“I’m not signing anything until Rick has read and approved the document.” She said this as if she knew the attorney, even though she’d never met the man. “Now move your car. I’m late for work.”
Ryan grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. “You bitch. You’re doing this to get back at me for falling in love with Ashley.”
She told herself this wasn’t true. It was only prudent to have an attorney read what appeared to be a complicated document-a different document than she’d originally signed. But she had to admit Ryan had put her through hell. His betrayal had been acute, devastating. She’d sacrificed her dream of becoming a veterinarian to put Ryan through medical school. Now she was penniless and forced to start over.
“Let go of me.” She tried to wrench away, but he only tightened his grip and began to shake her with even more force.
“I want you out of my life forever. This has to be settled today.”
“Leave me alone,” she snapped as she struggled to control the quaver in her voice. A bolt of fear shot up her spine. She’d seen Ryan upset many times, but never like this. Something else was wrong besides the improper transfer of property.
“Come with me now or else-”
“Don’t threaten me. Let me go this instant.”
Ryan shook her so hard that her head snapped back, wrenching her neck and shoulders. Pain lanced down her neck into her upper arm.
“You heard the lady. Let her go.” The order sounded like the crack of a whip.
Ryan instantly released her, and they both whirled around to see who was speaking. A tall, powerfully built man stood in the trellised opening of the bridal wreath hedge that separated the main house from the caretaker’s cottage. He must be Adam Hunter. The air whooshed out of Whitney’s lungs as if the brute had tackled her again.
Head cocked slightly to one side, Adam Hunter gazed directly at Whitney. His arresting eyes were marine blue. If he was on something-the way she’d thought last night-it was an overload of testosterone. His eyes weren’t fiendish at all; they were alert, predator’s eyes. There was nothing more exciting to a natural-born hunter than vulnerable prey. Last night, clad in little more than a nylon raincoat, she’d been an easy mark.
In the utter darkness, she’d assumed him ugly. He was far from it, but she wouldn’t call him handsome, either. He was attractive in an edgy, masculine way that said he was world-weary but aching to throw a punch if given any excuse. She imagined him clobbering Ryan and smiled inwardly.
Adam was dressed in well-worn navy Dockers and a gray polo shirt, but she had the impression he played the hand life dealt him. He would be at home in a boardroom, wearing Armani or dressed as a hit man in black, brandishing a gun fitted with a silencer. She would bet her life that the hit-man mode would be his choice.
His straight nose was slightly long, his square jaw was stubbled with hair the same shade as the black mop that was long overdue for a haircut. He had a well-toned body that she doubted came from hours at a gym. Somehow she couldn’t see him on a treadmill or pumping iron beside a bunch of other guys.
“Look,” Ryan began in his most placating tone. “My wife-”
“Ex-wife,” she corrected, then didn’t know what else to say. How could she expect the guy who’d manhandled her to be much help? The endless moment stopped when she managed to say, “He’s trying to force me to sign papers that I want my attorney to review first.”
Adam’s take-no-prisoners glare said this was more than he needed-or wanted-to know. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, but his stance remained just as defiant.
“She’s just being stubborn.” Ryan gave Adam a man-to-man look.
“You were way too rough with the lady,” Adam replied in a tone that could have frozen vodka. “Leave-now.”
Ryan opened his mouth, set to argue, thought better of it and stomped off to his car. His wimpy exit showed Ryan for what he was-a pretty boy who relied on charm. When that failed he turned into a bully. With a screech of tires, the Porsche shot out of the driveway.
Whitney turned, but Adam Hunter had vanished as stealthily as he’d appeared.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRISH BOWRATHER WAS backing her midnight-blue Jaguar out of her garage when Whitney arrived. Brandy was in the passenger seat, his head out the window. Trish slammed on the brakes and rolled down her window, yelling, “You’re late.”
Whitney jumped out of the Jeep and ran over. “I’m sorry. My ex-husband showed up unexpectedly. He wouldn’t let me out of the driveway until a neighbor helped get rid of him.”
She hated bringing up personal issues, but she had no idea what else to say. She’d never had Miranda’s aptitude for shading the truth.
Trish’s eyes became distracted for a second, as if she was recalling something from long, long ago. “I thought your divorce was final.”
“It is. He claims there was some mix-up in the paperwork involving the property settlement. I think I should have an attorney look over these new documents before I sign.”
“Absolutely!” Trish stepped out of the car, dressed in a chic black suit accented with sterling-silver jewelry. “You need a lawyer to check. It sounds highly unusual.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Trish studied her a moment, an understanding expression softening her features. “Was he physical with you?”
Whitney realized she must still appear shaken from the incident. “Well…a little, I guess. Ryan didn’t hit me or anything but he grabbed my shoulders-”
“File a police report. Then get a restraining order,” Trish shot back, conviction underscoring every word. “That’ll keep that bastard away from you.”
Whitney managed a weak nod. She didn’t want to antagonize Ryan any more than she already had. There probably wasn’t a valid reason not to sign the documents, but a little voice kept insisting she consult an attorney.
Trish put her hand on Whitney’s arm. “Look. Take Brandy for his walk. Stop by the Daily Grind for a latte. Relax a little bit, then drop Brandy off at the gallery. There’s a police station nearby. File a report. If the jerk threatens you again, get a restraining order.”
An unconvincing “Good idea” was the best Whitney could muster.
“Here, Brandy,” Trish called, and the dog scrambled out of the open driver’s door, his leash in his mouth.
“Take your time,” Trish advised as she walked back to the Jag. “Calm down. Don’t let that creep ruin your day.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” Whitney said to appease her.
Whitney watched Trish speed away. She couldn’t help being shocked at the change in the woman since yesterday. Evidently, Trish had suffered through a very rough divorce. She understood how unreasonable ex-husbands could be.
Get a restraining order?
She reluctantly admitted to herself that Trish had struck a nervous chord. Today Whitney had seen a side of Ryan that he hadn’t revealed in nine years of marriage. Ryan had been cold and verbally abusive at times, but he’d never been rough with her.
Was he cracking up?
Surely not. Ryan was just stressed out, she assured herself as she hooked Brandy to his leash and opened the door for Lexi. Her ex’s switch to cosmetic surgery had meant leaving his old partners and finding a new practice. Cosmetic surgeons needed to maintain a certain image. Sophisticated offices and the latest in equipment attracted the kind of clientele who gladly parted with stratospheric sums of money in order to appear more youthful. That consumed cash at a rapid rate.
Most people believed doctors made boodles of money, but that was no longer as true as it once had been. Malpractice insurance and the cost of equipment had eroded doctors’ earning power. Ryan had compounded his problems by making several bad investments, like the property with the toxic chemicals in the soil.