Regret at Roosevelt Ranch Page 3

  “It is the most delicious vegetable I’ve ever eaten,” she said, sincerely feeling that.

  For some reason, that seemed to make him furious. His eyes flashed, and he glared down at her for a moment before pushing the plate back an inch so it was closer to Esther. “Eat,” he told her. “Before it gets cold. I’ll make Isabella something.”

  And then he was gone, striding across the floor, pushing through the pair of swinging doors with circular windows.

  Walking away from her when there was so much to say.

  Well, if that wasn’t a role reversal, then Isabella didn’t know what was.

  “What happened between you two?” Esther asked between bites of sandwich.

  Isabella froze for a heartbeat before telling the truth. “I messed up.”

  “Well, that much is clear, dear, but I want to know all the juicy details for the town’s Snapchat.” She pulled out her phone. “Do you want sparkling sunglasses or a unicorn horn?”

  “I—” Isabella shook her head, the words not computing. “Um . . .”

  “Unicorn horn,” Esther said with a nod. “Good choice.”

  And then, before Isabella could stop her, she found herself the object of Esther's cell phone’s camera.

  “Tell us, dear, how you broke our Henry’s heart . . ”

  Which was the exact moment she decided that coming to the diner had been a huge mistake, no matter how tasty the Brussels sprouts.

  Five

  Henry

  He was going to kill Esther.

  Or at the very least rip her cell phone from her old, wily hands and launch it straight into the trash can.

  Isabella’s cheeks were bright red, her shoulders curved up as though to form a shield, and Henry spared a thought for what had happened to the cheerful, confident woman she’d been back in New York.

  Fearless. Never at a loss for words.

  But she didn’t look fearless now.

  She looked mortified and panicked and, fuck it all, he couldn’t stop himself from rescuing her.

  Sucker that made him.

  He set the bag of food he’d boxed up for her on the table, having intended to feed her as requested by Esther while getting her out of sight, as his heart demanded, and wrapped his hand around her elbow.

  Then he snagged the cell from Esther, turned it off, and tugged Isabella from the booth.

  “I need to borrow you.”

  “Hen—” Esther began, a complaint about him ruining her fun no doubt on the tip of her tongue.

  “Meal’s on the house today,” he told her and snatched the bag of food before leading Isabella through the double doors and into the back of the diner. He bypassed the kitchen on the right, walked past the bathrooms and his office on the left, not stopping until he pushed out into the alley behind the restaurant.

  An old wooden bench from his father’s days sat along the brick wall.

  He pushed her down onto it, shoved the bag of food into her lap, and turned to leave.

  Her fingers on the back of his hand stopped him.

  It could barely be called contact, the brush of skin to skin was so feather-light, but the force didn’t matter. Not when it was Isabella. Always, it had been like this. Fire in his veins, lightning strikes contained in a human body, the barest touch and he half-expected to glance down and see himself turned to ash.

  But that had been their problem, hadn’t it?

  They’d burned too hot, flared too quickly.

  And in the end, he’d been left with nothing.

  He stared into her eyes, a deep brown that had always reminded him of espresso, and she flinched back, eyes tearing away from his, dropping to the ground.

  Fuck.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come here with you. Back then,” she added when he didn’t reply. And how could he reply? That wound was a horrible, festering thing. It didn’t heal.

  It never healed.

  Apologies didn’t bring his father back.

  And . . . that wasn’t Isabella’s fault.

  She hadn’t spent years smoking away her life on that very bench. She hadn’t eaten poorly or disregarded doctor’s orders.

  She just . . . hadn’t dropped everything to come home with him.

  He’d vilified her for that because it was easier to be mad at her than angry with himself, easier to blame her for not coming when in reality, he felt horrible because he hadn’t come back sooner.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Me neither. I just knew I needed someone to be there for me.”

  Her chin dropped to her chest and she nodded.

  “It wasn’t fair for me to expect that person to be you.”

  Isabella’s eyes shot to his, lips parted in surprise. “I—”

  “We were new and hadn’t been together long—” He shook his head, tried again. “While I clearly thought we were something more . . . permanent, it wasn’t fair for me to expect you to feel the same—”

  She pushed to her feet. “Henry—”

  God, he loved when she said his name, a soft ‘h,’ a slightly rolled ‘r’—

  “It wasn’t like that. I loved you. I just . . . had to go.”

  “Why?”

  Why then? Why when he needed her? Why, when for the first time in his life he’d asked a woman to stay, had she gone?

  She shook her head, clutched the bag of food to her chest. “I should have stayed. Should have told you—”

  Breaking off with another shake of her head, she stepped closer to him.

  Close enough for him to smell her, close enough for the breeze to flit her ponytail forward and for the soft tendrils to tease his cheek, close enough for him to remember exactly how good it had been between them.

  “Tell me what?” he asked.

  She bit her lip.

  “Bella.” He used his old nickname. He shouldn’t have. It was too familiar, but, fuck it, he was familiar with Isabella. Henry knew how quickly she could chop an onion, knew she could make him really fucking delicious pasta with a recipe that was more touch than measurements. He knew the sound she made when he kissed her properly, could perfectly recall the feel of her beneath him.

  He knew this woman in the depths of his soul.

  “Henry,” she murmured and stepped closer.

  The back door flew open, would have cracked her in the head if Henry hadn’t managed to catch it.

  A man emerged, tall, dark, and movie star handsome. While Henry was confident enough in himself to recognize the other man as objectively attractive, he also immediately disliked him. His teeth were too white, his facial hair too groomed, his pale pink linen suit like he was trying too hard. And his knee jerk reaction was warranted, Henry thought, because the man immediately took Bella into his arms and kissed her long enough that he had to look away, a red haze filling his vision.

  This wasn’t his woman.

  It didn’t matter who kissed her.

  “Isabella,” the man said and while Henry had been expecting an Italian accent to match Bella’s, his was strictly American. “I’ve come, my darling. Where’s this ranch that you talked about for the wedding?” He turned to Henry, whose gaze had jumped to the couple at the mention of the ranch. “You must be the caterer? My Isa mentioned this place.” He glanced down at the bag in Isabella’s hands. “Oh, darling, did you get some samples to try? We should go back to the room and sample them.”

  Henry shuddered at the connotation imparted in that word and started to turn back for the diner.

  He caught sight of Bella’s face as he did so.

  The man had taken the bag from her, was running his free hand through her ponytail.

  And she looked absolutely miserable.

  Not his problem.

  “Isa, darling . . .”

  She cringed, and he remembered how much she hated being called Isa.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Not. His. Problem.

  She extracted hersel
f. “Sergio.”

  The man’s eyes had been focused on Bella’s breasts. The sharp tone had his gaze flying up to meet hers.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “I need you . . .” Her stare flicked to Henry’s then away. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  Inexplicably, a giant boulder dropped into Henry’s gut, stealing his breath.

  For a moment, he’d thought she was going to tell Sergio, “I need you to go.”

  Insane.

  Delusional.

  Some other adjective Henry wasn’t going to search his brain for. Because it didn’t matter. Clearly he’d lost his mind. She wasn’t miserable. She was about to get married.

  He turned, caught the door handle, and tugged it open.

  Isabella’s voice stopped him on the threshold. “Henry?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, not turning to face her. His pulse sped while an unbidden, and decidedly unwanted, thread of hope wove into his heart. But still Henry didn’t turn, unwilling to risk seeing a dismissal in her expression. Not again.

  “Thanks for the food.”

  He was really glad he couldn’t see her face.

  “Sure,” he said, tone somehow casual as he let the door close behind him.

  And that panel slamming shut was the perfect end to the most painful chapter of his life.

  Good riddance.

  Six

  Isabella

  Sergio grabbed her arm. “Let’s go,” he gritted out.

  “No.” She yanked free, stepped back when he would have grabbed her again. “I already told you. I’m not marrying you.”

  Black brows drew together. “That’s not what your father—”

  Fuck. They’d had this conversation so many times. Her father didn’t get to decide every single detail of her life, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to choose the man she was going to marry. She’d been weak when she had accepted Sergio’s proposal in the first place, mostly because she’d thought Sergio actually loved her, that she would grow to love him in return.

  Because what Isabella wanted most in the world was to be part of a family.

  By blood wasn’t even a requirement because she’d learned over the years that shared DNA didn’t always mean love and respect were present. She’d adopt or have babies, make friends who liked her for herself. She’d have Sergio, whom she didn’t love, but perhaps her affection for him might develop into that one day.

  And then she would finally be happy.

  Except things didn’t work out that way.

  “My father is not me,” she said.

  “He promised.”

  There.

  There was the hard edge that Sergio had been so careful to hide from her at first. He’d been so perfect, pretending to really care about what she was saying and feeling, responding with all the right things. He’d charmed her father and that didn’t often happen, but then again what her father wanted most in the world was a son.

  One daughter. No sons.

  His everlasting disappointment.

  Things might have been better if she’d been interested in the family business, but investments and stocks made her eyes glaze over, the same as her waxing poetic about olive oil did to her father.

  They’d agreed tacitly to not discuss their mutual interests.

  Which had been for the best, and everything had been great for the two years she’d spent in New York.

  Until her father decided that her playtime was up.

  Until she decided that she wanted to be with Henry, not the man her father had picked for her.

  That man hadn’t been Sergio. No, Sergio was the last in a long line of respectable men her father had chosen—which meant they were good at business and would carry on the mantle of MR Investments respectably when her father passed and would give him reasonably attractive grandbabies.

  What it didn’t mean was that they were kind or loving or gave two shits about her.

  Most had looked right through her or treated her with near disdain while sidling close to her father, but fortunately, they’d all also eventually pissed him off. Thus, the pressure to marry them had passed and they were discarded as easily as a used tissue. But there was always another man.

  Another man to care more about her father and the business than her.

  She was the enticing little bow on top.

  Until Sergio.

  He’d played the game right, had managed to not piss her father off while also manipulating her.

  She had been such a fool.

  “You’re coming home,” Sergio said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t put in all this time to just let you go.”

  She snatched the bag of food from his hands. “You should go home,” she said. “I’m done dancing to my father’s tune. I don’t love you. I never have. I’m not—”

  One second, she was glaring up at him, the next she was pinned against the brick wall, his hand around her throat. “I don’t give a fuck whether you love me or not. Your father will cut me out of the business unless you come home and marry me. So you’re going to shut up and—”

  Isabella didn’t think, just reacted.

  Her knee came up hard, hitting him squarely in the groin.

  Sergio collapsed to the ground.

  Unfortunately, the hand around her neck didn’t release, and she found herself dragged down alongside him, unable to break her fall. Her side collided with the concrete first, and she felt the thin silk of her shirt tear, her skin beneath it burn. The next to hit was her hip and finally her head, which made her bite her tongue and her mouth fill with blood.

  One hard tug and she managed to extricate herself, rolling gingerly to her feet and picking up the now-mangled bag of food from the ground.

  “Go home, Sergio. Leave me to my life.”

  He only groaned in response. Relieved that he didn’t seem to be in any shape to come after her again, Isabella hurried out of the alley. Luckily, there were a few napkins in the bag, and she grabbed one out as she hobbled around to the front of the diner.

  She was ashamed to say tears were running down her cheeks. That, along with her entire body hurting and the sharp tang of iron in her mouth, and she wasn’t the most together she’d ever been in her life.

  Especially when Sergio shouted her name and staggered out from the alley.

  “Isabella, I’m not—”

  She limped on, wanting to make it across the street and into the bed and breakfast. She’d left her phone, but maybe the girl at the front desk could—

  She waited for a car to pass before crossing the road, but when she glanced back Sergio seemed to have regained himself. He was hurrying after her with only the slightest hitch in his step and gaining on her quickly.

  The car that had driven by her stopped, but Isabella barely heard it in her effort to put as much distance between herself and Sergio.

  Instead, what she did hear were footsteps closing in and Sergio’s annoyed grunts.

  She couldn’t let him catch her.

  Instinctively, she knew that. He’d been irritated before she’d kneed him, and that had resulted in him tossing her against a wall and choking her.

  If he caught her now?

  Bella shuddered to think.

  She moved faster.

  The door to the bed and breakfast was just feet away, and Isabella lunged for it only to have her head jerked back roughly as Sergio caught her ponytail.

  Which was the exact moment she heard something else.

  A deep male voice.

  “Let her go and step back.” Her eyes darted to the right, and she had never been more relieved in her life to see a police officer. He wore a deep blue uniform and approached them slowly. “I said to let her go.” Icy steel in his words.

  Sergio released her hair, and she hurried to put some space between them.

  “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Bella found it almost impossible to push words past her now-aching throat, and before she managed, Sergio
chimed in, sounding sickeningly nonchalant.

  “My fiancée and I are just having a little disagreement.”

  “I’m not his fiancée,” she managed.

  “Then why are you wearing my ring, darling?” he asked sweetly.

  She’d considered pawning it, that was why. However, in that moment she didn’t give a damn about any money it might bring her. She yanked it off, flung it on the ground. “I’m not his fiancée anymore.”

  “And you like beating up women who used to be your fiancée?” the officer said just as a squad car roared up the street beside them, lights flashing.

  “She merely had a bad fall.”

  One black brow went up. “She fell, and you caught her by yanking her hair out of her head?”

  Sergio shrugged. “Her hair got caught on my watch.”

  “Hmm.”

  Sergio shifted like he was going to move toward her, and the officer caught his arm. “Have a seat over here,” he ordered, tugging Sergio down onto the curb a good ten feet away from her.

  Isabella blinked, wavering on her feet, but a strong hand caught her.

  “Easy now,” Esther said, steadying her.

  The doors opened on the other squad car, and a female deputy got out. She was short with a tight blonde ponytail and kind eyes. “Rob?” she asked, glancing between Isabella and Sergio.

  “Domestic disturbance,” he replied. “Would you mind taking her statement?” He hesitated before adding, “Maybe somewhere she can sit down?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Thanks, Pam.”

  Another nod before the woman crossed over to Isabella. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Officer Harting, but you can call me Pam.”

  “H-hi,” Isabella said then lifted her chin and forced her voice to steady. “Did you want to go inside so we can talk?”

  “That would be good.”

  Isabella nodded and patted Esther’s hand. “Thank you. I’m fine now.”

  Esther glared up at her before extracting several tissues from her fanny pack, “You’re bleeding all over that pretty shirt of yours.” She pressed them to Bella’s arm.

  “Oh!” Bella’s eyes shot to the spot, and she saw the blood dripping down her fingertips. Damn. She must be cut deeper than she realized.