Ren stood in the living room, remaining in the same spot for several minutes. All the color, all the life, was suddenly gone from the house. It was empty and gray and lonely.
Until that moment, Ren hadn’t realized what he truly felt for Meredith. And now it was going to be too late to mend the heartbreak, to start over. She was going to leave, and her last memory of him would be one of shame and embarrassment.
He groaned out loud as he remembered what he’d done to her, what he’d said to her. He’d made her feel cheap and useless. It wasn’t how he felt. Not at all.
He walked back toward her studio and opened the door. There was the portrait she’d done of him. There was the painting of Hurricane. There was a sketchbook nearby with a rough outline of Delsey. There was one of Tubbs as well, and the other men. He was still astonished by the extent of her talent.
He felt at home, here, among her canvases. His mother had loved to draw, although she wasn’t the same sort of artist Meredith was. His mother drew flowers. She drew them alone, in pots, on trees, in a garden—always flowers. She drew beautifully. He ground his teeth together. He’d pushed her out of his life over an anguished comment, one that he’d provoked himself with his educated cynicism. He’d hurt her. She’d reacted. It was that simple, but it had colored their lives for years. He didn’t forgive people. But he should have forgiven her.
He picked up Meredith’s sketchbook and flipped through it. There, on the last page she’d used, was a self-portrait. It was only a sketch, but it touched him. Everything she was, was in that drawing. There was such vulnerability, such compassion, such kindness in those large pale eyes.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” he whispered, touching the paper with his fingers. He drew in a long, harsh breath. Without thinking about it, he tore the drawing out of the sketchbook and took it back to his room.
There was a frame shop in town. He’d lost Meredith, perhaps forever. But he’d have the drawing to remind him.
Then he remembered what Paul Fiore had said. Meredith’s stalker had been here, and he’d gotten past all the sophisticated equipment Ren had placed around the ranch.
He recalled the truck driver, the one who’d made him suspicious. He thought about Beakly and his financial situation, and he had a brainstorm.
He picked up his cell phone and called J.C.
“Mmm-hmm?” J.C. answered, obviously having gone to bed.
“You can go back to sleep in a minute, J.C. Tomorrow, first thing, I want you to go see Beakly and ask how much the truck driver paid him to say he had a shipment going there.”
“What?”
“Just a hunch. It may be nothing.”
“Okay. First thing.”
“Thanks. Sorry to wake you.”
“No problem. It was a pretty lousy dream,” J.C. said, and hung up.
Ren turned off his cell phone. He’d get up in the morning, and Meredith wouldn’t be at the table for breakfast. She wouldn’t be here to ride out with him, to look at the cattle. She wouldn’t be sitting in front of the television, knitting.
He closed his eyes on a wave of pain. Of all the mistakes he’d ever made in his life, this was surely the worst. Even worse than Angie and her betrayals.
That brought back memories of how Meredith had defended him from Angie at Durward’s party. He wished he could shut his brain off so that he could sleep.
It was almost daylight before he finally went to sleep, and he had barely two hours of it before he was up and moving out with his men. At least being exhausted from lack of sleep helped stop him from brooding about Meredith.
CHAPTER TEN
MERRIE WAS SILENT almost all the way home. She noticed that Paul was very tired, and she coaxed him into closing his eyes, so that she wouldn’t have to answer any questions about why she’d called him to come get her.
She’d get enough of the third degree from her sister when she arrived home, she was certain.
The contract killer had found her through her own stupidity. She should never have used her credit card. She recalled Ren’s odd looks when she’d mentioned her dress and the coats, and she realized much too late that he still thought she’d used his card for the expensive purchases. Delsey probably hadn’t mentioned that Merrie paid for her own things. Of course, Ren didn’t know how much she was worth. Maybe if he had, he’d have had reservations about coming on to her so strongly.
She flushed, recalling his hunger for her, his sensual delight in her body. He was experienced, and it showed. She laughed silently. He’d probably had so many women that he couldn’t even remember their faces, so she’d had a lucky escape.
Lucky. Sure. That explained why she was still fighting tears when they landed at the airport in Jacobsville. She wiped them away before Paul could see them and put on a smiling face for him.
The pretense lasted only until she got in the house. Sari was waiting, her arms open. She knew without being told that Merrie wasn’t home because of the killer. She’d run from a man she cared about too much.