Free His Ordinary Life by Linda Winfree Page A

“Is that a problem?”
    “Why didn’t you make her take the eyeliner off?”
    Confusion joined the caution. “I didn’t notice it.”
    “You’re supposed to be helping me solve a problem, not create new ones. She knows she’s not supposed to wear it until next year, and if you don’t enforce that rule when she’s with you, it’s useless.”
    He stiffened and she cringed at her own waspish tone.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cooling. “I didn’t notice, but you can bet I will next time.”
    Shame pricked at her, but she didn’t apologize. Lyssa slipped back into the room, eyeliner gone and her cheerleading gear bag slung over her shoulder. Teeth tugging at her bottom lip, she glanced between them.
    Barbara forced a smile and reached out to touch her arm. “Get in the car. You don’t want to be late.”
    “Bye, Mama.” Still looking unsure, Lyssa brushed her cheek against Barbara’s and rushed outside, leaving Barbara alone with Del.
    A “thank you” for driving the kids stuck in her throat, along with a knot of tears. She didn’t want to be this way with him, but it seemed the only way she could hang on.
    He cleared his throat. “Listen, Barb, about last night…”
    Her stomach plummeted. She didn’t want to hear this, to talk about that almost-kiss. “It doesn’t—”
    “I owe you an apology. I was completely out of line.” A lopsided grin deepened his dimple, then disappeared as quickly as it came. “Chalk it up to proximity and an overdose of memory lane. I promise it won’t happen again.”
    Pure feminine fury flooded her at his easy dismissal of the very thing that had kept her up for hours after. She forced a laugh and smoothed her hair from her face. “Well, that’s a relief, although I must admit I wondered if the practice you’ve gotten the last few weeks improved your technique any.”
    His eyes flared and his lips thinned. He reached for the door with a white-knuckled grip. “I’ll pick the kids up, too. Have a great day, Barb.”
    She expected him to slam the door. Instead, it closed behind him with a soft, deadly click. She crossed to lock it and waited for his rented SUV to rumble out of the drive. Hands clenched so hard her nails bit her palms, she escaped to the shower and gave in to shuddering sobs.
    * * *
    Improved his technique, hell.
    Del thumped his palm against the steering wheel and swore, glad he’d dropped the kids off hours ago. His temper simmered hotter and hotter, Barbara’s taunt reverberating in his head, and Blake didn’t need any lessons in not controlling anger. He’d lain awake half the night, fixated on her oh-so-kissable mouth, and she’d rested so well she’d even slept through the alarm.
    “I wondered if the practice you’ve gotten the last few weeks improved your technique any,” he mimicked aloud, clenching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles ached. “What practice?”
    What did she think, that he’d gone off to Atlanta and turned into a damned stud, the kind of guy who’d hop into bed with any bar bunny? Hell.
    He still thought of her as his wife, of himself as her husband, and to her he was nothing more than a source of irritation, the guy who’d ruined everything. He clutched the wheel tighter and slowed to make a left turn. And what was wrong with his technique anyway? She’d never complained, had always leaned into his touch, often pulling his mouth back to hers for one more kiss.
    Unless she had something to compare him to now. The image of Brian Rawlings leaning over her, hand on her shoulder, slammed into his mind, the acid of jealousy burning him.
    A familiar dirt road turnoff snagged his attention and he slowed. A humorless chuckle escaped him. While he’d been wrestling his ire, his mind had led him back where everything had started. The woods towered on the small hill, spreading over the rise and down to the river. At a standstill in the middle of the rural road, he draped his wrists over the wheel and