Chapter 24

Scarlett woke up in tears.Her damp cheeks smarted, and she didn't need a mirror to know her eyes were swollen. How could she be back here, she thought? In this dark place. She rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. She hadn't felt this low since those first few weeks in Ireland after Malcom had deserted her.

He'd brought her so low. A sound escaped her, a cry like a wounded animal.

She made a face and sat up. She didn't have time for a pity party. A glance to the right told her that Hank was still asleep, so she slid from bed and headed into the shower. She had a lot to get done before she left for New York City, and her arrogant ex had sent her a text message asking to meet him at the hotel at ten.

She planned on being there. Though, not for long.

She was in the kitchen feeding Hank when Benton walked in and headed straight for the coffee pot.

"You ready for another?" he asked.

"No." She looked at her brother. "I need to borrow one of the trucks, but don't worry Lacey will drive it back later."

Benton poured a generous helping of cream into his coffee and turned to face her. He sipped from his mug; his gaze settled on her in that quiet way that made her nervous. Bent didn't miss anything.

"Where you headed?" He pointed at her bags which were on the table.

Carefully she wiped Hank's face and lifted him out of the highchair. "I'm going out of town for a few days is all."

"This have anything to do with your baby daddy?"

She made a face at that. "Don't call him that."

"What do you want me to call him?"

She held her precious boy closely and shrugged. "Anything but that." She motioned toward her stuff. "Can you help me with those?"

Bent followed her outside and once she had Hank secure in his seat, she faced her brother. "I can't tell you anything. Not yet."

Bent's handsome face was about as serious as she'd ever seen it. "You don't have to do this on your own."

"But I do, Bent. I have a mess to clean up and I aim to get it done and then…" Throat tight, her voice trailed off.

"Then?"

She pushed down the lump and opened the driver side door. "Then I can come back here and live my life the way I want to. With the man I want to live it with." She met Bent's gaze. "That's if he'll have me."

"You're keeping whatever the hell this is from Taz?"

Her non answer was in fact an answer. Benton stepped aside and let her climb into the cab. He closed the door. "I learned one thing from the mess that was me and Daisy. Lies or half-truths will always kill the good stuff. At some point you will have to be honest with Taz or you'll lose him."

Her eyes flooded with tears, and she blinked them away as best she could. That damn lump was back so she said nothing but gave a curt nod. She backed away and headed for town.

Lacey was waiting for her, nervously chewing her bottom lip.

"Did your cousin drop off the papers?"

"He did. Notarized, which is kind of backward but hopefully Malcom won't know. You just have to put your John Henry on the dotted line and get Malcom to as well."

The two of them drove to Bozeman in silence. Scarlett was too anxious to speak, and she figured Lacey didn't have anything good to say about her scheme, so she was quiet too.

Just before ten a.m. Scarlett stood in the middle of the foyer of the hotel, her eyes on Malcom as he made his way over to the concierge. He was dressed casually, a short sleeve white linen button up, and beige shorts. His hair was slicked back, wet from the shower, and his smile lit up every female in the place. His charm was palpable, but all it did was rot in her gut.

He spied her and walked over, those female eyes following his progress. His smile was firmly in place and when she said nothing, an eyebrow shot up.

"You wake up on the wrong side of bed, luv? You're looking a tad peaked."

"Are we still doing this?" Her question was blunt.

His eyes narrowed a bit. "I don't quite like your tone."

"I don't quite like being manipulated."

"Touché." He gave a slight nod. "In answer to your question. Yes, I'm looking forward to spending the week with you."

"And Hank." Her voice was light, but the sarcasm wasn't.

He waited a beat. "Yes, I'm looking forward to getting to know my boy." He looked around. "Where is he?"

"Outside in my truck."

"Ah," he stepped toward her. "Where are we off to?"

"I said I'd spend the week with you, but I didn't say I'd do it here. I'm off to New York City. I have a place there."

"Right. Well, give me a minute to pack."

"No. You're on your own. Text me when you land."

She didn't give him a chance to respond but headed for the exit and less than an hour later, she and Hank were seated on a plane that took off for the Big Apple. She finally relaxed and ordered a mimosa, eyes on the blue sky and puffs of white clouds. It was time for her to formulate some kind of plan.

The flight was uneventful and hours later Scarlett stood in the kitchen of her brownstone, Hank on the floor playing with a toy, while she put away groceries she'd had delivered. Outside the city buzzed and she wandered over to the window, eyes sweeping the street below, which was quiet at the moment. There were overflowing boxes of flowers on her neighbor's steps, and she smiled thinking of old Mrs. Lawson.

Scarlett's place was beautiful, spread over three stories with high windows that let in a lot of natural light, original hardwood flooring and beautiful stain glass on the front door. It was a house that most city folk would die for, and yet to her, it felt empty. She needed open spaces and big skies.

She needed Taz.

Her heart ached at the thought and tired, she scooped up Hank, and took the stairs that led to her bedroom on the third level. The master suite was spacious, with large windows, a walk-in closet and an en suite that boasted both a large stand-alone tub and a shower big enough for two.

She placed Hank on the bed while she unboxed the playpen she'd ordered. It would take the place of his crib nicely, and after she bathed him, Scarlett put her son down, singing softly until his eyes became heavy and he fell asleep. By this time, it was nearly nine and her phone pinged. A message from Malcom.

I'm here. Staying at a boutique hotel not far from Times Square.

She thought for a moment and then sent a reply.

We'll meet for breakfast at Arty's. I'll send the location tomorrow.

She saw that he was typing and waited. She was in charge now. How would he react?

See you then, luv.

Apparently, politely.

She made a face and tossed the phone. Then crawled into bed. She didn't want to think about the coming week with Malcom. Didn't want to think about Taz back in Montana, because thinking of him made her sad and that was something she didn't have time for. That she'd deal with later. She cleared her mind as best could, and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Scarlett was up early enoughto hear the birds outside her window chirping loudly. "I'm glad you guys are excited for the day," she muttered, stumbling into the shower to chase the sleep away. A long hot shower should do the trick.

Once her tangles had been dealt with, she left her hair down to dry, then pulled on a pair of blue cotton shorts, an old T-shirt with Foo Fighters across her chest, and a good pair of sneakers. Arty's was her go-to breakfast place, and though it was only three blocks away, they were city blocks, and it would take a bit to get there. She fed Hank his favorite oatmeal cereal, and dressed him a cute outfit: jean shorts, a T-shirt with a dinosaurs, and a khaki bucket hat to shade his face.

He chatted away, happy In his stroller, his baby talk enough to bring a smile to her face as she made her way outside. August in New York City was usually hot, but this morning the humidity was already high and by the time she made it to Arty's her skin was damp with sweat. Once inside, the cool air felt like heaven.

The owner, Mabel, spied her and ambled over, a big smile on her face. A large woman with kind face, big smile, and a personality that matched, she was an old friend.

"Scarlett, I was so happy to see you'd called for a reservation. I swear you haven't been here in over a year." She smiled down at Hank, who'd fallen asleep on the way there, the warmth and motion of the stroller to blame. "Now I see why. He's beautiful."

"Thank you," she said with a chuckle. "Sleeping babies always are."

Mabel gave her a hug. "I wish I had time to catch up, but I've got a corporate thing I'm catering so I'm busy in the back." She nodded to the corner of the room. "Your table is ready but let's get together for a coffee before you leave the city."

Scarlett settled herself so that she had a direct view of the entrance and checked her phone. Malcom had sent her a text fifteen minutes ago and would be there soon. Her stomach was much too nervous for food, and she was too wired for coffee, so she ordered an orange juice and waited.

She knew the moment Malcom arrived, because three ladies in line for bagels, turned and made no effort to hide their interest. She got it. He looked good. More than good. Only she knew his looks hid the kind of rot that destroyed, and face passive, she watched him make his way over, smiling at folks like he was the fucking King of England. When he sat down across from her, she moved her chair slightly, to give herself more room.

To give herself air.

"You look beautiful," he said, bending forward for a kiss.

She offered her hand instead. It annoyed him, he wasn't able to hide that, though he quickly recovered and took her hand, and after a few seconds, with a gentle tug, she sat back. The waitress came and Malcom ordered tea and a croissant, then glanced at the stroller for the first time.

Scarlett watched him carefully, hoping for…what? That invisible thread of life that connected a parent to a child? The look of love only a father could have? The same look Taz had when he looked at the twins?

Malcom leaned closer, a smile of sorts on his face. He made no effort to touch Hank. "He's a handsome little devil." And that was it. He didn't ask any questions. He sat back, took his tea, and poured on the charm. He talked about his favorite footballer, some English bloke who'd been riddled in scandal. He mentioned the weather. Twice. Then talked about music and her brother.

The entire time Scarlett wanted to shout at him. To rail and hiss and scream. None of this was about Hank, so what did he want?

"So, where is it you're staying?" Malcom asked after a while, his dark eyes watchful, his expression shuttered.

"I have a brownstone."

She saw a flash of something in his eyes. Something ugly and she shifted in her chair, a spiral of wariness rolling through her.

"Well then," he said leaning close. "I'll need to work harder to convince you to let me in." His voice had lowered, the Irish lilt working overtime.

It made her ill to think how easily she'd fallen for his exceptional looks and an accent that most considered sexy as hell.

He raised an eyebrow. "I hope you don't mind but I've planned our day."

"No," she said softly. "I don't mind."

If he was surprised at her answer he didn't show it. Instead, he got to his feet and held out his hand.

"Shall we?"

Scarlett stood and now, surer than ever that she needed to find out what his motives were, nodded. She ignored his hand but said dryly. "You might want to get the bill this time."

She pushed the stroller ahead of Malcom and led the way out of Arty's. The sun was high, the air was warm, and she was ready. Her mind was clear.

Let the games begin.