Wild Revenge. Sandra Marton

      “Legal documents. Changes to the trust that holds El Sueño, that will reflect you taking over operations.”

      Jake looked at his brothers.

      “You went ahead and did this even though I told you that I’m not staying.”

      “Oh, Jake,” Em said. Her sisters shushed her.

      “Well, we were hoping you changed your mind.”

      “Didn’t it occur to you to consult me?”

      “Sure. But—”

      Jake was angry. Angrier than the situation demanded. He knew that—but knowing it didn’t change a thing.

      He shoved back his chair, tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet.

      “How nice of you all to plan out my life.”

      “Hey, man, we aren’t—”

      “Yeah. You are.”

      “Look, El Sueño needs you. And you need El Sueño.”

      And there it was. The cause of his anger. Jake leaned over, slapped his palms flat against the tabletop.

      “What am I, the family rehab project?”

      “Jake,” Travis said, “we love you.”

      “Then don’t play at being my therapists,” he said, and he ignored his sisters’ voices calling after him and got out of the house before he said something he’d truly regret.

      His car was where he’d left it last night.

      Enough of this, he thought as he got behind the wheel. He had no idea what he wanted to do with his life but one thing was certain.

      He wasn’t going to let anyone make his decisions for him.

      Not anymore, he told himself grimly as he started the car and got moving.

      He should have taken off first thing that morning.

      He hadn’t wanted to hurt his sisters. And, dammit, that was exactly what he’d do, if he left now.

      He thought about seeking out Travis and Caleb and telling them it was time they learned to mind their own business but he knew what they’d said was true.

      They loved him.

      And they were worried about him. That was why they’d come up with the half-baked idea of him running the ranch.

      The entire Wilde clan had decided he was depressed or suffering from PTSD when, in truth, post-traumatic stress disorder was not the problem.

      The problem was, he was a failure.

      It started to rain as he turned onto the county highway.

      Great. Rain certainly suited his mood.

      Had Caleb or Travis told Addison McDowell he needed a reason to feel useful?

      Had they asked her to take pity on him?

      His jaw tightened.

      Was pity at the heart of what had happened last night?

      The possibility made him sick. And angry.

      There was only one way to get an answer.

      Jake pulled onto the shoulder of the road, made a U-turn and headed for the Chambers ranch.

      He drove fast and hard, and reached the ranch in half the time it normally would have taken.

      His anger was still boiling when he pulled up outside the house.

      The rain beat down on him as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Scowling, he turned up the collar of his jacket, stalked up the sagging wooden steps to the porch and jabbed at the bell.

      Silence.

      “Dammit,” he muttered, and banged his fist against the door.

      Nothing.

      She had to be inside.

      Her car—he could see that it was a plain vanilla rental Chevy—was parked where he’d seen her leave it. In the glow of his headlights, he’d seen her get out of it and rush inside the house as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.

      Had she been afraid of him?

      Was she tucked away inside, afraid of him now?

      Jake stuck his hands in his pockets, looked down at his boots.

      He wouldn’t blame her if she were. He’d behaved like a crazy man and here he was this morning, stomping across her porch, banging on her door….

      And why in hell would he think she’d made love with him out of pity? Had sex with him, whatever she wanted to call it?

      She’d been as carried away as he’d been.

      No matter how things had ended, she deserved better than those cold and ugly thoughts.

      Enough, he thought, and he trotted down the steps, got back into his car and drove away.

      Addison watched from an upstairs window as Jacob Wilde drove off.

      Good. In fact, excellent.

      The last thing she wanted was to deal with him this morning.

      She was busy getting things in order inside this—this catastrophe of a house.

      Despite her best intentions, she wasn’t going to be able to leave today. There wasn’t a seat on a New York-bound flight out of Dallas until the end of the week.

      Not a problem.

      She wasn’t fleeing Wilde’s Crossing, she was simply heading home.

      There was plenty to keep her occupied for a few days.

      Like what she was about to tackle. Emptying a hall closet on the second floor.

      “Yuck,” she muttered.

      It wouldn’t be fun, but it had to be done.

      Over the weeks, she’d cleaned all the rooms, scrubbed the kitchen and ancient bathroom. She’d even done some touch-ups—polished the floor, painted the walls, bought some odds and ends for the biggest bedroom, which was the one she slept in.

      She’d done the closet there but nowhere else, and she had not even looked at the attic.

      She could put the house on the market as it was, but for all she knew, there was a treasure trove of interesting old stuff right here, under her nose.

      Checking would be fun—

      Okay.

      Addison stepped away from the closet, sighed and sank down, cross-legged, on the floor.

      Maybe not.

      She’d probably find nothing but spiders and dust. Still, it would give her something to do instead of thinking about last night.

      Thinking about it was pretty much all she’d managed this morning.

      That man. Jake Wilde.

      “Such arrogance,” she told the empty room.

      Indeed.

      Arrogance. Audacity. Ego.

      The nerve of him to show up here today.

      Why had he come?

      She couldn’t think of a reason, unless he thought he could talk her into a repeat performance.

      No. That hadn’t been it.

      A man hoping to take a woman to bed wouldn’t have looked so damned angry.

      As if he had anything to be angry about when she was the one who—

      Addison froze.

      What was that? A car?

      Frowning,