Marriage, Interrupted. Karen Templeton

she needed to remember was that remembering was not an option.

      Chapter Two

      Blake found Shaun doing a bad impression of a skateboarder in the cul-de-sac in front of the house. The kid had changed into a pair of droopy jeans with shredded hems, topped by three layers of shirts in varying degrees of grunge. For a split second, Blake considered whether he even wanted to be seen with the kid.

      “I’m going back to the hotel to get my stuff,” he called over. “Wanna come?”

      The skateboard went flying in one direction, Shaun in another, as he came to a halt. Panting, he took off his hat—its original color anybody’s guess—shook out his now-unconfined hair, then pushed the hat back on his head. Backward. “You staying here?” he asked as he snatched the skateboard up off the pavement, then ambled toward Blake, board dangling from his knuckles.

      “Appears so.” Blake waited until the boy reached him before continuing. “Lucille’s idea.”

      Shaun nodded, a half grin tugging at his lips as he hissed out a breath. “What’d Mom say?”

      “Not much,” Blake said cautiously. “Although she did mention that you had some plans for the next few days and maybe I could play shuttle service.”

      Another nod. “Yeah, that’d be cool. I s’pose.” Now he gave Blake’s Range Rover the once-over. “Not bad,” he pronounced, skimming one hand over the hood. “New?”

      “The Bronco gave up the ghost last winter.” For some reason, Shaun’s nonchalance was making Blake antsy. “So. You want to come with me or not?”

      “Yeah. Sure. C’n I put the board in back?”

      “Yeah. Sure,” Blake echoed, opening the door.

      The skateboard duly deposited, they both climbed into the car. Shaun immediately asked if he could turn on the radio; Blake, assuming the kid wasn’t thinking along the lines of an easy listening or classical station, not so immediately agreed. Two button clicks later, the glove-leather interior of his car pulsed with mind-numbing, quadrophonically enhanced hip-hop. Blake glanced over at his son, who was drumming the dash in time to the…music. He sucked in a deep, deep breath, then let it out very, very slowly.

      It was a start.

      Cass blew a puff of air through her bangs and considered the plate of food in her hands, still uneaten, still unwanted. Right on cue, reminding her she wasn’t the only one who needed to eat, the baby delivered a swift kick to her right kidney. With a sigh, she lifted something unrecognizable to her mouth and began to nibble, only to quickly dispose of it in her napkin. Whoever had put the chicken liver on her plate had an obvious death wish. Liver, in whatever form, from whatever animal, was still something’s innards, and Cass did not eat innards. Ever.

      Tears sprang to her eyes.

      “Hey, honey…you okay?”

      Cass immediately reined everything in as Mercy plopped herself down beside her, wiping her sapphire-blue-tipped fingers on a napkin. The nails were a perfect match to the petite woman’s fitted suit. Her lips, thankfully, were not.

      “Sure,” Cass answered. “I’m fine.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “So if you’d already made up your mind how I was, why’d you ask?”

      “Because that’s what friends do.”

      “Ask? Or predetermine the answers?”

      “Whatever works.”

      Cass settled farther into the sofa, the plate precariously balanced on top of the mound that contained her unborn child. “Well, consider this. If I was okay, they probably really would come take me away.”

      “Good point,” Mercy said. “But with the baby coming and everything? Dana and I are just worried about you, you know?”

      Dana Malone, the third partner in their business venture, was—thank God—not in evidence at the moment. “Don’t be. Please. You know hovering makes me crazy.”

      “Tough. If we didn’t bug you, you’d probably starve to death.” Yards of ebony corkscrew curls, only minimally tamed by a narrow, blue velvet headband, tangled with the collar of her suit as she shook her head. “For someone so savvy about running a business, you’re pathetic when it comes to taking care of yourself.” Teak eyes settled on Cass’s plate. “Why didn’t you eat the liver?”

      “Because I’d rather cut out my own. So live up to your name, Mercy, and show me some.”

      “Liver’s a good source of iron, which you need for the baby—”

      “So bring me a bowl of Total. Get off my case.”

      Mercy humphed, then scanned the room and the dwindled-to-almost-nothing crowd. “Your ex left?” she asked, making Cass jump.

      “Only temporarily,” she said, trying to sound blasé. “Lucille got her claws in him and invited him to stay over.”

      “Stay over? As in, here?” One sapphire nail jabbed downward. “In this house?”

      The soft leather cushioned Cass’s aching neck muscles as she leaned back against the sofa and faced her partner. “Does that mean I’m not the only one who thinks this is a little strange?”

      Her brows now dipped, Mercy leaned over and snitched a taquito off Cass’s plate. Crossing her legs, she propped her elbow on her knee as she munched, waving the truncated taquito around for emphasis. “I think…I think I don’t know what I think. Except… Dios mio, he’s a hunk and a half. Oh, God—” Five long fingers clamped around Cass’s wrist. “That was really stupid.”

      “Forget it. Besides, you’re right.”

      Up went the brows again.

      “Oh, for crying out loud, Merce. Look. If someone lets you borrow something—like, I don’t know, a beautiful piece of jewelry or something—it’s no less beautiful when you have to give it back, right?”

      Mercedes considered that for a moment, then said, “Well, all I have to say is, what you gave back is serious Harry Winston material.” She shook her head, then picked a cheesy something or other off Cass’s plate and popped it into her mouth. Mercedes Zamora, Cass had decided a long time ago, epitomized the word spitfire. Petite, pretty, vivacious, adorable figure, just quirky enough to keep you on your toes. “So what happened? Why’d you two break up?”

      And deadly.

      “Geez, lady. Anybody ever tell you your timing stinks?”

      Mercy pinned her with a look that could intimidate a Mafia goon. “Maybe. But you have this nasty habit of holding things in, and that’s not good, you know? Very bad for the blood pressure.”

      Cass closed her eyes, hoping against hope the woman would go away. “I’d rather think of it as keeping my personal life, well…personal.”

      But going away was clearly not on Mercy’s to-do list. From two feet away, Cass could hear her chewing. “The guy’s history, right?”

      The mantel clock chimed during the several seconds that passed before Cass replied, her eyes still closed. “Ancient, even.”

      “So?”

      “So…” So she would toss her friend a scrap and maybe then she’d go away. “We got married too early. We couldn’t handle it. End of story.” The baby squirmed again; Cass absently rubbed the little elbow or knee or whatever it was. And through the anger and the confusion and all the dreck that threatened to turn her into a raving nutso, floated the love she felt for the little guy who knew nothing of any of this.

      “And…you’re not going to say anything more.”

      Tired as she was, Cass opened her eyes, looked her friend straight in hers and