this?” Rocky asked, and glared at a comforter and pillow on the floor. “You slept here? Irma said that woman was down here.”
Dena stiffened in defense, and she wondered how Zeke would cope.
“Can we get some coffee going?” Zeke asked. “I just woke up.” He stretched, rubbed at the small of his back.
Dena pulled in a long breath and let it out. Good. Change the subject.
She might as well show her face, act natural. Well, it wouldn’t be an act because nothing happened last night between her and Zeke, other than in her imagination.
“What’s happening?” she asked, smoothing a hand over her hair and entering the main room.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing sleeping here?” Rocky blustered. He took a couple of steps toward her, his face dark with rage. He spun around and glared at Zeke. “It’s an affront, this is. It’s Isabella’s place and—”
“It’s my place,” Zeke said, his voice icy cold. He raised an open palm. “I can do anything I want with it. I can burn it to the ground if I want.”
Dena held her breath. Good for you, Zeke.
Rocky gasped. Stanton barely acknowledged her. He didn’t even look her up and down and she was braless in a tiny kimono. “I’ll make coffee,” she said.
She rummaged around, found the ground coffee and filters and set to work. The men were quiet for a few minutes, except for the shuffle of feet and the occasional clearing of a throat. “I’d rather—” Stanton said, with an apologetic look toward Rocky, “—talk to you alone, Zeke.”
Rocky stammered. Dena thought he was about to refuse to go.
“Leave us, Rocky,” Zeke said. “I need to have you look over some business later. We’ll meet at ten, in my office, okay?”
Rocky’s face darkened. “Sure.” He glared at Dena. “There’s a lot to discuss.” Then he stalked out.
Dena moved to the door to make sure he didn’t hang around to eavesdrop, but he was almost at the stables.
“Listen, coffee’s on,” she said. “I’ll go and shower. Leave you guys alone.”
Zeke gave a brief nod and looked at Stanton who stood just inside the front door. He still wore his dark glasses.
Dena opened the cupboard door where she’d stored a few goodies last night. “There’s cereal, fruit,” she said, then walked over, opened the fridge, and peered inside. “A couple of bagels, cold pizza, milk, preserves, and cream cheese, if anyone’s hungry.”
“The bagels and cream cheese sound good. Right, Dave?” Zeke asked.
Stanton nodded and finally walked across the room. He sat, and his round body overflowed the edges of the small bistro chair. “Dena can stay,” he mumbled.
“You’re sure?” That was a surprise. “I’m happy to leave you guys alone.”
“No. What I have to say, well, it affects us all.”
The room became still and quiet. Dread rose up her throat in a giant lump. It concerns me, affects me? This could only be about Carli. The coffee pot made that little gurgle, hiss and sizzle sound it makes when it’s done brewing. She swallowed a couple of times and her pulse took off like she’d just consumed the entire pot of caffeine. Damn it. She should have confessed last night to Zeke.
She tried to calm herself while she popped the bagels in the toaster. She carried everything else to the table. This is what lying got you. Having your untruths revealed when you’re unprepared.
Her cell phone rang in the bedroom, and she recalled the problems of last night. She shoved her hair out of her eyes, and let out a frustrated sigh. “It has to be Mom, or Aunt Ruth,” she said, and hurried across the room. “I’ll tell her I’ll call back.”
“We’ll wait,” Stanton said. “Take your time.”
She grabbed her phone and hit the button to answer.
“Is this a good time, Dena?”
“Mom?” Her mother never asked that. Dena adjusted the phone to her ear and strained to hear anything from the other room. A murmur of conversation floated in. She wanted to get back out there. “I can talk for a minute, but I’m in a meeting—”
“I’m sorry,” her mother said, and sniffled.
“About what?” Dena felt her blood turn to ice. What had happened? Had they been in an accident? Was Aunt Ruth hurt?
“Last night,” her mother said. “I think…I think I said some mean things to you.”
Oh, that was all. Nothing she hadn’t handled for the past twenty years. Dena let her breath escape. “Mom, it’s no problem, nothing to discuss—”
“But there is, Dena. I’ve always treated you mean.