Нора Робертс - The Perfect Hope

“Mama figured I’d become a hillbilly. Tommy used to tease her that he was putting in a still.”

“She didn’t approve of him?” Hope wondered.

“Oh, she loved him. Crazy about him. She just didn’t love the idea of him plopping me down in the middle of the wilderness, which was how she saw anything more than three miles outside of town. My father grew up on a farm not far from here, and he couldn’t wait to get some town on him. They were made for each other.”

“Everyone’s got their place,” Carolee said.

“And mine’s in the wilderness. I’m lucky my boys feel the same so I can have them close.”

“No, sit,” Hope said when Justine turned to go out again. “I can get the rest. You have something cold, and I’ll give you the latest Lizzy update when we’ve got everything in.”

“I’ll do just that, and watch my sister put all this away.”

“You always did boss me.”

“You always needed it.”

Amused, Hope left them to it, went out to get the last of the supplies from Carolee’s car.

As she did, a red BMW Roadster pulled into the lot. She didn’t recognize the car—that was new—but she recognized the woman behind the wheel.

Her jaw tightened; her shoulders tensed. She didn’t bother to fake a smile as Sheridan Massey Wickham slid out of the car and onto gorgeous—damn it—Louboutin stiletto sandals.

Her hair fell in such perfect, shiny waves Hope was certain Sheridan had stopped five minutes down the road to freshen it and her makeup. She wore a watercolor-print sheath—Akris, Hope guessed—drop earrings of platinum, and a sparkling wedding set that could have put someone’s eye out.

Just my luck, Hope thought, when I’m sweaty, wearing weed-the-garden clothes and haven’t freshened my lip gloss since I put it on this morning.

Just perfect.

“Sheridan.” She left the greeting at that.

Sheridan whipped off sunglasses, tossed them into her candy pink leather purse. “I’m going to give you one warning, and that’s all you’ll get. Stay away from Jonathan.”

Hope recognized fury when it shot into her face, but couldn’t judge the cause. “I don’t see him anywhere in the vicinity.”

“You’re going to lie to my face now? I know he’s been here, don’t deny it. I know he’s been with you. I know exactly what you’re trying to pull.”

“I don’t intend to lie to your face or behind your back, nor have I got anything worth lying about. You can consider your unnecessary warning received. Now, I’m working, so have a nice drive back.”

“Listen to me, you bitch!” Sheridan grabbed Hope’s arm, clamped her fingers tight. “I know he was here. He stopped for gas. I saw the receipt. I’m not an idiot.”

Yes, Hope thought, jealous types would paw through receipts, emails, search pockets. What a sad way to live.

“You should be talking to him about this. But I’ll tell you he was here, once, earlier this summer to tell me his father wanted to make me an offer to come back to work at the Wickham.”

“You’re a liar, and a slut.”

“I’m neither.” Hope wrenched her arm away.

“If his father wanted you back, I’d know about it. And you’d have jumped at the chance.”

“Obviously you’re wrong on both counts.”

Only more furious, Sheridan pitched her voice to a shout. “You won’t get away with the games you played before. I’m his wife now. I’m his wife, and you’re nothing.”

Hope resisted the urge to rub her arm. Sheridan had used her nails as well as her fingers in the grip. “I never played any games.”

“You slept your way up to manager, and you tried to sleep your way into marriage. And I know you’re trying it again. You think I don’t know who he’s sneaking off to see when he says he has a business trip, or a late meeting.”

Hope might have felt pity if her own temper left room for it. Instead she used every ounce of control to keep from shouting back. “Sheridan, get this into your head. I couldn’t be less interested in Jonathan. If you think I’d give him the time of day much less sex after what he pulled on me, you are an idiot.”

“Lying bitch!”

The crack of Sheridan’s hand across her face stunned her, and came forcefully enough to knock her back a full step.

“You tell me the truth! I want the truth right now, or—”

“You’re going to want to back off.” Ryder pulled Sheridan back. “And a long way off.”

“You take your hands off me or I’ll call the police.”

“Do that. In fact, I can call them for you.”

“Ryder—”

“Go inside, Hope.”

“Yes, go run away.” With a toss of that beautiful hair, Sheridan sneered. “The way you did when Jonathan told you he was through with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but I suggest you do.”

“I’ll go. I’ll go straight to your employer. You’d better start looking for another place to land because you’re going to be done here when I tell him what you’re up to.”

“Why don’t you tell me now?” Justine suggested as she stepped forward. “This is my place. Hope’s my innkeeper. So make it good. Otherwise I’m going to tell my son to go right ahead and call the police so they can escort you off my property.”

“She’s just using you, the way she uses everyone. Jonathan told me how she called him, begging him to come here to talk to her, and how she begged him to take her back.”

“Girl, if you’ve got problems like this so early in your marriage, you’re in trouble. Coming here and going after Hope isn’t going to fix them.”

“I’ve seen Jonathan once since I left D.C.,” Hope began. “I’ve never called him. I’ve never slept with him. I don’t want him, Sheridan. And right now, I wonder why you do.”

As Sheridan lunged forward, Ryder merely shifted to stand between her and Hope. “Put your hands on her again, I can promise you’ll regret it.”

Sheridan’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s it. Reverting to type, Hope? Sleeping with the boss’s son. How pathetic.”

“Lady, there’s a dozen men over there who saw you give Hope that bitch slap. Every one of them will go to court and say so when she has you charged with assault.”

“I—”

“Shut up, Hope.” He snapped it out at her interruption. “You get in your car and you get the hell out of here. You don’t come back. If I hear you do, and in a small town word gets around, I’ll have you arrested. I bet the Wickhams will love having their name smeared all over the Washington Post.”

“She’s just using you.” But there were tears in Sheridan’s eyes now, and the quaver of them in her voice. “She’s using you and trying to wreck my marriage. You’re the one who’ll be sorry when she tosses you away for a bigger catch.”

“Sheridan?” Justine spoke with surprising gentleness. “You’re making a fool out of yourself now. Go on home.”

“I’m going. It’s impossible to try to reason with a couple of hicks anyway.”

Justine’s grin spread wide as Sheridan swung back to her car. “Yee-haw.” As the BMW peeled out, Justine put her arm around Hope’s shoulders. “Oh, honey, don’t let that pitiful fool upset you so.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ryder turned back—he’d wanted to be sure the Roadster kept going. And saw tears spilled down Hope’s cheeks. “Cut that out. Just stop it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. Come on inside,” Justine urged. “We’ll put some ice on that cheek. She really clocked you one, didn’t she?”

“I’m sorry,” Hope repeated, couldn’t seem to say anything else. “I need to …”

She shook free, rushed for the door, past a stunned Carolee, and straight up to her apartment.

“Ryder, you go after her.”

“No. No, ma’am.”

Justine whirled on him, eyes hot, hands fisted on hips. “You go after her right this minute. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“She’s crying. I don’t do that. You do that. You go. Come on, Mom, you go.”

“Christ on a broken crutch.” Justine rapped one of those fists on his chest. “What kind of man did I raise who won’t go see to his woman when she’s crying?”

“My kind. Please. I’ll talk to her when she stops. You’ll know what to say to her, what to do.”

Justine huffed out a furious breath. “Fine then. You do what you do and go buy her some goddamn fucking flowers.” After giving him a second, harder rap, Justine turned on her heel and marched inside.

Wincing, Ryder rubbed his chest, pulled out his phone to call the local florist.

JUSTINE CONSIDERED GETTING THE SPARE KEY TO THE innkeeper’s apartment, but thought Hope’s privacy had been compromised enough for one day. Instead she climbed up to the third floor, her mind brewing dark thoughts about foolish women who blamed other people for a bad marriage, and men who couldn’t strap on the balls to deal with tears.

She raised her hand to knock on Hope’s apartment door. And it opened, quickly, smoothly.

Hope instantly sprang up from where she sat weeping on the couch.

“I didn’t open it.” Justine lifted her hands to show them empty. “Someone’s looking out for you.”

“I just need a few minutes to settle down.”

“What you need is a shoulder, and if it weren’t so early in the day, a good three fingers of whiskey. We’ll settle for the shoulder and the tea I’m going to make—in a minute.”

She walked straight over, put her arms around Hope, and pulled her in tight.

“Oh God. God!” Hope managed, helpless against the unquestioning support. “It was horrible.”

Soothing, soothing, Justine rocked a little from side to side. “Well, on a scale of one to ten, one being a paper cut and ten being, say, slicing your hand off with a machete, it only ranked about three. But that’s bad enough.”

“I’m so—”

“Don’t you apologize to me again for someone else’s bad behavior.” Though her voice was stern and brisk, Justine rubbed a comforting hand up and down Hope’s back.