Talk To Me. Jan Freed

did.”

      “That’s bull and you know it! But if you’re saying I cared more about Bass Busters Fishing Camp...damn right I did. This place was my livelihood, our future children’s security.”

      The children they’d both wanted and specified. A brown-eyed boy with dark hair for her. A green-eyed girl with fair hair for him. So clichéd it was laughable. Only he didn’t feel like laughing.

      For a hideous horrifying instant, his nose stung.

      Her expression thawed. “And Taylor Fine Foundations was my legacy,” she said quietly. “Something of value I could pass on to our children.”

      Welcoming the insult to his pride, he braced his hands on his hips. “I could sell this property tomorrow for a half-million dollars, easy. That’s right,” he addressed the surprise in her eyes with vindicated satisfaction. “You should’ve trusted me that lakefront real estate value would go through the roof one day.”

      “I never doubted you, Travis.”

      Ignoring that whopper, he slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yep, the fish you threw back could’ve made you rich. If only you’d known.”

      Not that he would ever sell a square inch of his land while he drew breath.

      But she didn’t know that.

      A delicate brow arched. “You’d never sell this land. I’d have to wait until your flaming funeral pyre floated off into the sunset before I saw a penny.”

      As kids, he and his brothers had made a secret blood vow to give each other proper Viking funerals when they croaked. “How’d you...?”

      She leveled a “get real” look.

      “Jake,” he muttered darkly.

      “Besides—” she folded her arms beneath her breasts “—I didn’t marry or divorce you for money. Half this property was legally mine. Don’t think my lawyer didn’t advise me to take it, either. Or that I wouldn’t have won if you’d fought me on it.”