How stupid she must seem to him. How na?ve. He’d killed Cole, then made a move on her. The first moments she’d met Ian came back into blindingly bright focus. He’d been holding Cole’s letter then and seemed confused by the advertisement. He hadn’t been there to apply to be her husband at all. He was there to deliver a dead man’s message. A message from a man he killed.
She’d lost sight of what she wanted. The advertisement was meant for an older Alaskan man made of gristle and bone, who was willing to be a friend, legally bound to her and her land. The entire point of mail-ordering a husband had been to leave love, romance, and feelings out of it completely. This was supposed to be an emotionless transaction. One that her closed-down heart could handle.
Instead, she’d fallen for a pretty face, a pretty body, and pretty lies.
And now she was breaking apart. Shattering into a million pieces. She was a mirror, and Cole had carelessly slammed his fist into her. Her heart had barely survived that man. All of the good parts of herself had been sacrificed in the last couple of years, and she’d been so determined to discover something strong about herself again. She needed a man to help her with her homestead, but she didn’t need him wrecking her heart.
Her mistakes stretched on and on across her mind, vast and endless like a desert, and everything Ian had ever said to her was a mirage.
The landscape of her homestead passed in a blur outside the windows as she cried her anguish. She’d lost so much, and dammit, she’d never complained. She’d accepted her father’s absence and had worked through her childhood insecurities that he’d somehow left because of her. Lash. She’d stayed quiet under Mom’s constant criticism. Lash. Marta’s funeral. Lash. Uncle Jim’s funeral. Lash. Cole had laid her heart wide open because she’d been ready. She’d wanted someone to stick around so badly, she’d clung to a horrible man. Lash, lash, lash.
But the biggest pain of all was this. She’d told Ian everything. Shared all of herself, her fears, her hopes, because she’d been so sure he was doing the same for her. She’d been convinced he’d laid himself bare in those quiet moments between working their fingers to the bone, and in bed after intimacy, and in the early mornings when the snuggled closer to avoid the coming day, and when he tracked her down and interrupted her chores just to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.
She’d believed him. She’d believed in him.
Elyse had fallen completely while Ian Silver had only cared for the wounded bird left reeling by the man he’d murdered.
She hunched into herself as the ache in her middle doubled.
This wasn’t love—not for Ian.
This was guilt and pity.
****
Elyse nodded when the bartender, Eric, asked if she wanted another. She fingered the edge of the folded note and wiped her damp lashes on the sleeve of her jacket. Whiskey was the only thing that made her feel better. It numbed her. The scorching amber liquid made the smallness she felt less important.
Even the darkest end of the bar top wasn’t near black enough for her right now. The light above her had gone out, and though it flickered to life every once in a while, it was the only corner in this whole place that felt comfortable.
“Just the woman we’re in town to see,” Miller slurred from behind her, raising the hairs on her neck.
She slid the note smoothly into her pocket and gave him a sideways glance as he sat on the stool next to her. His youngest brother, Lincoln, sat on his other side, all mussed dark hair and irritated grey eyes scanning the bar as though he wished he was anywhere but here. Miller, however, was staring with an empty smile, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than pissing her off.
“What do you want, Miller?”
“You.”
With a frown of disgust, she pulled the shot the bartender gave her closer. “You’re not my type.”
“I’ll have what she’s having. Make it a double,” he said to Eric, though from the slur in his voice and the reek of alcohol that wafted from him, Miller was already two sheets to the wind.
“You still owe me from a couple months ago,” Eric said low, his bushy gray eyebrows lifting high.
Miller slammed his fist on the counter. “Give me my fucking drink.”
Eric tossed her a quick glance, then began pouring another shot.
“Now,” Miller said in a calmer, saner voice as he arched his attention back to her. “You and I both know I’m exactly your type. You like trouble, Elyse. You like being roughed up. You like taking care of a man, just like you did for Cole. I look just like him, don’t I?”
Frozen, Elyse swallowed the bile that clawed its way up the back of her throat.
“Look at me, Elyse.”
Breath shaking, she clutched the shot glass and refused.
“Look at me!” Miller grabbed her chin and yanked her face toward him. “I’ve come to tell you I’ll be courting you.”
“I don’t want you.”
“Miller, let’s go,” Lincoln murmured, hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Miller lurched out from under his little brother’s hand and said, “Shut the fuck up, Link. This is why we’re here. To get our girl.”