I’ll take you and Lacy to dinner.”
Kelly nodded, muttered thanks, and strode off toward the cottage. Once inside, she hurried to the kitchen window and watched his Jeep turn left and disappear down A1A.
Disappointed, she left the kitchen and flipped on the TV. She’d caught herself hoping Steve McCarthy might be different than the other men with whom she’d shared her life. She wouldn’t deny she’d enjoyed their day together. He was easy to be around, and she hadn’t laughed so hard in years. But once again, the joke was on her.
Gary Benson!
She poured herself a glass of wine and wandered into the living room where she plopped down on the sofa, the dregs of old emotions creeping over her. The house hunt was over, and Steve McCarthy had somewhere to go. Big deal. So, why did she feel so prickled by his refusal to stay for one lousy cup of coffee? It wasn’t like she’d changed her life plan and decided to give him a try. She was content with her life the way it was—just her and Lacy, without a man to shake things up. So, why was she upset when Steve hadn’t come in? She knew better than to have expectations of a man. Her jaw tightened. He wasn’t so different than Ken after all. He’d chosen a guy over her, too.
Believing her judgment had improved over time, she sighed, her shoulders slumping with the realization that it hadn’t. She tossed the glass of wine down in one long, deliberate swallow, wondering who’d gotten her share of female intuition when God was handing it out. Consulting a Ouija board would have given her better results.
Stricken by a pang of resentment, she grabbed the wine glass and hurled it at the kitchen counter. It shattered into a dozen pieces.
“Who the hell is Gary Benson?”
A feeling of déjà vu enveloped her, smothering any hope she’d dared to let in.
Chapter Nine
K elly woke up, her bad mood diluted by a good night’s rest. She participated in her new morning ritual of sweet coffee, sand between her toes and some wave worship before heading to work. She was working long hours, trying to get ahead on the job but worried there wouldn’t be enough hours in the next week to get everything done.
She’d finished a small story about the orange growers polluting the ground water with fertilizers and had planned to take an early lunch in order to transfer the utilities for the rental house into her name. She glanced at the clock. Eight fifteen in the morning, San Francisco time. A low growl escaped her lips. She drummed her fingers on the desk and frowned so hard her forehead hurt. Her jerk attorney had never called back yesterday. She picked up the telephone and dialed his number.
His receptionist apologized, although, when she finally reached him , he didn’t.
“The court date has been set,” he said, his tone slick and artificial as Naugahyde. “Did you know your ex-husband is threatening to counter sue?”
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me,” Kelly responded with resignation. “You’ve just made my day.”
“Ms. Pearson, your ex-husband is clearly in default here. He has no case against you, and honestly, until I hear back from his lawyer, I can’t imagine why they would bother.”
“Because Ken Pearson is a self-centered Neanderthal.” Kelly wadded up a piece of paper, wishing it were Ken’s face, and tossed it in the trash.
She remembered why she’d married Ken. He had been her first date and first love. Intense and passionate, he had an eye on his future, their future she thought. When they married, she had committed all her youthful idealism to the relationship, loving Ken completely, selflessly.
Working full- time while he attended University had been hard on the relationship, but she’d told herself things would change after he graduated and found a job. It hadn’t. Instead, Ken had grown more and more selfish, criticizing her often and finding frequent excuses to be away from home. Toward the end, he was never home. She’d
Kelly nodded, muttered thanks, and strode off toward the cottage. Once inside, she hurried to the kitchen window and watched his Jeep turn left and disappear down A1A.
Disappointed, she left the kitchen and flipped on the TV. She’d caught herself hoping Steve McCarthy might be different than the other men with whom she’d shared her life. She wouldn’t deny she’d enjoyed their day together. He was easy to be around, and she hadn’t laughed so hard in years. But once again, the joke was on her.
Gary Benson!
She poured herself a glass of wine and wandered into the living room where she plopped down on the sofa, the dregs of old emotions creeping over her. The house hunt was over, and Steve McCarthy had somewhere to go. Big deal. So, why did she feel so prickled by his refusal to stay for one lousy cup of coffee? It wasn’t like she’d changed her life plan and decided to give him a try. She was content with her life the way it was—just her and Lacy, without a man to shake things up. So, why was she upset when Steve hadn’t come in? She knew better than to have expectations of a man. Her jaw tightened. He wasn’t so different than Ken after all. He’d chosen a guy over her, too.
Believing her judgment had improved over time, she sighed, her shoulders slumping with the realization that it hadn’t. She tossed the glass of wine down in one long, deliberate swallow, wondering who’d gotten her share of female intuition when God was handing it out. Consulting a Ouija board would have given her better results.
Stricken by a pang of resentment, she grabbed the wine glass and hurled it at the kitchen counter. It shattered into a dozen pieces.
“Who the hell is Gary Benson?”
A feeling of déjà vu enveloped her, smothering any hope she’d dared to let in.
Chapter Nine
K elly woke up, her bad mood diluted by a good night’s rest. She participated in her new morning ritual of sweet coffee, sand between her toes and some wave worship before heading to work. She was working long hours, trying to get ahead on the job but worried there wouldn’t be enough hours in the next week to get everything done.
She’d finished a small story about the orange growers polluting the ground water with fertilizers and had planned to take an early lunch in order to transfer the utilities for the rental house into her name. She glanced at the clock. Eight fifteen in the morning, San Francisco time. A low growl escaped her lips. She drummed her fingers on the desk and frowned so hard her forehead hurt. Her jerk attorney had never called back yesterday. She picked up the telephone and dialed his number.
His receptionist apologized, although, when she finally reached him , he didn’t.
“The court date has been set,” he said, his tone slick and artificial as Naugahyde. “Did you know your ex-husband is threatening to counter sue?”
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me,” Kelly responded with resignation. “You’ve just made my day.”
“Ms. Pearson, your ex-husband is clearly in default here. He has no case against you, and honestly, until I hear back from his lawyer, I can’t imagine why they would bother.”
“Because Ken Pearson is a self-centered Neanderthal.” Kelly wadded up a piece of paper, wishing it were Ken’s face, and tossed it in the trash.
She remembered why she’d married Ken. He had been her first date and first love. Intense and passionate, he had an eye on his future, their future she thought. When they married, she had committed all her youthful idealism to the relationship, loving Ken completely, selflessly.
Working full- time while he attended University had been hard on the relationship, but she’d told herself things would change after he graduated and found a job. It hadn’t. Instead, Ken had grown more and more selfish, criticizing her often and finding frequent excuses to be away from home. Toward the end, he was never home. She’d
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