But it was too late to matter anymore. Ren’s anger was going to sting for a long time. He might feel guilty that he’d tried to seduce her when he knew how green she was, but that didn’t mean he loved her. She remembered the joy she’d felt in his company, the pleasure of just sitting with him and watching the news on TV in the evenings. She’d gotten used to being with him. In the space of a day, her entire life had changed. She knew that she’d never see Ren again, not as long as she lived. Nothing had hurt so much, not even his harsh words.
She wondered if he’d tell Randall why she’d really left. Probably not. He did love his brother. He considered that she was Randall’s woman, so he might not want to admit that he’d wanted her. Not that he hadn’t had his successes with Randall’s other women, as he’d confessed to her.
She went down to breakfast in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail and no makeup on. She didn’t care if she looked as bad as she felt.
When she got to the table, she did a double take. There was another man in the room, and it wasn’t Paul or the Avengers.
He was broad, with a big nose, high cheekbones and a chiseled mouth. His hair was jet black and wavy, his eyes large and dark. He resembled Paul, but there was a dangerous air about him. Then she remembered. She’d painted him from photographs Paul had given her, as a birthday present he’d commissioned for his cousin Mikey.
“Cousin Mikey,” she blurted out, then flushed with embarrassment when his thick eyebrows arched over twinkling dark eyes. “Sorry,” she added quickly as she sat down. “I painted you...”
“Ah. The sister-in-law.” He grinned. “Yeah. It was a good likeness. The knife on the table beside me was a touch of genius,” he added with pursed lips.
“Oh, stop that, she looks like a fire engine already, you dope,” Paul said, making a face at him as he joined them.
“Sorry.” Mikey chuckled. “Couldn’t resist it.” He cocked his head and stared at Merrie. “You don’t look like I thought you would, baby doll,” he added.
“What did you expect?” she asked, curious.
He accepted a cup of black coffee from Paul with thanks before he turned back to Merrie. “A fortune-teller, with a crystal ball. Maybe a kerchief around your head.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“I’m a bad man,” he mused, and it wasn’t an apology or a conceit. “You painted the real me. And you didn’t know a thing about me.”
“Oh.” She managed a shy smile. “I just sort of see inside people. Paul didn’t say anything about who you were or what you did. He just handed me the photographs and said you were his cousin, and asked if I could do a painting of you for a present. I said sure.”
“Well, it’s amazing,” he said. “I had it framed and put over the mantel in my living room,” he added. “I don’t get a lot of visitors, but it’s had its share of attention.” He laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Merrie asked.
“This big mob boss—and I mean, big, he controls half of a state up north—wanted to know who you were so he could ask you to paint him.”
Merrie’s eyes widened. “What did you tell him?”
“That it was a present, and I didn’t know who did it.” He became serious as he looked at her with eyes twice as old as he looked. “You don’t want to get mixed up with a guy like that, unless it’s the end of the world.”
“Thanks for protecting me,” she said, understanding what he was saying.
He nodded. He stared at his plate and scowled. “Not being rude, but what the hell is this white stuff?” he asked, pointing.
“It’s grits,” Mandy said as she came back into the room with a wicker bowl of biscuits wrapped in expensive white linen cloth. “Merrie!” she exclaimed. She stopped long enough to hug Merrie. “Oh, it’s so good to have you home!” she said, fighting tears.
“I’ve missed you, too, Mandy,” Merrie said, sighing. It was nice to be home, where she really was loved.
“Come on, enough of this.” Mandy laughed, fighting tears of joy. “Sit down. I’ll get out all the preserves. He—” she indicated Mikey “—will do almost anything for my homemade blueberry preserves.”
“Almost anything,” Mikey agreed with a grin. “Okay, come on, tell me about grits.” He pointed at his plate. “Is it grit, like the stuff you polish stones with?” he asked, poking at the dubious food with his fork.
“It’s what you get when you grind up corn,” Mandy mused, smiling. “You know about grinding up stuff, don’t you, Mikey?” she added, teasing.
He wrinkled his nose. “Hey, I never did that thing they accused me of,” he said with faint belligerence. “Putting a guy in a grinder? That’s lowbrow.”
“Try the grits,” Mandy said. “I’ve put butter in them.”
He looked at them dubiously, but he put a forkful into his mouth, chewed and lifted both eyebrows. “Hey. That’s not bad. Tastes like polenta.”
She laughed. “Told you so.”
He shook his head. “Grits. Cowboy hats. Horses and cattle.” He made a face at Paul. “What the hell is a good Jersey boy like you doing in a place like this?” he added.
Paul looked at Sari with his heart in his eyes. “Living the American dream.”
Sari smiled back at him.
Mikey just shook his head. “Well, you guys can have it. No casinos. No bars to speak of. Not even a decent nightclub. It’s the end of the world, that’s what it is!”
“We have butterflies and lightning bugs and hay rides and county fairs,” Merrie protested. “That’s better than nightclubs.”