at this point—you know, feminine hygiene, Midol, self-help books, shit like that.”
Eli nodded. “Good for her.”
“I was walking down Market Street the other day and saw a woman wearing one of the Web site T-shirts,” Rick said. “I tried to approach her, just to tell her that Roxie was a friend of mine, but she pulled out a container of Mace before I could open my mouth.”
Teeny chortled. “You lie like a dog, Rousseau.”
“Hey, it’s probably happening to some poor guy, somewhere,” Rick said, grinning.
The three men sat in silence for a moment. Because it was impossible not to, their gazes wandered out to the stunning view of the early-season vineyards and the scraggly mountain backdrop. Eli realized that Rick’s Sonoma Valley retreat was a refined version of his own Utah paradise, but with a whole lot more luxury and fewer dogs.
A pang of loneliness shot through him. Eli missed his motley bunch. He knew they were in good hands with Sondra—after all, his sister was his first protégée—but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss them like hell. Especially old Gizmo, his huskie-shepherd mix, the four-legged leader of the pack and the dog he’d known the longest. Eli spent every day surrounded by dogs, of course, but they weren’t his dogs. There was no replacement for the eight friends who shared his life and, since Tamara had bolted, his bed.
A vision flashed through his brain—Roxanne in that same bed, flushed, breathless, naked, all that gorgeous dark hair thrown across his pillow, reaching for him. Again.
“You do know her story, right?” Teeny asked, his voice more serious.
Eli tore his mind away from the fantasy and looked to Teeny. He shook his head, knowing the reality wouldn’t be nearly as pretty.
“She had a real hard time as a kid,” Rick said. “Her dad was a scum bucket who walked out on her and her mom when she was six. They never saw him again.”
“And when she was older, Roxie started hooking up with a string of bad boys,” Teeny said, shaking his head wistfully. “God knows I have no right to judge that particular weakness, but she’s made some questionable calls in the relationship department.”
“Hmmm,” Eli said, frowning. “So that’s where all the anger comes from—father issues and bad relationships?”
Rick jumped in to answer Eli’s question. “No,” he said. “It was the last one that did her in. Josie tells me that before the last guy, Roxie was pretty much your average woman—a little skeptical but holding out hope. But this last one really fucked with her head.”
“How so?” Eli asked, turning toward Rick in fascination. He couldn’t help but be interested in the how and the why of Roxie Bloom.
“He was an older dude,” Rick said, “a lawyer she met while covering the court system for the Herald . She really loved him. She thought for sure they were headed for the altar.”
That surprised Eli—the age difference and the fact that Roxie had ever dreamed of being somebody’s bride. “How much older are we talking?” Eli asked.
“Dirty old man territory,” Teeny said, chuckling.
“Josie told me about the night it all went to hell for Roxie,” Rick said.
Eli nodded uncomfortably, aware that learning more about the destabilizing force that was Roxie Bloom sure wouldn’t make it any easier to walk away. “I’m not sure I want to hear this,” he said.
Rick continued anyway. “One night, Josie and Roxanne decided it would be fun to surprise the old guy while he was kickin’ back with his boys at a cigar bar.”
Eli’s eyes got big.
“I know, can you believe it?” Teeny asked, shaking his head at the severity of Roxie’s blunder. “Rule number one: always call ahead.”
“So they caught him with another woman?” Eli asked.
“Another woman would have been a blessing.” Teeny leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “They found him in the middle of a nasty little story.”
Eli groaned. “He was talking
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley