Shameless (The Contemporary Collection) by Jennifer Blake

sleeves. The handgun must have been the reason he had left the house just now, she thought; he'd gotten it from the Jeep.
    She said, “You had it all along.”
    He acknowledged it with a brief nod. “I saw it when you dropped it in the woods. It seemed you might have a use for it.”
    “I might at that,” she said.
    There was a pause. Then in trenchant tones, he said, “About tonight… discouraging Keith is one thing, but what about the effect on your divorce? What if he decides to use you having a man here against you in court?”
    “He wouldn't dare,” she answered. “His own adultery has been so public that documenting it would be ridiculously easy. Besides, I asked for nothing from him, so there's nothing to contest, nothing for him to gain. The community property we've accumulated is so mortgaged, the only thing left to divide is the debts.”
    “Even this house?” he asked with a quick frown.
    Cammie shook her head. “Evergreen is heir property and mine alone. Actually, Keith wanted to put it up for cash. He even went so far as to arrange it behind my back, but I refused to sign the papers.”
    Reid said tightly, “I heard about your father and mother. It's a little late, but I'm sorry.”
    Her father had been killed in a head-on collision with a log truck less than a year after her marriage. Her mother, who had been fighting breast cancer at the time, had simply stopped struggling and let it take her. Cammie accepted his sympathy with a slight inclination of her head before she went on. “Anyway, the communal property consists of our two cars and the silver and china we were given as wedding gifts.”
    “I know his interest in the mill is tied up, so he can't draw on it directly, but he makes a good salary. Is he that bad at managing his money?”
    Reid's manner was intent, the question personal. It was possible, however, that he had a right to ask. Any assistant manager who could not handle his personal business could hardly be considered a good choice to control the finances of a company like Sayers-Hutton Bag and Paper Company. Still, going into detail about Keith's spending habits felt wrong to her.
    She said after a brief hesitation, “Let's just say Keith enjoys the good life.”
    A smile indented the corner of Reid's mouth. “I had almost forgotten that such discretion existed. I suppose your mother taught you it's impolite to talk about money problems.”
    “Something like that.”
    “You must have been the perfect wife. Keith's an idiot.”
    She turned sharply away from Reid, moving to where a half-completed watercolor of a wild purple flag, or iris, sat on an easel. Putting the handgun down on a nearby table, she reached out to touch the silky paper, feeling for dryness.
    Over her shoulder she said, “I tried to be perfect. I took gourmet cooking lessons and studied books on home decorating and table presentation in order to be a good hostess. I joined all the right clubs and groups to improve our social life. I exercised and ate right to stay in shape; I spent hours on my complexion, my hair and my nails. I read to broaden my mind, and drove out of town to buy sex manuals to find out what was wrong with our love life. I studied all the magazine articles that said I was supposed to be endlessly understanding, never talk about my problems or pains, but encourage my man to tell me his. And do you know what happened?”
    “I can guess,” Reid said. “Keith didn't appreciate it.”
    She turned to face him, her eyes dark. “He took it for granted. He thought I was supposed to do all these things. In his mind, he deserved perfection.”
    “And now he thinks you have no right to deny him his perfect world since he's decided he wants it back.”
    “It's more a matter of pride than anything else. He thinks if he calls and begs and pleads and follows me around, making my life miserable, that I'll believe he loves me and give in. He's wrong. But the six-month waiting period before the petition