The Soon-To-Be-Disinherited Wife

which wasn’t far, but at least it was a little distant from all the prying eyes. Reed, being Irish, had a cast of thousands in his family-all of whom she loved a bunch. They were warm, gregarious, effusive people, exactly the opposite of her quiet, ultraprivate family. But they were also nosy. And Reed led his business the same way-like a family, with anyone who came by treated to a cup of joe in the kitchen, no fanfare and no airs.

“Come on, I can see something’s on your mind. Spill it,” he urged her. Typically his stable office resembled the aftermath of a cyclone. The phone had three active lines, the mini fridge was always stocked with pop and bottled water and his desk was heaped with horse bandages, racing schedules, worm shots and every other thing.

She touched her fingers to her temples. He talked so easily. For her, it always took effort. “Reed, I just feel that we should-”

The phone rang. He made a motion begging for patience, hooked the receiver in his ear and served her a pop at the same time. There was a mix-up in some training schedule. He leaned against the desk while motioning her to take the one and only seat-an old leather chair meant for a man to crash for a few minutes with his feet up.

She couldn’t sit. She waited, looking at this man she’d agreed to marry more than a year ago. She’d known him forever. He had those Irish looks-the brown hair, the clean skin, the mischievous smile. As a kid, he’d been good- looking in a fresh, clean-cut way, but at thirty-five, he’d come into his own. There was kindness in his character, an easy way with people. No amount of chaos ever seemed to throw him. His judgment-as far as horses and business both-had turned the family horse farm into a highly prosperous enterprise.

Emma felt the knot tie tighter in her stomach. She loved him. For real. There was really no doubt in her mind of that. No one could not love Reed. He was an absolutely super man. Good to the bone. A man you could trust through thick and thin. A family man.

What was not to love?

“Okay,” he said when he clicked off the phone. “You’ve got my full attention.”

She took a breath. Outside, she heard a rumble of an engine-like an eighteen-wheeler driving in. Voices zoomed past the stable office door. A horse whinnied. It was like trying to think in the middle of a tornado.

She took a breath, then gave up. “Reed, this is no place to talk. I’ll just-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He pushed the door, which didn’t completely close but at least created a little privacy barrier. Then he lifted his phone. “I’m turning off both the pager and the phone right now-”

But not before the phone rang again. He fielded that call quickly and impatiently. Then did just what he’d said- turned it off and tuned out all the other interruptions, as well. He looked at her intently. “I know what this is about. Your mother called me.”

“My mother-?”

“Apparently she thinks you don’t want to go to some shindig at the country club on Saturday. The formal June dance? So she talked me into promising to go. I know, I know, I should have asked you. Especially if you wanted out of that darn thing. But damn, she’s going to be my mother-in-law, so when she twisted my arm, I couldn’t very well turn her down-”

“I understand. No, no, it’s not about that.”

“All right,” he said curiously and leaned back against the desk, his attitude one of waiting, as if determined to give her all the time she needed to say whatever she needed to.

But she heard another major commotion outside-as if a truck had arrived and was being unloaded. This was going nowhere. Yet Emma tried, blurting out, “Reed…do you realize how many times we’ve postponed setting a date for the wedding?”

“So that’s what this is about. And you’re right. So right. In fact, Weddings By Felicity called me. I don’t mean Felicity-it was one of her assistants, Rita someone…”

Emma tried to open her mouth to interrupt, but he lifted a hand.

“It’s my fault about that, Emma. I know Felicity is your friend and she seems like a great person besides. But she’s justifiably ticked at us for not setting a date, especially this late in the game.”

“The thing is,” Emma tried to interject, “I think there’s a reason we’ve waited so long-”

“I do, too. Your gallery has the July show coming up. And I’m busier than a magpie here. And since we’re doing the ceremony at your parents’ house, it didn’t seem like all that much had to be completely pinned down, you know? I mean, we didn’t have to book a hall, and the photographer and master chef are already in the family, so what difference did it make if it was the second or third Saturday in August?”

“Reed…I think the reason for our procrastinating is more complicated than that.”

He nodded again. “Yeah, I know. Truth is-and I know it’s selfish-but I get antsy anywhere near a big wedding. Call it a guy thing. Hell, it isn’t the party part of it I mind. You know that. With my clan, they’d have a party every Saturday night if we could all survive the hangovers on Sunday morning. But it’s the society part of it that makes me squirm. Now that Bunny’s gone and no one’s stepped up to do that Eastwick Social Diary anymore, maybe people won’t make so much of every wedding, but…”

“Reed, I’ve always agreed with you on that. I never wanted a big wedding, either. But once my parents got involved, it was like budging two elephants.” Somehow she found her hand on her stomach again, pressing hard to quell the sick, sad feeling inside. “I postponed deciding on a wedding date as many times as you have.”

“And that’s the thing. We’ve both been running faster than rats in a maze. If we could just steal a solid blink of time together, we could surely get a date down in ink.”

“Yes, I’m sure we could. But the question is…is that what we want to do? I’m not so positive that it’s just busyness that made us both postpone nailing down a wedding date for so long.”

He didn’t look hurt. He didn’t look concerned. He didn’t look as if he were remotely getting her at all. “Emma, you know I tend to do better if you just say flat out what’s on your mind. I don’t know what you mean-”

A beanpole kid jammed a hand through the doorway. “Mr. Kelly. Pretty Lady, they said she leaped the fence in the east pasture, taking off after Wild Wind.”

“Aw, hell.” Reed startled straight, grabbed his hat from the desk and then looked frantically at Emma.

“No, it’s okay. Go. We’ll talk later-”

“You come first, Emma. You know that. But damn it-”

“I know, I know. We’ll talk on Saturday night if we can’t catch each other before. Go, go, I can see this is important.”

She really could. Yet on the ride home, the sky was still sending down blistering torrents of rain, echoing the moody restlessness in her heart.

She’d handled that all wrong. Barging in on his work day. Trying to talk about something serious with all that chaos going on. And it wasn’t as if she had to hurry into this conversation-she didn’t want to hurt Reed. In fact, she’d hoped terribly, desperately, that seeing him would make Garrett fade from her mind, would make her remember all the reasons she’d agreed to this engagement.

But it seemed that goal had boomeranged on her, because she did remember why she’d accepted his ring. The reasons were still there, still real. They got on as easily as old slippers. They were both tired of people pushing them into marriage. They both had long ties to Eastwick. She adored his family, respected his work and his dreams. He totally respected her gallery, her goals, the things she wanted to do; in fact, she couldn’t imagine Reed interfering with anything she ever said she wanted.

Yet when she catalogued all those reasons in her mind, the problem was still there.

The idea of marrying Reed was increasingly giving her panicked, shooting headaches and itchy hives. Maybe she loved him…but not in the right way. It was Garrett, damn him, who’d made her realize the heart full of emotions she was missing. The longing she yearned for. The desiring and being desired that her woman’s soul whispered for. The feeling of belonging…

She’d never had those feelings in her life. Growing up. Ever. Who knew if it could even happen?

But she knew positively that she didn’t have those feelings with Reed.

Halfway home, she hit a red light at Whitaker. She suddenly started crying. Her. Emma Dearborn. Who hadn’t cried even when she’d broken an ankle in second grade.

But it was damn scary to realize you had your life all planned in tidy little lines, and suddenly someone was making you color with no lines at all.

Garrett pushed open the door to the hospital, wishing he could shake off like a puppy. The rain had turned into a downright soppy deluge. He’d be dripping less if he ever remembered to carry an umbrella, but that was a nonstarter, never going to happen. The afternoon threatened to turn into pure wet steam-which matched his mood all too well.