Читать книгу A Man She Can Trust - Roxanne Rustand - Страница 8

HE WAS LATE again…and this time, she knew why.

Jill dropped her gaze from the mantel clock to the dying embers in the fireplace, her fingers pressed deep into the back of her husband’s leather recliner.

Her stomach pitched at the sound of a car door slamming outside. She nearly turned away and headed for the open staircase, knowing there’d still be a measure of security and comfort in feigning ignorance.

Dreading the confrontation to come.

Knowing that it was long overdue.

And well-aware that she deserved better than evenings alone and whispered conjecture among the people she passed on the streets of Blackberry Hill.

Some of her patients at the clinic knew. She’d seen the nervous darting of their eyes and their tentative, sympathetic smiles.

She’d even caught some of the rumors in the aisles of Crupper’s Family Grocery on Main, when the gossips hadn’t realized she was one aisle over. Sad, isn’t it? A handsome couple like that. Goes to show money and fancy degrees don’t guarantee happiness.

But it wasn’t just the rumors and sympathy. It was everything else over the past two years that had undermined what they’d once had, until now they were strangers living under the same roof.

Grant’s keys jingled outside the front entryway. The door swung open and he walked inside, dropped his briefcase on the antique settee and started down the wide central hallway leading past the parlor and dining room to the kitchen and den.

“Grant.”

He faltered and turned, one brow raised in surprise. “You’re up late,” he said.

“Or early. It’s already two-thirty, Grant. Where have you been?”

“It was my day to be at the Kendrick office.” Irritation flickered in his dark, handsome face. “You know how far that is.”

“Two hours.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re usually back by seven-thirty. I was worried about you, so I called your brother. He said you were both done at the courthouse by five, but you didn’t go back to his office.”

“As if he knew.” Grant lowered his voice. “He sure as hell wasn’t there. He took off for the golf course.”

Before, she’d just felt anxiety over this inevitable meeting. Now, anger gnawed at her and her heart beat at a dizzying pace. “He was there, at seven. You weren’t. He forgot his billfold.”

Grant spun on his heel and strode into the parlor to within a few feet of her, a muscle ticking at the side of his jaw. “So, Detective Jill on the case. Assuming the worst.”

“It’s a little hard to ignore the rumors flying around this town. It’s even harder to ignore the way people glance at me and look away, as if they’re wondering when the poor, stupid wife is going to catch on.”

His dark brown eyes glittered. “To what, Jill? Say it.”

“You’ve been late five nights out of seven the past week. When you’re here, you may as well not be—you’re a million miles away. You’ve been seen with that red-haired woman in your car on back country roads. And,” Jill added bitterly, “this entire town seemed to know what was going on weeks before I ever caught on.”

His voice dropped another level—a sure sign of his anger. “So you’ve accused, tried and convicted me. Without saying a word. Without asking me a thing.”

“It doesn’t take much imagination. I sit in this house alone, night after night after night.”

“Then you ought to be happy. You sure put yourself and this heap of rubble above anything I want.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He cursed under his breath. “It’s all about you, Jill. Always. We moved three times to accommodate med school, your internship and your residency. I was glad to do it, if it made you happy. Then we moved here so I could help my dad, and I wanted a nice place in town. One that wouldn’t consume every last second of my time just trying to make it livable. I want a family. Except it’s still just all about you.”

Afraid to say a word, she felt as if she was teetering at the edge of a precipice with jagged glass waiting far below.

“You got what you wanted,” he continued, the absence of emotion and the cold, flat expression in his eyes more chilling than outright anger. “In every way. You got your career. You got this damned house—a place that’s done nothing but drive us further apart. And that little inconvenience of an unexpected pregnancy? Gone.”

She winced. “That’s so unfair. So totally cruel and unfair.”

“Unfair?” He bit out the word. “Would you have lost that baby if you’d listened to me? You always do what you want, no matter what anyone says. And as for this marriage? I think we know what’s left of it. If you’ve got to ask if I’ve cheated on you, then we are truly over.”

She glared at him, stunned by his attack. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“For what it’s worth, I haven’t.” Their eyes locked in anger. Then he took a step away. “I’ll be back tomorrow for my things.”

He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the entryway. The door crashed against the wall as he went out.

And just that fast, he was gone—but it wasn’t a surprise.

Earlier tonight, after talking to Phil, she’d been worried. Grant was lean, hard-muscled. He’d started running four miles a day and lifting weights after his father had his first heart attack at fifty, and was in superb condition. But as a physician, she knew even young, healthy males could keel over. And seeing sick people day after day made her all the more aware of the risks.

So she’d driven to town, expecting Grant had come back from Kendrick to put in some hours at his father’s law office. Wanting to check on him…though maybe that had just been an excuse.

On the way, she’d imagined that he might tear himself away from his work, so they could go to a quiet little restaurant for a late supper and a chance to visit, away from the battlefield of home.

A chance, perhaps, to heal their latest rift over her plans to remodel their old Victorian.

His car had been behind the office just as she’d thought. She’d gone to the back and tried the doorknob. And then she’d heard the voices. Grant’s laughter. The sultry voice of a woman.

The lights inside had dimmed.

And with them, her last hopes for her marriage died.