“Good Lord, are you really wearing jeans? Give me some coffee fast.”
“They’re custom made,” he said as she pulled one of Tallulah’s Wedgwood cups from the shelf and helped herself. “French. They cost over three hundred dollars a pair, but I think they’re worth it.”
She studied the way the denim conformed to his hips beneath the Gap label. “Those Frenchies sure do know something about making jeans,” she said dryly.
“I heard your admirers last night.”
“Cubby and the boys?”
“Celebrating their graduation from idiot school, no doubt. One egg or two?” He cracked two into the skillet.
“Tell me there’s a box of Krispy Kremes hidden somewhere.”
“You’re lucky the toast isn’t whole wheat.” He took in her satin robe and the cowboy boots. “Fetching.”
“You are the only man in Parrish with the nerve to use a word like that. Where’s my dog?”
“Outside. He doesn’t seem inclined to wander.”
“Too obstinate.” She carried her coffee to the kitchen table and sat. “I smell bacon, so why am I not seein’ it?”
“I’ll make you a fresh batch.” He scooped her eggs onto a plate with surprising competency, added toast he’d already buttered, and set them on the table in front of her.
“What are you doing eating bacon? Your arteries have probably gone into shock.”
“A moment of weakness.”
“I sure know how that feels.” The toast was cold, but he hadn’t spared the butter, so she didn’t complain. And the eggs weren’t bad. The bacon sizzled as he tossed it into the skillet, every motion efficient. She spoke around her first bite. “I hope nobody finds out you’re providing aid and comfort to the enemy.”
“No doubt I’ll survive.”
“Are you making me breakfast because you’re still working through your guilt, or are you just being nice so you can get to the goodies?”
“By goodies, I assume you’re referring to those delectable parts of yourself tucked away beneath your robe.”
“Those would be them, yes.”
“Probably.”
“Which one? Guilt or goodies?”
“I have to choose?”
“Never mind.” She polished off the first egg. “Tell me about your wife.”
“No.”
“No talky. No goodies.” He didn’t pull his punches with her, and she wasn’t going to do it with him. “How did she die?”
He stabbed at the bacon. “If you must know, she ran into a bridge abutment. Tragic enough under any circumstances, but she did it deliberately.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly.”
There was a whole world of pain hidden behind that impassive profile. “You know a lot more than I thought about guilt,” she said. “Funny how you can misjudge people.”
“I had no reason to feel guilty. I’d done everything I could to help her.”
Sugar Beth knew way too much about recrimination to believe he was that clearheaded, and she lifted an eyebrow.
He looked away. “All right, she was pregnant, and it took me awhile. But sanity reigned, and I finally worked through it. Learned a bit about myself in the process.”
“Such as?”
“That marriage isn’t for me. Some people can make it work, but I’m not one of them.”
“You haven’t been tempted since then?”
“Hard for you to imagine, I’m sure, but not even once. I finally have my life exactly where I want it, and I’ve never been happier. But enough of my tedious past.” He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and turned to regard her. “Tell me if there was anything beyond the obvious that possessed you to marry a man forty years your senior.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I’m becoming more discerning about sorting through your bullshit, so let me try.”
She broke off a corner of her toast, but couldn’t eat it. “I loved him.”
“And why not? He was worth millions.”
“Ordinarily you’d have a point, but I didn’t find out how rich he was until he’d already worked his magic.”
“He was seventy. How much magic could the man work?”
“You’d be surprised. He was a handsome son of a gun, looked fifteen years younger than his age, a Texas version of Anthony Hopkins, but without that scary dental appliance.” Her throat began to tighten. “The most charming man I’ve ever known. Real charm, the kind that goes bone deep because it’s born of kindness. He was the love of my life.”
“Touching.” His tone was caustic, his smile sympathetic. She appreciated the combination. He pulled out the bacon. “I gathered from something you mentioned earlier that he was sick for quite a while.”
“For two years. In a coma the last six months.”
“And he died four months ago?”
She nodded and shook off her sadness. “So here we are. A grieving widow and a lonely widower staving off lives of quiet desperation with a well-intentioned, but badly prepared, breakfast. It’s enough to make Hallmark cry. By the way, I’m fixing you grits next week. I’ve got a hankerin’.”
He’d begun to pick up the plate of bacon, but now he set it back down, no longer looking cynical, just serious. “There’s not going to be a next week for us, Sugar Beth.”
She jumped up from her chair. “Oh, no, you don’t. I haven’t found that painting yet, and you are
He regarded her with his old haughtiness. “The job is demeaning. I only offered it to humiliate you.”
“You’re coming closer all the time. Another few weeks, and I know you’ll get it right.”
He lifted his eyes. She sat back down. “Please, Colin, don’t be a prick.”
“Exactly what I’m trying not to be. You can’t stay in this town any longer. I’ve written you a check that’ll tide you over for a while. Go back to Houston. You can support yourself a lot better there than you can here.”
Supporting herself had never been the problem. It was paying Delilah’s bills she couldn’t seem to manage. “I’m not leaving without that painting.”
“You don’t even know if it still exists.” He loomed over her. “And whatever luxuries you could buy from selling it aren’t worth giving up your dignity.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t born shallow.”
“Bloody hell, Sugar Beth! Look at you. You’re skin and bones. You don’t look like you’ve slept well in weeks. Top that off with the fact that people are spitting at you in the street, and you’re doing nothing to stop them. It’ll only get worse, you know. Make no mistake, Winnie has power in this town.”
“I’m not afraid of Winnie Davis.”
“I’m sure you’re not. But Winnie Galantine is a different kettle of fish.
“But none of the charm.”
“Then there’s the issue of the two of us.” He scowled. “Last night more than satisfied my blood lust, but I still don’t exactly wish you well. That said, I find it particularly ominous that we’re on the verge of having sex. More than on the verge, if I have my way about it.”
“Which you may not. I’m still making up my mind.”
“Liar. We’re throwing off so many sparks the walls are smoking.”
“Sparks caused by faulty wiring. We’re the two most mismatched people in the universe.”
“Which only makes it more alluring, doesn’t it?” His eyes burned her. “I avoid high-maintenance women with a vengeance, and they don’t come any more high-maintenance than you.”
