“I didn’t say it came to blows or anything.” Robert lifted his hands in mock innocence. “Amy asked me if you and Jason ever had any problems, and I told her the truth.”

“The truth,” Cain echoed in disgust. “And then you volunteered what Owen had told you.”

“About the camper?” A lascivious grin spread over his face. “Amy asked if I knew whether or not you and Sheridan had a previous relationship, and I told her the truth about that, too.”

“You’re an ass**le, you know that?”

His grin only widened at the knowledge that he’d hit his mark. “Gee, Cain. I didn’t realize you expected me to lie for you.”

Cain’s chest lifted as if to take a deep, calming breath and Sheridan imagined him counting to ten. She was actually impressed with his patience, considering she wanted to punch Robert herself. “Whatever.” He turned away, dismissing his stepbrother without a good-bye. But when Robert reached for the door to the nursing home, Cain whirled on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

A flash of fear lit Robert’s eyes, which looked out of place on such a large man. But a second later, he managed to bury his initial reaction beneath a fresh dose of false bravado. “We already went over it. I need a loan. My car isn’t drivable and I don’t have the dough to fix it.”

“I told you not to ask Grandpa.”

Robert jutted out his chin. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Then do it for him. The only time you come around is when you want something. He’s got to be tired of it.”

“Stay out of my business. He’s not even your grandpa,” Robert said and entered the building, where he’d be surrounded by people to protect him if Cain snapped and went in after him.

Cain stared at Sheridan but she knew he wasn’t really seeing her. He was struggling with the desire to stop Robert from taking advantage of Marshall Wyatt. “There are days I hate him,” he admitted when his eyes finally focused.

“I’m surprised there are any days you don’t. Will your grandpa give him the money?”

“Probably,” he said with a sigh. “He usually does.”

Sheridan got out of the wheelchair so she could climb into Cain’s truck. But he opened the passenger door and deposited her on the seat before she could take a single step.

After returning the wheelchair to the lobby, he got into the driver’s side and started the engine. As he put the transmission in Reverse, she touched his arm. “Robert’s intimidated by you. And envious. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Robert’s screwed up. That’s what I realize,” he said and didn’t speak again the whole ride home.

Amy had to do something to get Cain to react. If he couldn’t love her, she wanted him to hate her. Anything had to be better than the complete indifference with which he treated her now. He hadn’t been with a woman for three years, yet he still wasn’t tempted to touch her? What was that about? She wasn’t even good enough for a casual screw?

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the couch, remembering what it’d been like in the old days. The first time he’d touched her, they’d been out behind her parents’ barn. He’d forgotten to take home the notes he needed to study for a test, a test he had to pass or he’d flunk the course, and he’d called to see if he could use hers. She’d had him come over, told her parents they were going outside to study and went into the barn, where she’d shown him what she was willing to give him. After that, she invited him over after parties, brought him home during school hours when her parents were working, even called and woke him up some nights so that she could sneak in through his window.

If only she hadn’t lost his baby…

God obviously hated her. Or He wouldn’t have taken the one thing that would’ve allowed her to keep some part of Cain, a part he could never take back. Having nothing was killing her. And it’d been killing her for years. When would the pain stop?

She couldn’t go on like this.

“What’s wrong?” Tiger wanted to know.

Amy slipped her bare toes under the blanket. Hot and humid as it was outside, she had her air-conditioning cranked high so she could cover up. It was too muggy to be close to Tiger and the heat his body generated without some air. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re fidgeting,” he complained. “Sit still so I can watch the movie.”

She gazed blankly at the screen. They were probably fifteen minutes into some terrorist DVD Tiger had chosen, but she didn’t have a clue what it was about. People and cars were getting blown up. That was it. After the movie, Tiger would want to make love, and in order to get into it she’d pretend he was Cain. Then he’d go to sleep and snore until she was tempted to smother him to stop the noise. And, in the morning, she’d drag him out of her bed just in time for them to make it to work.

It was the same routine every day. But being with Tiger was better than being alone. When she was alone, she thought of Cain nonstop, drove up there even more often. Sometimes her presence made his dogs bark, but not always. They knew her. And, if it was really dark, she’d toss them each a dog biscuit so she could get close enough to see through the windows.

“Amy, stop it!” Tiger snapped.

She was fidgeting again. With a sigh, she got up and went to the kitchen. She knew she shouldn’t eat. She was getting fat, which would make her even less appealing to Cain. But food seemed to be her only solace. And what did a few pounds matter if she didn’t see any man other than Tiger? He was fat himself.

“You hungry?” she called.

“No, but you could bring me a beer.”

Another beer? If he drank too many, she’d never be able to pretend he was Cain. Cain could be emotionally distant, but he was no bumbling, sloppy lover. “I’m out,” she lied.

“Wanna run to the store?”

“Hell, no,” she retorted, appalled that he’d even suggest it. But then she reconsidered. The prospect of seeing Cain had whetted her appetite for another visit to his house. She wanted to know what he was doing out there with Sheridan, wanted to see if he’d started using those condoms she’d left in his truck.

The thought of him in bed with Sheridan made Amy’s stomach ache. Sheridan, always the golden girl, had managed to land on her feet—again. “Lucky bitch.”




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