Free Cold Hearted by Beverly Barton Page B

to discuss.”
    Markham looked at her questioningly, evidently hesitant to leave her alone with Rick. “If you’re sure.”
    “I’m sure.”
    Markham glowered at Rick, issuing him a silent but definite warning before he reluctantly walked out of the room.
    The moment they were alone, Jordan closed her eyes and sighed.
    Very effective. Sweet and helpless. And here I am, a big, strong shoulder to lean on. God, how stupid did she think he was?
    “From here on out, take all the pot shots at me you want,” Jordan said. “But Devon is off limits. I can take whatever is dished out, by you, by anyone, by life in general. But Devon can’t. Dan’s death has hit him hard. I know someone like you can’t possibly understand another man being emotionally fragile, but that’s exactly what Devon is right now. If you hurt him, I’ll—”
    “What do you mean, someone like me?”
    “A tough guy. All macho rough and proud of it.”
    “It seems I’m not the only one who’s made a gut reaction judgment call. Yesterday, I pegged you for a cold-hearted bitch and today you’ve decided that I’m a Neanderthal, all brawn with no brains or feelings.” When he moved toward her, she took one step back, then halted and stood her ground as he approached. When only a hairsbreadth separated them, he looked down at her and asked, “If you’re wrong about me, maybe I’m wrong about you.”
    “Am I wrong about you, Mr. Carson?”
    “Partially. Am I wrong about you, Mrs. Price?”
    “I’ll leave that for you to decide when we become better acquainted.”
    It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake the living daylights out of her.
     
     
    After Rick left her study, Jordan locked the door and turned out all the lights, except the one on her desk. She walked to the windows and looked out into the darkness. A powerful, almost unbearable ache welled up inside her and for the first time since Dan’s death, she allowed the pain freedom. She stopped trying to control it, temporarily succumbing to her grief. Standing alone in the shadows, unable to cry, she trembled as the sadness engulfed her. She grieved for Dan, for a future that would never be, and for a past that she could not change.
    She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. She wanted to scream, to rant, to curse the heavens. If it were within her power to go back a few short weeks and change things, would she? For her child’s sake?
    How many more good years might Dan have had? One? Five? They would never know. His untimely death had saved all of them and at the same time had cheated them. Even if Devon could not see both sides of the issue, she could. If that made her the cold-hearted bitch that Rick Carson had accused her of being, then she accepted the condemnation. Life was never all black or all white; instead it was shades of gray. People were never all good or all bad, but myriad combinations.
    Had life and circumstances taken away all that was pure and good and loving inside her? Had she truly become cold hearted, so much so that she could admit, if only to herself, that perhaps Dan’s death would free her from the lie her life had become?
    Forgive me, Dan. Please forgive me.
    We both deserved so much more than what we had to settle for, a marriage without passion, living two separate lives, one in public and the other in private.
    Jordan slumped down into the nearest chair, bent over and covered her face with her hands, effectively muffling her moans. She wanted to cry, wished she could weep cleansing tears, allowing them to flow freely until she was spent. Crying would be such a relief. She curled up in the large, overstuffed chair, pulled the folded afghan from the arm, opened it, and wrapped it around herself.
    Tomorrow morning she would face what lay ahead: the reading of Dan’s will, the private investigation into his death, Gary Werneth taking Dan’s place in the senate, holding together