The Prodigal Wife. Susan Fox
Lainey searched the size and posture of the three men, but even from a distance, she could tell that none of them were Gabe. She lowered her hands a moment, then was compelled to look again, fretting. Had he changed his mind about seeing her?
After another long, futile look, she lowered her hands again. A movement in her peripheral vision drew her to glance that way briefly, and she felt the shock of what she saw go from her brain to her feet.
Gabe Patton sat astride a huge black gelding, and he was watching her with an iron calm that sent another shock pounding through her. The horse’s neck and flank were damp, and his big hooves moved restively, as if he was eager to run.
Five years had only hardened Gabe Patton’s rugged looks, and they carried a seasoned harshness that she’d never seen. He’d been wearing a suit at the service six months ago, but his face had not been harsh, merely somber. Today it was decidedly stony. And unreadable. Gabe had never been handsome, but he carried the look of a westerner who worked hard and somehow he’d achieved such a devastating male charisma that, after this, would make it impossible for her to ever be impressed with softer, more conventionally handsome men.
His big body also looked harder and stronger—he was as tall as a giant—adding to a larger-than-life presence that was more potent and compelling for her than ever before, even six months ago. But she’d been trying not to look at him much then, and she was now getting the full view of a man who showed not a flicker of the sympathy she’d read in his expression during the ten or so seconds she’d actually looked at him that day.
Gabe was in his element here in the outdoors, so his impact on her seemed unchecked and unrestrained. She wondered dazedly if perhaps he somehow toned himself down in more civilized, indoor places, and she made a fervent wish that he would do it now. Instead he seemed to become more intimidating by the moment.
Beneath the shade of his black Stetson his dark eyes glittered slowly over her from head to foot as if he was judging the confirmation of a horse he might buy—or cull. She saw the faint curl of weary mockery that indented one side of his hard mouth, then saw it suddenly vanish as his dark gaze slid up from her dirty sandals and feet to slam against hers.
Anger, suspicion and something flat and icy showed in his gaze before he loosened the reins a fraction and his huge horse minced toward her. The sight made her think of a knight in full armor on a black destrier who could charge forward at any second to enter a battle to the death. When he stopped his big horse beside her and she turned to look up at him, the width of his shoulders blocked the sun. The heat from his horse was scorching, but she stood her ground.
Gabe was still staring harshly down at her, and she was helpless to look away. Her brain felt the deep probe of his gaze like a rough touch. She got nothing more from the way he looked at her than the impression that he was searching for something of worth in a place where searching for worth might be a waste of time.
Suddenly terrified that he’d stare at her a few moments more then just ride away, she managed to say, “I’m sorry.” The words croaked out of her dry throat, but he heard them.
“Sorry for what?” he said at last. “Sorry you had to come all this way, sorry you got your feet dirty?”
Now he would get his pound of flesh—that much was plain in the bitter way he said the words. But she’d come here to do some sort of penance and she hadn’t truly expected anything but harshness, whatever her wild hopes had been. She tried to take this as calmly and patiently as he’d taken all her slights and mistreatments.
“C-can we go someplace to talk?” The tremor in her voice was impossible to thwart.
“No reason until you answer the question. Sorry for what?”
She suddenly couldn’t bear the diamond glitter in his eyes and looked away. She’d craved this opportunity for weeks while she worked up her courage, but Gabe was so tough and skeptical of her that she wished she could simply vanish from his sight and slink away somewhere.
But if she let him chase her off now, she’d regret that, too, and she might never get another chance.
“I came here to…apologize.” The dryness in her mouth and the surge of roiling emotions complicated it all. “To even grovel if that’s…what it takes.”
Now she made the monumental effort to look up at him again, to say this to his face as she’d meant to. “I’ve been awful to you. You were never what I thought you were, and I came here to tell you that. And to say that I’m profoundly sorry.”
The diamond glitter in his eyes was suddenly banished by dark fire. “So now you want a divorce.”
His conclusion sent a new shock through her and she reflexively gave a quick, “No,” then caught herself and just as quickly added, “Yes. But you can’t want to stay married to me.”
The fire in his eyes didn’t lower by so much as a spark, so she rushed out with, “Isn’t that what you want to do?”
He let her wait a few more breathless seconds before he leaned toward her. She had to fight not to take a step back. “You have no idea what I want to do.”
To beat her, strangle her? The way he’d said the word want seemed menacing enough to suggest those things.
“Could we talk?”
Nothing eased in his face or in his eyes, but his voice lowered to a growl. “You’ve always taken the say-so about that.”
She tried a small, conciliatory smile, but it felt more like a sick curve of lips. She was just so desperate to somehow win a chance to tell him everything she’d come here to say. “I’m sorry about that, too.” Her heart was beating impossibly fast. “It’s your turn now.”
Not getting any clue that she’d said enough to satisfy him, she panicked and babbled out, “It’s completely your turn now, Gabe, completely.”
She couldn’t bear the awful suspense and her breathless, “Could we?” came out without her being conscious of it until she heard herself say the words. She’d sounded like a pitiful child begging for something, and she cringed inwardly. His growl went lower.
“How bad do you want to talk to me?”
It was as if he’d somehow hypnotized her and she’d answer any question without reserve.
“Badly.”
Gabe slowly straightened, his glittery, angry gaze never leaving hers. The big horse shifted beneath him as if responding to some sort of tension in his rider. Just when she thought he’d decided to ride away and leave her hanging, he spoke.
“Then move your things into my house. If you’re still there by supper, I’ll eat with you. I’ll think about talk—if you’ve learned enough manners to get through a meal.”
And then he rode away. She turned to watch him go, a little stunned to see the horses that had been herded to the tree-shaded pens were now milling inside. The thirty or so animals had trotted past only a few feet away from where she was standing, and it amazed her that she’d neither seen nor heard them or the wranglers who’d brought them in and closed the gate.
Move your things into my house…I’ll think about talking if you’ve learned enough manners…
Tough, uncompromising, but it was as much a warning as it was the chance she’d craved. Gabe Patton would tolerate no misstep or wrong word, and certainly no hint of spite from her ever again. And she didn’t know him well enough to know what might set him off, particularly when she was sure that anything, no matter how miniscule or unintended on her part, might well get her thrown out before she even realized what she’d done to rile him.
Mindful that he’d now dismounted and handed his horse off to one of the wranglers and might be about to glance her way, she turned and hurried back to the house, determined to demonstrate that she would immediately comply with his dictates, however more demanding they might become.
And however impossible