“Yes, ma’am. Come for dinner with me,” he said. “We’ll have fun.”
Her pulse jumped. “And most of Barren will somehow find out.” As if the cheating mayor’s ex-wife was also having an affair, destroying the rest of her reputation and endangering her children’s welfare.
Dallas tilted his head to study her. “You aren’t really going to stay in this house all summer while your kids are away, are you? You’ll give people what they’re looking for.”
“And what would that be?”
“A chance to gloat.”
“Why shouldn’t they? Everything became so public Harry might as well have put up a billboard.” She bit her lip. “Some would say I deserved that.”
“You didn’t, and you’re well out of that mess.” Dallas sounded as if he knew all about that too. Just as he’d seemed to understand her pain the afternoon they’d...spent together. He’d been so understanding—way too understanding, as it turned out.
“Dallas, do I need to remind you? One of my dearest friends is now raising Harry’s daughter, the one he sired out of wedlock.” She nearly choked on the old-fashioned word, but Elizabeth had been raised in a world with definite social rules to be observed, and those lessons were deeply ingrained. What else could she call it? “In such a short time, tell me, how am I supposed to put that behind me? His child—Emmie—and my Seth see each other at school. They’re practically the same age, which means—” She broke off, not wanting to think of that timing. “As you said, what a mess. Harry may be on his way to Colorado with our children, but I’m still here. Dealing with the fallout. The last thing I need is fresh scandal.”
“And you think you’d create scandal just by having dinner with me?” Dallas glanced away, then turned and retraced his steps to the front door. His tone held an unfamiliar edge. “Your loss.” He obviously had his pride, and Elizabeth had wounded it when he’d only been trying to apologize. He was on the porch and down the stairs before she could take back her hasty words. He wasn’t to blame because, in a moment of weakness, she’d let down her guard or because her life had fallen apart. And she didn’t know how to start over. All she did know for sure was that she had to safeguard her kids. They were her sole priority now.
Alone in the house again, she sank onto the sofa. Pillows plumped. Not a jelly smear in sight on the oatmeal-colored upholstery her mother had picked out. This wasn’t Dallas’s fault.
Neither was the other mess she’d made that did include him.
She was no better than Harry, really.
“WELL. HOW’S IT GOING, DALLAS?” his sports agent asked. There was a hidden message there, which Dallas tried to ignore. Lately, their conversations hadn’t been going so well. Much like the one he’d just had with Lizzie.
It had been a long time since a woman deep-sixed him as she had. And yes, Dallas thought of her as Lizzie. To him, she wasn’t an Elizabeth, and she could use some loosening up.
In his house next door to hers—the rental that had allowed him to stay in Barren while he recuperated, and closer to his brother than he’d been in more than twenty years—Dallas dropped onto the sofa with a stifled grunt. The persistent pain was a temporary inconvenience, a reminder that his right hip now had an artificial joint. He’d neglected—not forgotten—to take his cane across the yard, unwilling to rely on it or show weakness to Lizzie, but he had other things on his mind now.
“How am I doing?” he repeated for Ace. “Even better than expected. I’m almost a hundred percent.” Liar. But he had to get back on the circuit. Better late than never, which had prompted his call to Ace O’Leary. The pressure was on and growing with each passing day. Except for Houston, Dallas had been off the road since before Christmas. He’d made a serious blunder by entering that event—and paid the price in a fresh round of pain—but he’d done it to show he could. He needed to boost Ace’s belief in him, and all he would have to do then was conquer the anxiety he felt every time he entered the ring. Stage fright—he could feel the familiar edge of panic again now, the humiliating nausea before every ride, the certainty that his head was about to explode as the bull shifted under him. The tight grip on his rope that nearly broke the skin.
How many good years did he have left in a sport that made such physical, even emotional, demands? How long before his accumulated injuries would force him to retire? He wanted a world championship first, the perks that would follow and set him up for life. There were a lot of rodeos yet to come, prize money to win and lucrative endorsement contracts to hold on to. In the meantime, he didn’t need Ace quitting on him, which Dallas had begun to suspect might happen. “Can’t wait to get back,” he said.
Ace muttered, “You lost the end of last year. This season’s half-over.” Dallas couldn’t deny that. “Then you make that boneheaded decision to ride in Houston and wind up in rehab again. With every day you spend on the disabled list, Las Vegas—the big prize—gets further away. In fact, it’s out of sight. You have no chance for the Finals, Dallas. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Dallas flinched a little. The money he might have won there would have helped his adoptive parents, for whom he felt responsible. His mother hadn’t been well lately—he’d recently stopped briefly in Denver to see her, but he had to check on her again soon. He owed the Maguires everything, and during his recovery he’d been sending part of his savings to them each month rather than some of his earnings. His accounts weren’t growing right now, but at the moment his task was
