Smoky Mountain Home

The only part of Ruth Ann that moved in response to his question was her jaw, which dropped and left her mouth hanging open.

When she didn’t say anything, Jonah nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on.” He grabbed her wrist and turned toward the Porsche, parked in the circular drive.

But Ruth Ann—of course—pulled free. “I won’t go three yards with you, let alone to dinner.”

Hearing the venom in her tone, he swung back around. “What are you so mad about?”

“I just spent a couple of hours with your stepdaughter. And the only thing I’m left to wonder is how she managed to become such a likeable girl, given the way she’s been treated.” She lifted her chin and actually looked down her nose at him, as if he were a slimy creature just come out from under a rock. “With parents like you, the poor girl certainly doesn’t need any enemies.”

Pivoting on her heel, she started to walk away. But Jonah caught up, grabbed her wrist again and pulled her back around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ruth Ann glanced down at his hand, then back into his face. “Let go of me.”

Jonah gave her arm a sharp shake. “Not until you tell me what I need to know. What did Darcy say?”

She ignored the question. “I’m telling you again—let go. Or you will be sorry.”

“If you’d just—” He saw the spark in her eyes, realized she was about to explode and released her arm. “Okay, okay.” He raised his hands and backed up several steps. “Look, I don’t care what you think you know—I’ve never hurt Darcy in my life and I don’t believe she told you anything different.”

“Darcy said she was put on a horse she was scared of, a horse far too big and green for any but the most experienced adult rider. She fell off at a jump and got blamed because the horse—a poorly trained and badly managed animal, I’m sure—hurt itself. And then she was told she fell because she was clumsy and fat. How cruel could you be?”

Jonah dropped his chin to his chest. “Brittany—her mother, my ex-wife—that’s who the poison came from.” Shaking his head, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t there, though I’d be glad if Darcy never went near a horse again, since broken bones and an overdose of pain medicine is all she’s achieved with the beasts so far.”

When he looked up, Ruth Ann was staring at him with a shocked expression. “Darcy took too much medicine?”

He nodded. “We had to have her stomach pumped. That’s why she’s here. At Hawkridge.”

The cool darkness fell around them as they gazed at each other across ten feet of grass. Finally, Ruth Ann stirred. “Maybe we do need to talk. I have to know more.”

“Let’s go.” This time, he simply motioned her to walk toward the car ahead of him. The lady was dangerous to the touch.

But she didn’t move, and he heard her deep intake of breath. “I can’t go anywhere in these clothes. I’d have to change. And some of the horses haven’t been fed. I can’t leave until my work is finished. So, really, it’s just a bad idea. Maybe we could meet tomorrow morning—”

Jonah shook his head. “We tried that today.” Now that he’d come up with the idea of dinner with Ruth Ann, he couldn’t face going back to town to eat dinner alone in his hotel room. “How long will it take you to feed the horses and change?”

“An hour, at least. Too long for you to wait.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s barely six o’clock. Most people in Manhattan don’t eat until nine.”

“This isn’t Manhattan.”

“Thank God. So here’s what we’ll do—go back and feed your animals, then meet me in Ridgeville. What kind of food do you want? Not that we have many options—there’s the pizza place, the café, the diner or the steakhouse. I’ve eaten in all four this week already. Take your pick.”

Ruth Ann made a helpless gesture. “I—I don’t know.”

“Okay, I’ll choose. The café has a more varied menu, so I’ll see you there in an hour.” When he reached the Porsche, he glanced back, just to be sure she’d started toward the stable.

But, no, she was still standing where he’d left her. “Ruth Ann!” Jonah yelled. “Get moving!”

To his relief, she whirled and disappeared into the dark.

He sank into the seat of the Porsche, not bothering to stifle the groan this time, and put the key in the ignition. Before he could start the engine, though, his cell phone beeped, indicating a missed call. He flipped the top open and noted the number with a curse.

“The last person on the planet I want to talk to,” he muttered, turning the car key. “I don’t need your particular brand of harassment right now, Brittany.”

Nevertheless, once he’d reached the café parking lot and set the emergency brake, he returned his ex-wife’s call.

“It’s about time you got back to me,” she said, in place of hello. “I called an hour ago.”

“What do you want, Brittany?”

“I want to know how Darcy is doing, of course. Is she simply miserable at that school you insisted on sending her to?”

“I didn’t think she looked miserable on Monday, which is the last time I saw her.”

“You haven’t checked on her since Monday?”

“Parent visits tend to upset the girls, I’m told. The counselors suggest staying away until they’ve had a chance to work with the student and make some progress.”

“Are you sure this school is legitimate? Maybe it’s just a—a front for child molesters.”

Jonah thought of Jayne Thomas’s kind eyes, Ruth Ann’s blunt honesty. “Darcy is in good hands, Brittany. If that’s all—”

“No, don’t hang up.” She hesitated, which was unusual for Brittany. “I’ve been thinking about you, Jonah. About us.”

Just what he needed. “There is no us. I have legal papers to that effect. And canceled alimony checks.”

“But we have a child, Jonah. She draws us together.”

He snorted into the phone. “Give me a break. You abandoned your daughter in July when you flitted off to Europe with…what was his name? Jean? Gilles? Jacques? What about that draws us together?”

“I know I deserve all of what you’re saying, and more. But I’m willing to change. Just give me a chance.”

“Listen carefully, Brittany. No way. In fact, there is no way in hell I’d let you back into my life. Don’t worry about Darcy and don’t bother me again.” He cut the connection with a flick of his thumb. Before he could toss it into the passenger seat, it rang again.

He checked the caller ID, and, as soon as he said, “Hi, Stephen,” his business partner in Manhattan launched into a tirade about the latest abuses and demands of his own clients, interspersed with accusations concerning Jonah’s mistakes relating to the company and its affairs. Though the two of them pursued their design projects separately, Stephen enacted this ritual of complaint and blame several times a week as a way of asserting his control of the firm. Jonah made noises of agreement or disagreement where expected until the storm passed over and hung up. Then he dropped the phone on the passenger seat and left the car.