her, unsure how to help. “That isn’t what I was doing.”
Her mouth curved resentfully as she accused in a low, trembling tone, “That is exactly what you were doing, Matt.” She tapped an emphatic rhythm against the center of his chest. “And. I. Don’t. Like. It.”
He caught her hand and held it over his heart, aware they were finally beginning to get somewhere.
Wanting her to open up even more, he asked, “What’s really going on here? Are we talking about me now?” Certain he had her full attention, he waited another beat. “Or someone else?”
Matt’s assumption was so on target, Jen couldn’t help it, she swore in frustration and anger and confusion.
He grinned, pleased his needling was affecting her. He cupped her chin in his hand and urged, “Use your words. The ones not affiliated with your opinion of me.”
Jen felt as if the situation had knocked the wind out of her. For the sake of her pride, she pretended that she wasn’t glad to see Matt. Wasn’t glad to have him trying to help her, even if everything he was doing and saying was wrong.
Her hands flattened against the front of his shirt. “What I am trying to tell you,” she said, “is that I have been down this road before.”
“With another take-charge guy. Your ex-husband, maybe?”
“Yes.” Feeling as if her knees could no longer support her, she moved toward the only available seating—his bed—and sank down on the edge of it. “When it started out, I thought he was just being thoughtful and considerate. I didn’t have any money. Dex did. He wanted life to be nice for me.”
Matt sat down facing her. “What’s wrong with that?”
Everything, as it happened.
Jen looked deep in his eyes and tried not to think about how he would look at her once he knew the whole truth. “By the time Dex and I divorced, I wasn’t making any decisions for myself,” she admitted miserably. “Everything was decided for me.”
Matt furrowed his brow. “He wanted you to conform to what he thought was appropriate? For the woman who was his wife?”
Jen wished it had been that simple. Or that she had been strong enough to stand up for herself and fight for what she wanted.
But she hadn’t been able to do it then. She’d been stuck in people-pleasing mode.
Embarrassed, she had to force herself to go on. “Dex wanted me to do whatever he thought was going to tick his parents off the most.” Restless, she stood again and began to pace. “See, they were really controlling. They put all kinds of pressure on him, and he rebelled by marrying me. An artist who was more concerned about the quality of clay I was buying than the other details of my life.”
Matt’s expression gentled as he began to understand.
“They liked a woman’s hair to be salon perfect at all times, so Dex insisted that I not do anything to it that wasn’t completely natural.” Jen paused next to the window and looked out at the rolling acreage of the ranch.
Bracing a shoulder against the frame, she turned back to Matt. “They ate haute cuisine, so he had us bring in food from the most lowbrow restaurants around for our dinner.”
Matt came to stand next to her. “You lived with them?”
Remembering, she felt her heart constrict. “Oh, yes. That was part of the plan. He kept saying he wanted to build a place for us.”
“And they were all for that?”
“No.” Jen massaged the tense muscles in her neck. “His folks liked having him under their thumb. They just wanted to get rid of me, and have him marry someone more suitable. Someone of their social standing and all that.”
Matt searched her face. “So what finally happened?”
Memories came as fast and devastating as the actual event. “They gave Dex what he wanted. Early access to his half-million-dollar trust fund. On one condition.”
“He divorce you.”
Jen nodded, stunned to this day by the cruelty of the event. “Yep.”
“And you were hurt.”
She raked a hand through her hair. “Relieved.” She looked into Matt’s eyes, swallowed, and forged on, “I knew by then that the marriage was going to end. I knew it had to end.” She shook her head in regret, wishing she had been stronger. Less needy. “But I didn’t want it to.”
“Because you loved him. Or thought you did.”
“Because I wanted it to be the opposite of my childhood,” she said emotionally. How naive she’d been! “I wanted it all to work out in the end. And in the meantime, I had a roof over my head, food to eat and a place to work on my sculpting. So I just kept going, kept trying, kept thinking that if only I was the perfect wife and the perfect daughter-in-law and the perfect rising artist, everything would work out. That his parents would come to accept me one day.” Jen drew a breath. “And in the meantime, I had Dex, who told me he loved me and that we would be happy when we were both able to make all our dreams come true. Mine was to make a living selling my art. And his was to start his own venture capital business.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. He’s very good at it. And he’s now very rich. His parents are very proud of him. I’m successful now, too. So everyone lived happily ever after.”
“Not quite.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Because you haven’t moved on—emotionally—from the mistake, any more than I’ve moved on from my elopement.”
A laugh bubbled up inside her. “And what would you have us do, Matt?”
“Jump back in.”
Jen shivered, and not from air-conditioning vent above her head. “That’s the best line I’ve ever heard.”
And also the most seductive.
He grinned. “It’s not a line.”
Pulse thudding, she absorbed the sight of him, jaw unshaved, hair tousled, body hard and sweaty beneath the half-open shirt. Her fingers itched to discover the texture of all that sleek, tanned, hair-roughened skin.
And he wanted her, too.
She could see it. Feel it. Completely identify with it.
“Matt…” Jen whispered. Why was he doing this? Making her realize how badly she still needed to belong.