Free Borrowed Bride by Patricia Coughlin Page A

averting his gaze to the lake behind her, as if he found something out there absolutely fascinating.
    â€œMore or less.” She took another sip. “Did you really think I’d try to poison you?”
    Connor shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure you think I deserve it. Or worse.”
    â€œTrue.”
    He met her gaze with a sardonic smile. “I thought you said this was supposed to be a peace offering.”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œDoes that mean you’ve come to your senses, had a miraculous change of heart overnight and now realize that I’m right about everything, and that instead of the arrogant, hardheaded SOB you accused me of being, I’m actually a knight in shining armor?”
    â€œI wouldn’t go that far,” she said, her tone dry as she mimicked his earlier words. “It does, however, mean that I’m willing to listen again to what you have to say and see if somehow together we can’t come up with a reasonable explanation for whatever you think is going on.”
    â€œI know what’s going on, Gaby,” he said. “I’m just not sure of all the details or of exactly how Adam is involved.”
    â€œ If Adam is involved,” she amended.
    His mouth tightened. “He is, trust me.”
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t do that. I can’t just take your word for the fact that a very dear friend of mine, a man who was only good to me and my son when I really needed someone, the man I intend to marry, is involved in some sordid money-laundering scheme and may even have been behind the death of my husband.”
    â€œFine,” he said. He fumbled in the toolbox for a smaller screwdriver, telling himself that since he really hadn’t expected her to trust him, it shouldn’t bother him so much that she didn’t. “You don’t have to take my word for it. You don’t have to do anything. I only filled you in on what was going on as a courtesy and because you seemed so hell-bent on knowing. Your confidence and cooperation—or lack thereof—are really inconsequential.”
    â€œWhat is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. She stood with her weight on one hip, her arms crossed in front of her, her cool, haughty gaze getting to him like an itch in a place he couldn’t scratch.
    â€œNothing diabolic, so you can stop looking at me as if I’m something you stepped in with one of your fancy iced apricot pumps.”
    â€œSpeaking of which, there were no shoes in with the clothes you gave me.”
    He turned back to the motor. “That’s right.”
    â€œSo I’d like my own shoes back if you don’t mind.”
    â€œI do mind.”
    â€œWhy, for heaven’s sake? You can hardly expect me to walk around barefoot all the time,” she complained, her voice rising. “The stones killed my feet just getting out here.”
    He slanted her a distracted look as he moved to the other side of the table in hopes of finding a better angle for the screwdriver. “Then you won’t be straying too far, will you?”
    Understanding flared in her eyes, followed by a flash of anger.
    â€œOf all the... do you really think you can keep me here by keeping me barefoot?”
    â€œI think the odds are a lot better than they would be if I’d thrown in a pair of comfortable sneakers.” He felt the screwdriver begin to slip. “Ah, damn.”
    â€œYou’re impossible,” she told him, her words clipped and angry. “To think I actually came out here hoping we could have a rational conversation and maybe come up with answers to some of the questions you’ve raised.”
    â€œThe hell you did,” he retorted, not sure at that instant if he was more frustrated by her or the motor. “You came out here hoping you could chip away at what I told you yesterday.”
    Her silent shrug only served to spur him on.
    â€œI’m sure you’d love to twist it