“So you have heard of me!” She looked pleased.
“Oh, yeah.” He felt light-headed. “I’ve heard of you. Your books made my life a living hell.”
2
BETHANY GASPED. SHE’D had many reactions to her books in the three years since she’d first hit the bestseller charts, but no one had ever said anything that awful. Nash wasn’t kidding, either. His blue eyes had iced over and his expression had turned to granite.
She’d just been thinking what a good-looking guy he’d turned into, and a kind one, at that. She’d found herself admiring the strong line of his jaw and the sensual curve of his lower lip. Because she’d outgrown her nerdy phase, she’d felt capable of flirting a little with the likes of Nash Bledsoe, if he wasn’t attached.
But instead she’d discovered that her cheerful and positive message had created such fury in him that he’d barely been able to speak her name. To know that her books had done that made her physically ill. She hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, which was probably good, because she had nothing in her rolling stomach that could come back up.
His bitter words had sucked most of the air from her lungs, too, but she finally managed to draw in enough to ask a question. “How did my books do that?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’d rather not get into it.”
“Please, don’t hit me with something like that and refuse to tell me why! No one’s ever…I’ve never had anyone tell me…” She took a shaky breath. “You look as if you hate me.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and gazed up at the sky. “Bethany Grace.” He chuckled, but the sound had no humor in it. Then he looked at her again. “My ex-wife loves your books.”
From the way he said it, Bethany knew that wasn’t a good thing. “Okay.”
He studied her for long enough that she became very aware of how sweaty and dirty she was. And how foolish this stunt of hers must look to him, now that he knew she was the author of bestsellers such as Living with Grace and her current chart-topper, Grace Personified. She’d always been proud of her success, but given this situation, she should have kept her mouth shut. Today was the wrong time for her to be in the glare of a spotlight that would reveal her flaws.
Too late. “I suppose you’re wondering if I’m a hypocrite.”
“It crossed my mind. I can’t figure out why a woman who tells everyone that happiness is a choice would set fire to her daddy’s recliner. That doesn’t seem like a particularly cheerful move, to me.” He was obviously enjoying pointing that out.
She flushed. “It wasn’t. I’m not proud of my reaction. It was unworthy of me to do that.”
His expression underwent a subtle change, as if that admission had soaked up some of his anger. “But oh, so very human.”
“You don’t have to sound so smug when you say that.”
This time his chuckle was a little less caustic. “Yeah, I do. Whether you know it or not, you owe me a bit of smugness.”
“What happened?”
He hesitated.
“Please. Your statement will eat at me if you don’t explain where it came from.”
He blew out a breath. “Okay. Short version. My inlaws were convinced that I’d only married Lindsay for her money. I think they finally convinced Lindsay, too, because she developed an attitude. She made it plain that a poor boy like me was lucky to be there.”
“Ouch.”
“I realize now her parents started the sabotage early and gradually turned up the heat, the way you cook a frog without the frog even noticing. I became more and more irritable. Then Lindsay found your books and felt free to remind me that Happiness Is a Choice.”
She was appalled. “That’s not how my books are supposed to be read. You can’t undermine someone’s confidence and then berate them for not being happy enough.”
“Tell that to Lindsay and her folks.”
“I will if you’d like me to. I resent that they—”
“I didn’t mean that literally. Don’t waste your time on them. But I have to admit, seeing you in the middle of a meltdown helps. Even the sainted Bethany Grace has a bad day once in a while.”
“Sainted? I never claimed to be perfect!”
“Lindsay thinks you are. As opposed to me, a person riddled with problems.”
“That’s ridiculous. We all have problems. I’ve admitted that in everything I’ve written.” Then she had a thought. “Did you ever read one of my books?”
“One chapter.”
She tried to remember if she’d admitted any problems in Chapter One of Living with Grace or the earlier books. Maybe not. “Then you stopped reading?”
“Then I threw the book against the wall.”
She winced.
“Sorry, but you have to remember this was a book recommended by the woman who, with the help of her folks, was mentally torturing me. I could only take so much of the rainbows and lollipops you were handing out.”
“All things considered, you probably won’t ever make it through an entire book of mine, and I don’t blame you. But somewhere in Living with Grace, maybe toward the middle, I admit to having a temper, and you’ve just seen me demonstrate that.”
Nash glanced at the now-soggy recliner. “Pretty impressive, too. Those old recliners are heavy suckers. How long did it take you to drag it out here?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track of time. I drove into the yard, walked up the rickety porch steps, went inside, saw the state of things in there and…lost it.”
“You didn’t know it was this bad?”
She sighed, remembering all the should-haves she’d ignored in the past year and a half. “I suspected. My parents were never savvy about the ranching business and the Triple G operated in the red quite a bit. When I started making decent money, I sent checks home.” And she should have come herself. “Obviously the money wasn’t used to maintain the ranch.”
“Why didn’t your dad get some advice from his neighbors? I’m sure anyone at the Last Chance would have been glad to—”
“Not my dad’s style. He didn’t like to admit he was deficient in any area. That’s why he and my mom didn’t mingle. He didn’t feel equal to the other ranchers, so he kept to himself. Rejected any offer of help. I saw him do it several times. Eventually people stopped trying.”
“That’s sad.”
“Incredibly sad.” She glanced around her. “You see the result. After my mom died a year and a half ago, my dad started drinking a lot, apparently. Whenever I’d suggest coming home for a visit, he’d discourage me. To be honest, I wasn’t eager to be here without my mom. She was always the more positive influence. And my career was heating up, so…I used that as an excuse.”
“Understandable.”
She appreciated that one-word comment more than he’d ever know. Nash Bledsoe was a kind person, just as she’d decided when he hadn’t lectured her about burning the recliner. She probably didn’t have to worry about him blabbing about her circumstances, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.
She cleared her throat. “I’m not famous enough to have paparazzi following me around, but this would make a juicy story