Pearce.” Natalie yanked her gown over her head and plopped onto the mattress. “Besides, it's your stupid car that keeps breaking down.”
“It's not just my stupid car that's eating through our bank account.” He tore his belt from around his waist and slung it on the closet floor—right on top of a brand new pile of books and pamphlets about strokes and alternative therapies. Heat seared Daniel's chest. He understood how badly Natalie wanted her mother to get better, but some of the unconventional approaches she'd been reading about were downright ludicrous. Before he could stop himself, he scattered the books with a well-aimed kick. And nearly doubled over as white-hot pain sliced from his big toe straight to his knee.
Natalie glared from her side of the bed. “Feel better now?”
He seethed with embarrassed rage. Every breath scraped his lungs like sandpaper. Without a word, he scooped up his pillow and the chenille throw at the foot of the bed and marched upstairs to the guestroom.
After a couple of hours tossing and turning, he gave up on sleep and went down to the den to boot up the computer. By morning he'd updated his résumé, printed out thirty copies, and addressed envelopes to the highest-rated school districts in three states.
Only after stuffing the letters through the post office mail chute did he pause to consider the possible repercussions. What if he actually got an offer? Would Natalie come to her senses and let go of false hopes about her mother? Would he finally convince her to leave Fawn Ridge with him and start fresh? Or had he just signed his marital death warrant?
Natalie shuffled in from the garage and dropped her purse onto the nearest kitchen chair. Her keys slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor. When she bent to pick them up a muscle in her neck cramped. She winced and pressed a hand to the sore spot.
“Hard day at work?” Daniel leaned in the doorway from the den. His tone was anything but sympathetic.
“As a matter of fact.” She straightened and glanced around the kitchen, her nose detecting the aromas of pepperoni, tomato sauce, and mozzarella. “Any pizza left?”
“After Lissa had her fill, I finished it off. It's so late, I figured you'd already eaten.” Daniel went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of milk.
“Thanks a lot.” Cactus nettles jabbed Natalie's spine. She shouldn't feel resentful—it was her choice to work late—but she did. She found a can of soup in the pantry and retrieved a saucepan from beneath the range. “Where's Lissa?”
“Spending the night with Jody.” Daniel set his milk glass on the counter and folded his arms. “You and I need some time by ourselves.”
Her head shot up at his words, and for a millisecond she felt a shiver of warm anticipation. Then she caught the look in his eyes—a look that held not the least hint of romance, not the least hint of love.
A sense of dread curled through her abdomen and quelled the last remnants of hunger. Exhaling slowly, she turned off the burner and stepped away from the stove. “You sound serious. What is it?”
“I can't go on like this, Natalie. The arguments, the blame— when you're here at all, that is.”
She hugged herself against a sudden chill. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying if you can't be a wife to me—a mother to Lissa—then I want you to move out. We need you full time or not at all.”
“What?” Natalie spun around, one hand on her forehead. Move out? The stove burner still glowed orange beneath the edge of the saucepan. She thought about touching a finger to it. Maybe the shock would wake her from this living nightmare.
A trembling started deep in her core. She crossed to the table and sank into a chair. “You can't mean this, Daniel. Think about what you're saying.”
“I have thought about it. Plenty.” He stood over her with arms crossed and
“It's not just my stupid car that's eating through our bank account.” He tore his belt from around his waist and slung it on the closet floor—right on top of a brand new pile of books and pamphlets about strokes and alternative therapies. Heat seared Daniel's chest. He understood how badly Natalie wanted her mother to get better, but some of the unconventional approaches she'd been reading about were downright ludicrous. Before he could stop himself, he scattered the books with a well-aimed kick. And nearly doubled over as white-hot pain sliced from his big toe straight to his knee.
Natalie glared from her side of the bed. “Feel better now?”
He seethed with embarrassed rage. Every breath scraped his lungs like sandpaper. Without a word, he scooped up his pillow and the chenille throw at the foot of the bed and marched upstairs to the guestroom.
After a couple of hours tossing and turning, he gave up on sleep and went down to the den to boot up the computer. By morning he'd updated his résumé, printed out thirty copies, and addressed envelopes to the highest-rated school districts in three states.
Only after stuffing the letters through the post office mail chute did he pause to consider the possible repercussions. What if he actually got an offer? Would Natalie come to her senses and let go of false hopes about her mother? Would he finally convince her to leave Fawn Ridge with him and start fresh? Or had he just signed his marital death warrant?
Natalie shuffled in from the garage and dropped her purse onto the nearest kitchen chair. Her keys slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor. When she bent to pick them up a muscle in her neck cramped. She winced and pressed a hand to the sore spot.
“Hard day at work?” Daniel leaned in the doorway from the den. His tone was anything but sympathetic.
“As a matter of fact.” She straightened and glanced around the kitchen, her nose detecting the aromas of pepperoni, tomato sauce, and mozzarella. “Any pizza left?”
“After Lissa had her fill, I finished it off. It's so late, I figured you'd already eaten.” Daniel went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of milk.
“Thanks a lot.” Cactus nettles jabbed Natalie's spine. She shouldn't feel resentful—it was her choice to work late—but she did. She found a can of soup in the pantry and retrieved a saucepan from beneath the range. “Where's Lissa?”
“Spending the night with Jody.” Daniel set his milk glass on the counter and folded his arms. “You and I need some time by ourselves.”
Her head shot up at his words, and for a millisecond she felt a shiver of warm anticipation. Then she caught the look in his eyes—a look that held not the least hint of romance, not the least hint of love.
A sense of dread curled through her abdomen and quelled the last remnants of hunger. Exhaling slowly, she turned off the burner and stepped away from the stove. “You sound serious. What is it?”
“I can't go on like this, Natalie. The arguments, the blame— when you're here at all, that is.”
She hugged herself against a sudden chill. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying if you can't be a wife to me—a mother to Lissa—then I want you to move out. We need you full time or not at all.”
“What?” Natalie spun around, one hand on her forehead. Move out? The stove burner still glowed orange beneath the edge of the saucepan. She thought about touching a finger to it. Maybe the shock would wake her from this living nightmare.
A trembling started deep in her core. She crossed to the table and sank into a chair. “You can't mean this, Daniel. Think about what you're saying.”
“I have thought about it. Plenty.” He stood over her with arms crossed and
Similar Books
The Adventures of Hiram Holliday
Paul Gallico
Taken (Ava Delaney #4)
Claire Farrell
Real Men Don't Break Hearts
Coleen Kwan
The Widow and the Orphan
J. Thomas-Like
Cherry Girl (Blackstone Affair)
Raine Miller
The Shadow of Cincinnatus
Christopher Nuttall
Ride the Thunder
Janet Dailey
Avoiding Temptation
K. A. Linde
The Paleo Diet
Loren Cordain