Claiming King's Baby / Wyoming Wedding. Maureen Child

      “But one you didn’t bother to clear up,” she countered.

      “Maggie,” he said tightly, “do we really have to do this again?”

      “Why the hell not?” she demanded. Then pointing to the bed, she snapped, “We just spent an incredible weekend together, Justice. And you’re telling me you feel nothing?”

      He’d be a liar if he tried. But admitting what he was feeling still wouldn’t change a thing. “I didn’t say that.”

      “You didn’t have to,” she told him. “The very fact that you’re willing to let me walk…again…tells me everything I need to know.”

      His back teeth ground together until he wouldn’t have been surprised to find them nothing more than gritty powder in his mouth. She thought she knew him, thought she knew what he was doing and why, but she didn’t have a clue. And never would, he reminded himself.

      “Hell, Justice, you wouldn’t back down even if you did change your mind, would you? Oh, no. Not Justice King. His pride motivates his every action—”

      He inhaled deeply and folded his arms across his bare chest. “Maggie…”

      She held up one hand to cut off whatever else he might say, and though he felt a kick to his own temper, he shut up and let her have her say.

      “You know what? I’m sick to death of your pride, Justice. The great Justice King. Master of his Universe.” She slapped both hands to her hips and lifted her chin. “You’re so busy arranging the world to your specifications that there is absolutely no compromise in you.”

      “Why the hell should there be?” Justice took a half step toward her and stopped. Only because he knew if he got close enough to inhale her scent, he’d be lost again. He’d toss her back into the bed, bury himself inside her—and what would that solve? Not a thing. Sooner or later, they’d end up right here. Back at the fight that had finally finished their marriage.

      “Because there were two of us in our marriage, Justice. Not just you.”

      “Right,” he said with a brief, hard nod. He didn’t like arguments. Didn’t think they solved anything. If two people were far enough apart on an issue, then shouting at each other over it wasn’t going to help any. But there was only just so much he was willing to take. “You want compromise? We each give a little? So how would you manage that here, Maggie? Have half a child?”

      “Not funny at all, Justice.” Maggie huffed out a breath. “You knew what family meant to me. What it still means to me.”

      “And you knew how I felt, too.” Keeping his gaze steady and cool on hers, he said, “There’s no compromise here, Maggie, and you know it. I can’t give you what you want, and you can’t be happy without it.”

      As if all the air had left her body, she slumped, the flash of temper gone only to be replaced by a well of defeat that glimmered in her eyes. And that tore at him. He hated seeing Maggie’s spirit shattered. Hated even more that he was the one who’d caused it. But that couldn’t be helped. Not now. Not ever.

      “Fine,” she said softly. “That’s it, then. We end it. Again.”

      She picked up her slacks and put them on. Shaking her head, she zipped them up, tucked the tail of her shirt into the waistband and then stepped into her boots. Lifting her arms, she gathered up the tangle of her hair and deftly wound it into a knot at the back of her head, capturing that wild mass and hiding it away.

      When she was finished, she stared at him for a long moment, and even from across the room Justice would have spared her this rehashing of the argument that had finally torn them apart. But this weekend had proven to him as nothing else ever would, that the best thing he could do for her was to step back. Let her hate him if she had to. Better for her to move the hell on with her life.

      Even if the thought of her moving on to another man was enough to carve his heart right out of his chest.

      Maggie picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder and stared at him. “So, I guess the only thing left to say is thanks for the weekend.”

      “Maggie…”

      Shaking her head again, she started walking toward the door. When she came close to him, she stopped and looked up at him. “Sign the damn divorce papers, Justice.”

      She took another step and he stopped her with one hand on her arm. “It’s pouring down rain out there. Why don’t you stay put for a while and wait out the storm before you go.”

      Maggie pulled her arm free of his grasp and started walking again. “I can’t stay here. Not another minute. Besides, we’re not a couple, Justice. You don’t have the right to worry about me anymore.”

      A few seconds later, he heard the front door slam. Justice walked to the windows and looked down on the yard. The wind tore her hair free of its tidy knot and sent long strands of red flying about her face. She was drenched by the rain almost instantly. She climbed into the car and fired up the engine. Justice saw the headlights come on, saw the rain slash in front of those twin beams and stood there in silence as she steered the car down the drive and off the ranch.

      Chest tight, he watched until her taillights disappeared into the darkness. Then he punched his fist against the window and relished the pain.

      Chapter Three

      Justice threw his cane across the room and listened to it hit the far wall with a satisfying clatter. He hated needing the damn thing. Hated the fact that he was less than he used to be. Hated knowing that he needed help, and he sure as hell hated having his brother here to tell him so.

      He glared at Jefferson, his eldest brother, then pushed up and out of the chair he was sitting in. Justice gathered up his pride and dignity and used every ounce of his will to make sure he hobbled only a little as he lurched from the chair to the window overlooking the front yard. Sunlight splashed through the glass into the room, bathing everything in a brilliant wash of light.

      Justice narrowed his eyes at his brother, and when he was no more than a foot away from him, he stopped and said, “I told you I can walk. I don’t need another damn therapist.”

      Jefferson shook his head and stuffed both hands into the pockets of what was probably a five-thousand-dollar suit. “You are the most stubborn jackass I’ve ever known. And being a member of this family, that’s saying something.”

      “Very amusing,” Justice told him and oh-so-casually shot out one hand to brace himself against the log wall. His knuckles were white with the effort to support himself and take the pressure off his bad leg. But he’d be damned if he’d show that weakness to Jefferson. “Now, get out.”

      “That’s the attitude that ended up bringing me here.”

      “How’s that?”

      “You’ve chased off three physical therapists in the past month, Justice.”

      “I didn’t bring ‘em here,” he pointed out.

      Jefferson scowled at him, then sighed. “Dude, you broke your leg in three places. You’ve had surgery. The bones are healed but the muscles are weak. You need a physical therapist and you damn well know it.”

      “Don’t call me ‘dude,’ and I’m getting along fine.”

      “Yeah, I can see that.” Jefferson shot a quick glance to Justice’s white-knuckled grip on the wall.

      “Don’t you have some inane movie to make somewhere?” Justice countered. As head of King Studios, Jefferson was the man in charge of the film division of the King empire. The man loved Hollywood. Loved traveling around the world, making deals, looking for talent, scouting locations himself. He was as footloose as Justice was rooted to this ranch.

      “First I’m taking care of my idiot brother.”

      Justice