True Heart. Peggy Nicholson
And Tripp apparently didn’t mean to stop till he had his answer. So she’d have to brazen it out. Brush him off. “He was selfish,” she said lightly. “Okay? Raised as an only child by a doting single mom, and I guess it warped him. Richard always had to choose the channel when we watched TV.”
“TV,” Tripp repeated, incredulous. “You call that a reason?”
“Not good enough?” she asked flippantly. “Well, he was prettier than me and he knew it. I got tired of that.” I was the one who was supposed to admire, always, always. I wonder if he even saw me, except as his mirror.
“Yeah, that’s grounds for divorce, all right.”
“And he was picky,” she plunged on recklessly. “Wanted his eggs fried ten seconds over easy, but if you let them cook for twenty or if you broke the yolk…” And his custom-made shirts had to be ironed just so, or there’d be sulks and tantrums. He’d paid more for his haircuts than she had for hers. And as for the possibility of having a daughter who might be less than perfect? Unthinkable! He’d sooner abort her than take that chance. “Definitely picky,” she muttered.
“Yeah, I can see you two had big problems,” Tripp said with quiet savagery.
He’d asked; she’d answered. If he didn’t like it… Her smile was diamond bright and just as hard. “Hey, what do you care? Sometimes things just…don’t…work out.” And there, up ahead—oh, joy—was his truck. The end to this inquisition was in sight.
Tripp put a hand to his door handle—looked as if he was as ready to part company as she was. “I care, Kaley, because you came back to Trueheart and wrecked my plans. And you’re wrecking them all for nothing! Six months from now you’ll be tired of playing rancher and you’ll be gone again.”
“No…I won’t.” She jammed on the brakes, stopping with her headlights glaring into the blind eyes of Tripp’s pickup.
“Right.” He swung his legs out onto the road, then called back through the door’s closing gap, “Hey, and thanks for the ride, cowgirl!”
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