from behind, his face next to hers, Grant looking at the camera as though daring the viewer to guess what they were going to do later.
She set down the picture, her heart heavy.
Christina knew Grant had hired a cleaning team to come in after the bachelor party, but already the trailer wasn’t pristine. Grant dropped clothes as he took them off, to lie there until laundry day. Dishes from breakfast rested in the sink and on the small counter.
Christina started to pick up his clothes. She tried to make herself stop—she didn’t live with him anymore—but she couldn’t help it. She smoothed the black T-shirt and worn jeans over her arm and carried them to the hamper in the bathroom. Then she went out and started rinsing off the dishes.
As she worked, every single thing she’d tried to shut out for the last year and more came back to her.
Grant leaning on the kitchen counter as she worked, a towel in his big hands, not too macho to help out with the dishes. Grant kissing her when the chores were done, smiling as he backed her to the chair. They’d settle on it, Christina on his lap as they watched TV, talked, or kissed. Then they’d go to the bedroom for spread-out, enthusiastic sex. Laughing and talking, or arguing and making up, until they fell asleep.
They’d wake in the morning, in the sunshine, wrapped in each other. Grant would rumble that he had to go to work and Christina would stay in bed, soaking in the warmth he left.
After they’d broken up, Christina had deliberately pushed every memory of him aside, knowing she couldn’t handle them.
As she stood now in the middle of Grant’s living room, the memories hurtled at her with the speed of a summer storm and she was defenseless.
Tears welled up and spilled from her eyes. When everything had gone wrong between them, it had hurt with gut-ripping pain. The only way to stop the pain had been to walk away.
The pain hadn’t stopped, though, Christina realized in dismay. She’d simply pretended it didn’t exist.
But all the old pain and sorrows were here, in this room. She could hear their wall-shaking arguments, the things they’d said that cut, and again their laughter, and their cries of passion as they relieved their unstoppable need for each other.
She shouldn’t have come. Christina took a breath and headed for the door. She’d explain the situation to Olivia, have her talk to Grant.
As she reached the door, she saw Karen Marvin’s BMW pull up in the drive and stop. The engine switched off. Grant emerged from the passenger side, strolled around, and opened the door for Karen.
The two of them headed for the house.
Christina panicked, ran for Grant’s bedroom, and hid in the closet.
Chapter Eight
“Well, this is cute,” Christina heard Karen say.
Grant’s laughter rumbled. “That’s one word for it. It’s a trailer in the middle of nowhere. Not much, but it’s home for now.”
“I like it,” Karen said.
The door clicked closed and the floor creaked. “Want coffee? Or iced tea? We should have gone to the ranch—all kinds of good stuff up there.”
“No, I wanted to speak to you alone.”
“About the script?” Grant’s voice held skepticism. For all his courtesy, Christina reflected, Grant wasn’t stupid.
“About the deal. I’d rather negotiate with you. Your brother Carter is a good businessman, but he’s a little unnerving.”
“He’s fine,” Grant said with a growl. Christina liked that Grant always jumped to Carter’s defense, had even when they’d been kids and Carter had just beaten the shit out of him. “He’s not good at talking, but he’s okay. Now, Tyler and me, we don’t know when to shut up.”
“Carter isn’t from Riverbend, is he?” Karen sounded interested. “He doesn’t act like the rest of you. He was adopted?”
“It’s no secret.” Grant clattered cups, ran water. “He was sent to our ranch as part of a rehab thing. My mom was in a program to help kids like him learn how to take care of horses and ride. My mom liked Carter and decided to adopt him.”
Christina knew that there had been much more to it than that, but Grant didn’t like to go into it with outsiders.
“How sweet,” Karen said. “Now, let’s you and I talk.”
There was a thump, a rattle, and then Grant said, “Whoa.”
The sounds became muffled, Karen laughing, Grant’s replies inaudible.
Christina couldn’t stand it. Plastered against the wall of Grant’s closet, she could see nothing, no longer hear. She crept out, making no