Chapter 11
Stronger – Britney Spears
Tally
Needles of anger stabbed beneath my skin, sharp and hot, leaving it red raw. The reason why reeked of too much cologne, sharp and synthetic, like citrus left too long in the sun, clawing at the back of my throat and squeaking with every smug step in his ridiculous shoes.
“What do you want, Declan?” Maybe if I kept walking, he’d vanish. Maybe if I wished hard enough, he’d go up in a puff of smoke.
“We need to talk, Tallulah.”
The clip, clip, clip of him trailing behind me was maddening. Like a wasp that refused to buzz off, no matter how many times you waved it away. My grandma once swore if you asked a wasp nicely, it would leave you alone. Big fail Grandma, especially with this little sucker.
“Just go away, Declan. Sign the damn papers and fuck off.”
“Hey—” He grabbed my arm, and it was like being electrocuted as heat flared across my skin, nerves sparking with instinctive revulsion.
Nothing like when Wilder touched me. God, not even close.
Declan’s hand didn’t send sparks through my bloodstream or summon butterflies in my stomach.
His touch didn’t whisper across my skin, making it burn in all the right places.
“Get your hands off me.” I stared at his grip, daring it to disappear.
“I don’t like how we left things,” he said, his voice thin and papery. Not like the deep, gravel-laced sarcasm I was used to. Not like Wilder.
“And I don’t like you touching me. You don’t get to do that anymore.”
There it was that flash of arrogance. The smug lift of his lip. The slow, entitled blink.
“I was your wife for the shortest time,” I hissed, swallowing the expletives that were biting the end of my tongue.
“And your idea that I was ever your possession? That’s exactly why our marriage lasted five months, three weeks, and two damn days.
That and other things.” I could give him an entire scroll of reasons why I ended our marriage.
Reasons why I never should’ve married him in the first place.
“If you’re talking about that horse,” he scoffed. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Every vertebra in my spine prickled like dominoes lined up in a row, each one tipping into the next, sending a shiver of dread rippling through me.
His casual dismissal was a detonator for all my rage.
Dreamy. That beautiful, broken soul. He was the cause as to why I couldn’t stomach looking at Declan.
“You were his jockey,” I spat. “It was your job to make sure he felt safe and secure in the gate. But you didn’t and then you let that bastard keep him in a stable for hours, for days. So of course, that horse is one of the reasons why I can’t stand the sight of you.”
“You were his groom, Tallulah. You could have done something about it.”
My arm ripped free, and my fists clenched so hard I wasn’t sure if I was going to punch him or claw his smug face to ribbons.
“I did do something,” I barked. “I got him the hell out of there. I risked prison stealing a three-million-dollar horse. I did that to save him. You?” My finger jabbed into his chest, hard.
“You did nothing. You didn’t beg Bernard to let him out.
You didn’t get him help. You told me to shut up and not rock the boat. ”
He blinked, and I kept going.
“You left that poor baby in a stall, terrified and anxious, not knowing when he’d be forced to race again. He trusted you and you let him down. And that” my voice cracked but didn’t break, “is just one more reason I want you to sign those damn divorce papers and get out of my life.”
His cold, steel-gray eyes sharp as winter pierced through me. A sitting tenant in my head.
“If I don’t sign those papers you’ll have to wait,” he said, his voice calm and collected.
The small hint of an Irish accent drifted in, like it always did when he was angry.
When he was conniving and manipulative. When he forgot that he had a family whom he never spoke of because he was a social climbing asshole.
“And I have no idea what’s going on here with you and Rip Wheeler there,” he pointed to the house over his shoulder, “but I doubt he’ll hang around if he knows you’re still married. ”
“Rip Wheeler?” I scoffed. “He’s much more Kayce Dutton and anyway why would he care.” The idea of it made my skin feel too tight. My breath too shallow.
“He called you Tally.” Declan’s tongue ran over his teeth underneath his top lip, as he perused me. While he thought about what that meant. “Only your family gets to call you that. I was limited to Tallulah.”
“No, you weren’t, you just chose to call me that because you thought it more becoming.”
“And Brownie?” The word slipped out like a curse from his thin lips. “What other secrets are you keeping from your cowboy, Tallulah?”
There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound like I was dressing up a secret with a lie. Nothing that Declan needed to know.
“Declan.” His name was heavy on my soul. “Please just sign the papers and get out of my life.”
The silence between us was a huge chasm of regret that could never be erased.
That saying, don’t be sad it’s over, just be glad it happened was the biggest lie I’d ever heard.
There was no gladness in my heart about my marriage to Declan Mullaney.
Loneliness and admiration had led to the fool’s gold called love.
“I’m not signing anything,” he finally replied, smoothing back his already perfect hair. “I’ll be at the Maple Hotel. When you’re ready to remember what you had.”
“I won’t because I never want that again. Ever. Now if you don’t mind. I have work to do.” Turning my back on him, I started toward the indoor arena, my anger over Declan momentarily making me forget that Wilder had also made me mad.
It wasn’t a surprise when I heard Wilder’s familiar knock on my cabin door later. How hard and impatient it was certainly a surprise. The slow inhale I took was full of annoyance. I was mad at him, so his banging loud enough to wake the dead was uncalled for.
“Okay,” I snapped as I snatched it open. “I heard you.”
Without an invitation, Wilder stepped inside. Instantly the room felt full of him. Everything fell under the shadow of him.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you were married?” His voice cracked the air, louder than it needed to be in the hush of the room, echoing off wood and silence.
“And good evening to you too.”
He’d clearly been in a rush. His hair was still damp from his shower, he wasn’t wearing a jacket over his Henley and his boot laces were untied.
Like he’d made a snap decision to come to my cabin, and nothing would change his mind.
Not even the bone penetrating cold that the lowering of the sun had brought with it.
“I don’t fuck other men’s wives, Tallulah.”
“Don’t call me that,” I gritted out. “And I didn’t tell you because I’m not married to him. Well, maybe legally as the stupid dick hasn’t signed the papers, but that is as far as it goes.”
Wilder moved in front of the fire, opened it up and threw another log on it. Confident and comfortable in my space.
“You still should have mentioned it.” His jaw tensed as his spine lengthened. “Can you imagine what I felt when he said he was your husband?”
“I have no idea how you feel about anything,” I snapped. Because wasn’t that the truth. The man was more closed off than a mausoleum. “We’re just sex remember.”
“And I repeat, I don’t have sex with other men’s wives.” He shrugged. “Their mothers and sisters maybe, but not their damn wives.”
Annoyance flared through me, hot, blistering frustration, activating every angry corner of my DNA.
“I have no idea where I am with you.” I threw my hands into the air. “You come around blowing off about me being shackled to a man I haven’t spoken to in months and then make jokes about having sex with other women. Including people’s mother’s!”
“I’m not prejudiced about age, so sue me.”
Breathing out slowly I went to the kitchen area and pulled two mugs from the cupboard and poured us both some coffee.
“Here.” I thrust the hot, black liquid at him.
“And while we’re on the subject of not disclosing things, why didn’t you tell me what you were doing with the money I pay for Dreamy’s board? ”
He took a sip of the scolding coffee and winced, even though I knew that it hit the right spot for him. It was exactly how he liked it. He affirmed it with a sigh.
“Gunner didn’t want it, but he knew you would insist on paying. And I’m guessing it’s my big mouth brother who told you.”
“Yes he did and I’m grateful that he did. I don’t want charity, Wilder. Dream Maker staying here and being trained by Gunner is expensive.”
Wilder shook his head, leaning back against the counter, the mug resting against his broad chest. “You work here, it means we take care of you. And if that is by allowing your horse to be trained and boarded here for free, then that’s how we do it. The money is there for whatever you need it for.”
“When were you planning on telling me about it?” The amount of money in there was already a fair sum, even though Gunner had insisted I pay far less than the usual rate.
“And what the hell am I supposed to do with it? I have a home, I don’t need a car because I have a ranch vehicle, I have enough money for what I need in life. ”
He shrugged again, that lazy confidence of a man who felt he always made the right decisions. Did the right things.
“I don’t know. Buy into Gunner’s training program? Invest in the wedding venue? Sponsor the kid’s camp? I have no idea, Brownie.”
Oh, so I was back to being Brownie. Maybe the coffee had soothed his temper, but it hadn’t mine.
“Seriously, Wilder. Why would you just not let me pay my way?”
“I told you. Ask my brother. It was his idea.”
“God damn it, now I’m mad at both of you.” He smirked behind his coffee mug. “You’re lying, it was all your idea wasn’t it? You know Gunner must be wondering why you would suggest doing that. I bet he knows now that we’re having sex.”