Page 5 of Ardently Yours

My hand fists in the wool when I accept its return. “Ms. Miller, I came to Blackwater to help you.”

She snorts, then looks away. “Not interested.”

I lift my eyebrows, surprised by her belligerent response. “Why is that?”

“I’d offend you if I told you,” she says.

“Offensively truthful answers are my favorite.”

She takes a shuddering breath. “Your offer isn’t about me or what I need. It’s either about you feeling sad that Steve is dead and looking for a way to make yourself feel better about it, which is understandable, but not my problem to fix. Or”—she stretches out the last word—“you like people fawning over you for being ‘such a good person.’ If you want to make yourself feel better, put Steve’s name on a park bench somewhere. But leave me out of it. The last thing I need are a bunch of rumors flying around this town about some big-city, rich man ‘helping’ me.” She closes her eyes with a shiver. “I’m not capable of admiring your benevolence, Mr. McRae. I’m all out of gratitude. If you’re looking to have your ego stroked, you’ll have to find someone else.”

When was the last time someone sassed me?I’m not sure it’s ever happened. “Ms. Miller, I have an annoyingly large number of people begging for the opportunity to ‘stroke my ego.’ I’d prefer not to add you to the ranks.”

She doesn’t look my way. In fact, she doesn’t react to my words at all.

She wasn’t attempting to intrigue me or challenge me. She simply spoke the truth as she knew it.

No one ignores me. Not ever. Speechless and oddly impressed, I watch Charlotte for a full minute before retaking my seat and placing the overcoat on the bench between us. It’s sheer stupidity that both of us are freezing to make a point, but I refuse to put the thing back on while Charlotte shivers beside me. I can be as stubborn as she is, and, no doubt, a hell of a lot sneakier.

I have priorities, and taking care of Steve’s fiancé and his child is one of them. Steve was one of mine. Charlotte doesn’t understand what that means, but he did. I don’t leave my people hanging out to dry. Not even in death. Loyalty goes both ways.

Decision made, I shift to face her, moving slightly closer in the process. Startling, Charlotte leans away from me, so tense shelooks as though her bones could snap. Whether her reaction is because it’s me, specifically, or men, in general, I can’t be sure, but I adjust my position to give her more space.

If she won’t accept “charity,” then it’s time to get creative. “We got off on the wrong foot, Ms. Miller. That was my fault for being unclear. I’m here because Steve had a life insurance plan through his employment, with you listed as his beneficiary.”

Charlotte frowns. “Steve only worked part-time.”

“It was enough.”

She shakes her head. “I thought you knew. I’m not his wife. The car insurance paid his parents.”

I reach for her hand and press my business card into it. “That doesn’t matter. It was important to Steve that he take care of you and his child.”Since he can’t, I will.

She stares at the card, swallows hard, and presses a hand to her belly. “Do you have children, Mr. McRae?”

“Two boys. Henry is four and Gabriel is two.”

“Are they home with their mother?”

The question is a sucker punch. I hadn’t expected such a low blow from the woman Steve spoke of with so much admiration. I’d been fooled by her innocent face, but cruelty hides in all sorts of places, and pain is one of them.

I don’t answer her question. Instead, I watch her with hard eyes and wait for her to squirm when I don’t play her game. Except, as the seconds tick past, and her brow slowly furrows in confusion, it becomes obvious shedoesn’t knowwho I am. As impossible as it seems, Charlotte hasn’t heard the tragic, and almost true, story of my marriage to Ariana McRae.

“My sons’ mother died when my youngest was a newborn.” I attempt to keep my voice gentle, but the words come out sounding like someone took sandpaper to my vocal cords.

Her eyes turn dull once more. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I clear the last remnants of emotion from my throat. “Thank you.”

“There’s no such thing as a happy ending, is there? If you’re happy, then it’s not the end,” she says.

Admitting I agree with her would be counterproductive. “Some people would argue the opposite.”

She gnaws on the corner of her lip and watches me with wary eyes. “Are you sure the insurance shouldn’t pay Steve’s parents?”

“They aren’t entitled to a dime of that money. It’s yours.”

She glances down at the card. Apparently realizing she has no pockets, she tucks it into her neckline, I presume, into her bra. It’s not an action women from my world would ever take.

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