him by ducking under one of his arms. Then she grabbed her purse and stationed herself by the door. “I’ve got to go, so I suppose I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“What? Why?”
He wasn’t entirely sure himself. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet. She was watching him warily, and in that oversize suit, she looked…vulnerable, somehow. Hunter had the urge to somehow protect her. Which was completely unreasonable and he knew it. She didn’t need protection, he reminded himself sternly. She needed getting rid of. Which he would do at the end of a month. For now, though, she was his wife whether he wanted one or not, and they both might as well get used to it.
“I was going to go into town myself today. See some old friends.”
“Oh.”
“But I’ve changed my mind,” he told her as he studied the ugly black suit she wore. “I think we’ll go into the city instead.”
“San Francisco?”
“That’s the one,” he said and walked to the side of the bed. Sitting down, he pulled on one boot first, then the other, and stamped his feet into them. Standing up again, he looked down at her as she asked, “Why?”
“To get you some decent clothes.”
“I don’t need new clothes.”
“Now see, we’re arguing again,” he pointed out. “You won last night’s round, but I’ll win this one.”
“Hunter—” She stopped and frowned slightly as if saying his name had actually felt odd to her. “There’s no reason to buy me new clothes. What I have is perfectly serviceable.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He walked up to her, tipped her chin up again and smiled down into green eyes that flashed with irritation and suspicion. “See, babe, you’re my wife. And my wife doesn’t dress frumpy.”
She blinked at him. “Frumpy? This isn’t frumpy. This is a business suit.”
“If you say so.” He took her arm, turned her toward the door and started walking. What the hell did he care what she looked like? His brain was shouting at him, but apparently he wasn’t going to listen. He wanted to see her in clothes that fit her, that showcased not just her body but the woman inside, too.
And just who was that, he asked himself as he stared into her eyes. Liar? Cheat? Or was she simply what she claimed to be? A woman doing a kindness for an old man? Hunter already knew she was strong. She stood toe-to-toe with him and never gave an inch, and he had to admire that almost as much as he admired the way she could set his body on fire with merely a glance.
“I don’t want to shop.”
He stopped dead, gave her a quick grin and said, “That may be the first time I’ve ever heard a woman say those words.”
“You’re not going to charm me into this.”
“You think I’m charming now? Last night you threatened to kill me in my sleep.”
“I didn’t say you were charming,” she corrected primly. “I said you were trying to use charm. Badly.”
“Ah, there’s the wife I know and loathe.” The words were out before he could stop them. And the instant he said them, he wished he hadn’t.
She pulled free of his grasp, and he winced at the fury in her eyes. “I know you don’t like me, but you don’t have to be mean.”
Hunter studied her eyes and finally saw more than her anger. He saw hurt in those depths too and regretted causing it. He’d been so busy concentrating on his own feeling of entrapment, the constant state of arousal, which he blamed solely on her, he hadn’t really considered that she was as locked into their “performance” as he was. At least for the time being.
And he had the nagging feeling that maybe she wasn’t the liar and cheat he thought she was. Even a practiced con artist would have a hard time worming her way into Simon’s heart, which she had obviously done. Not to mention what she’d pulled last night.
Building that wall of pillows between them hadn’t been the act of an adept thief. She’d behaved more like a vestal virgin trying to protect her virtue from a marauding horde. So what the hell was really going on? Who was she, really?
What if he was wrong about her? Well, he told himself firmly, for one thing, he didn’t want to be wrong about her. It would make this so much easier if she was just what he suspected she was. In it for the money. But then, even if the five million dollars was her sole motivation, she was now faced with living the lie she’d built.
Couldn’t be comfortable for her, either.
So did he give her the benefit of the doubt? Or did he continue to make both of them miserable for a full month? Neither, he decided. He’d give her enough rope, then stand back to see if she actually hanged herself with it. He could be patient. Hell, his training, his job, his life usually demanded patience. So he’d back off on the verbal attacks and see how she reacted.
“You’re right,” he said at last and had the pleasure of seeing surprise flicker across her face. “I’m sorry.”
She studied him for a long second or two, obviously trying to decide if he meant it or not. But finally, she nodded. “It’s okay. It’s a weird situation. For both of us.”
“Just what I was thinking.” Interesting. Be a little more accommodating, and she was far less prickly.
“So. Truce?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know when we’re finished shopping.”
“Hunter…”
He shook his head. He wasn’t going to let go of this one. “My wife doesn’t dress like that,” he said, waving one arm to indicate the hideous suit she seemed so attached to. “I’m not going to have everyone in town wondering why in the hell I won’t buy you new clothes. You want to play the part of Mrs. Cabot? You’ll do it looking a hell of a lot better than this.”
She lifted her chin and glared at him, but whatever she was going to say remained unuttered.
“Good choice,” he said with a brief nod. “You’re not going to win this one.”
Margie felt Hunter’s hand on the small of her back as clearly as if it were a live electrical wire. Spears of heat as wild and unpredictable as lightning bolts kept shooting through her system, and it was all she could do to walk and talk despite the distractions.
Main Street in Springville was waking up after a winter that had been cold and gray and bleak. Now in springtime, the sun shone out of a brilliantly blue sky, a cool wind danced down the street and bright bursts of flowers filled the planters at the feet of the street lamps. Colorful awnings stretched out over the sidewalk in front of the stores, and clusters of neighbors gathered together to chat.
She loved this town. Had from the moment she’d first arrived two years before. It was like a postcard of small-town American life. A flag waved in the center of town square, moms with strollers sat on benches, laughing at toddlers wobbling around on the grass, and the scent of fresh bread baking drifted through the bakery’s open door.
After growing up in Los Angeles, just one more face in an anonymous crowd, coming to Springville was like finding an old friend. She belonged here. She fit in. Or at least, she told herself with a sidelong glance at the man beside her, she used to.
Now, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stay once this month with Hunter was up. She’d have to leave this town, these people, even Simon, the grandfather she’d come to love. Because staying after the divorce would be impossible. She wouldn’t be able to stand the pitying looks from her friends. She wouldn’t be able to answer the questions everyone would have.
And