Roman's Choice (Saddles & Second Chances Book 1) (21 page)

“Wife is great and the baby just turned a year old.” His smile reeked of pure pride.

“A year? Already? Yikes. She’ll be starting college next month.”

“Yes, Miss Wyatt. She’s growing like a weed. Here, let me grab the elevator for you.” Steve slipped past her and pushed the button to her floor. “You have a good evening.” He dipped his hat as she stepped inside of the cubicle.

She rode the elevator up several floors, her thoughts on the past. The bell dinged and the doors opened. The hallway was quiet and the overhead light flickered.
Shoot! I forgot to tell the maintenance worker that it’s on the blink.
She could barely see as she slid her keycard into the slot.

Inside of her apartment, she clicked on the lights and went into her bedroom, slipping off her shoes. The large window looked out onto the scenic view of the historic town and she stood there for a few minutes watching life pass her by. An ambulance pulled into the apartment lot, shut off its lights and parked in front of the building. She hoped Mrs. Viney wasn’t sick again. The elderly woman had been in and out of the hospital for the last month. Krista always made it a habit to check on her neighbor every evening.

Grabbing her phone from her purse, she hit a key for speed dial and the phone was picked up on the second ring. Krista felt instant relief hearing the woman’s jovial, but husky, voice. “I was just checking in, Mrs. Viney. I hope you’re doing well this evening.”

“I’m fine, dear. Watching my favorite show. He’s about to kill a zombie so we’ll talk soon.”
Click.

Krista tossed her phone onto the bed and chuckled. The older woman was as sweet as could be, but she was addicted to TV, especially zombie shows.

Closing the curtains to the window, she pulled off her coat, then the jacket, and dropped both over the arm of the chair. Dancing light caught her attention. The sequins on the corset glistened and glittered like diamonds in the reflection of the mirror. Her breasts looked like they’d grown from B’s to C’s with the help of the tight fitting top. The woman at the shop had told her to pick a size smaller for the best results, and they were exactly as promised—she looked like a fifties pin-up model. She loved her shape and hadn’t had a complex about her body image since she was a teenager. It had taken her some time to realize that, at five foot two, her curves didn’t have as much room to spread out in length. She wholeheartedly embraced her curves, and had to admit, looking at herself now, she was quite sexy. She wasn’t bone-thin, never had been, and had always called her hourglass hips the ‘female persuasion’. Although she knew she could work out more and eat fewer carbs, she enjoyed having a curvy frame and even the small muffin top that appeared on occasion as a reminder that she was all soft woman.

“Time to go.” She plucked at the corset with a sigh, realizing she’d already wasted enough time on the failed attempt at seduction.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Or so I’ve heard.
Grabbing a pair of scissors from her vanity drawer, she started at the side seam and cut the material all the way to the bust. Once it fell away, her breasts thanked her. Scooping the corset up with her big toe, she deposited it into the trash can. “
Sayonara
.”

Pulling on a short nightgown and applying a thick layer of green mask on her face, she went into the kitchen and made a bowl of Rocky Road. Taking it into the living room, she sat down at her computer and pushed the power button.  Taking a bite of ice cream, she immediately felt a punitive tingle at her temples. “Ouch! Brain freeze.” She rubbed her forehead.
This really isn’t my day.

Once the ‘freeze’ defrosted in her brain, she pulled up a blank document, ready to start a new story. Grabbing her book of notes , she read the information she’d jotted down while visiting a local house rumored to have the ghost of a twenty-year-old woman wandering the halls. She had committed suicide in the early 1900’s after her fiancé was killed in a hunting accident. The stories were that her spirit was seen on nights when the moon was full. . Krista had spent a night cuddled up in a blanket at the estate and hadn’t seen any proof that Beatrice Nelson still roamed the property. To love someone so much that you can’t live without them…such a tragedy.

Hovering her fingers over the keyboard, she sat there and stared until her eyes blurred. Usually the words flowed like water, but right now she could barely think, let alone put two sentences together.

This was all Willard’s fault.

No, that wasn’t true.

“Damn, Dodge. This is all
your
fault!” Her mind was stuck in the past and on the man who had probably forgotten her before she crossed the Florida/Georgia line, heading back home.

Dodge had always managed to nestle his way into the recesses of her mind at all of the inopportune times—while she was taking a bath, at night while she was trying to sleep, when she was eating…when didn’t he enter her mind? He was like an incurable virus, slowly eating away at her preservation.

She took another bite of the Rocky Road, this time a smaller one, and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of chocolate.

How could she write about hauntings when she was dealing with a haunting of her own? A six-foot-two, two-hundred pound, brawny ghost that had an insane ability in making women swoon.

Point was, she was spinning in her heels. Krista had a lot of love to give. And passion. Yet why did she continue to pick the wrong men? She’d known from the get-go that Willard wasn’t the man for her. He was too reserved, too quiet. Not Dodge.

That was the real problem. No man compared to her husband.

Her memories were stockpiled and spoiled from the days she’d spent with him—the times she was in his arms she’d been the happiest. He’d broken her heart. Where had it gone so wrong? One minute they were content, and the next they were arguing over a pair of dirty socks and talking divorce. For years after she’d left Dodge, she’d waited, almost anticipated the papers of dissolution arriving in her mailbox. They never did come. Now ten years had passed and she was still married to her first love—her first lover.

She’d kept track of him while he was in the public eye, and had called it her secret stalking pleasure. She almost felt a little dirty when she remembered how she’d scroll through his social media page, both cursing and savoring him like a high calorie dessert that would only add more inches to her waistline. Soon after she’d left him, he was drafted to a pro football team and he became an overnight success. He was the talk of the sports world. For a time, it seemed as if all of his goals and dreams were coming together like a puzzle. The media claimed he was an up-and-coming star. Yet there was another side to her husband, the man who had a new female flavor on his arm every night according to the photos in the sports magazines. Women and his fans loved him. Standing for hours in rain or shine just to get an autograph and to shake his hand. Once a fan was arrested when she used a pair of scissors to clip a lock of his hair. Another time, a woman had wrapped herself around his body, clinging to him like white on rice until security had peeled her off and hauled her away.

It wasn’t long until things took a tragic turn for him. He’d suffered an injury that put him out of the game. At first it appeared he would make a full recovery, but she knew Dodge.  She could guarantee that he’d pushed himself too fast, and then he was injured again. This time there was no going back and his career was over. He’d disappeared off the radar and she’d assumed he’d gone back home to Montana to lick his internal wounds in private. But she’d called his mother and found that Dodge wasn’t home. In fact, they weren’t sure where he was, but he’d told them he wanted to be alone for a while.

Days passed. Months, even years.

A part of her had worried about him. Although she’d removed her wedding band after she’d left him, the invisible ring remained. They weren’t a couple, and yet she had the marriage license that proved differently. It was possible she meant nothing to him, but once upon a time he’d meant everything to her and she wanted to believe he’d loved her too.

Coming to the conclusion that she needed to move on, a year ago she’d hired a private investigator to find him. He was living and working as a hand at a ranch in Wyoming, a place called Nirvana Ranch. Pro football player turned cowboy hand.

After months of pondering and fretting, she’d finally called the spa and left a message for him to return her call. But he never did.  She’d called several more times, but each time she was met with silence. Eventually, when her frustration surmounted, she’d hired an attorney and sent Dodge divorce papers. Again, they went disregarded. There was no reason why they should prolong the inevitable, so she wasn’t sure why he continued to play games. They’d been a train wreck waiting to happen from the moment they said “I do”.

Clicking her mouse, the Nirvana Ranch website came up on the screen. She’d read the details over and over, wrapping her brain around the idea that Dodge worked at a spa/retreat. The place seemed like a secluded paradise, priding themselves on privacy, guests connecting with nature and leaving refreshed. The retreat had gained popularity over the last few years, as much for the view of the mountains as for the cowboys who catered to the needs of the guests.

Krista’s stomach twisted. Dodge definitely could use his charm to impress the ladies.

Sitting back in her chair, she tapped her foot in frustration. She needed closure. She had a good life, a career in something she was good at and a promising future—she was independent and strong. Yet, a part of her remained in the past. Her mother had recently accused Krista of living vicariously through her stories. Maybe when she first started writing, she had used her characters and their fantasy worlds to assuage her loneliness, but the stand-in for comfort was no longer working. There was a large void in her life and it was time she started figuring out how to fill the hole with things that mattered.

Picking up her pen, she clicked it in restless energy. She’d been involved with several men since Dodge, but none had made her feel even a smidgeon of what she’d felt with her husband—beautiful, seductive, and amazing. He’d taken away all of her inhibitions and insecurities, replacing them with confidence and capability. In bed, she’d learned what he liked—learned what she liked too. She’d found that not all men liked being told by a woman what she wanted, especially in bed, no matter what he claimed. A few men found it too brazen. Her freedom, when it came to exploration and spontaneity, scared some men, or rather, scared Willard. What had she been thinking? Wasting a good strip tease and corset on him.

Obviously, she couldn’t be trusted to make the right decision when it came to men because her failure rate was getting higher by the day.

She had dreams too, not just career-based.

At twenty-nine, it wasn’t as if her ovaries were shriveling up, but she’d always wanted a child and a husband. Even when she was younger she’d longed for the day when she could shower her own family with love and affection. Truthfully, she’d wanted a baby with Dodge. They’d discussed children when they first married, but they’d both had wanted to wait until he’d been drafted. They’d made each other a promise that once that happened, they’d buy a small house in the suburbs and start a family.

Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away. She couldn’t allow her emotions to get in the way. She could still love him, but that didn’t mean he deserved it.

Her mother was always asking Krista when would she settle down, have a few kids.  Didn’t her mother see that it wasn’t that easy? Of course, her parents had no clue that she was still married to Dodge. If they did, they would have been on her case daily. They forgot at times that she was an adult.

Being an adult meant acting like one, and that included no longer allowing Dodge to control her future. She wished that she no longer loved him, or dreamed about him, craved his touch, remembered their lovemaking that lingered so many years later. She wasn’t sure why she tormented herself with his memory.

Why did she scare stable men like Willard away?

Looking at the bigger picture, she should be happy that they hadn’t consummated their relationship. She’d caught a glance of him naked once and she hadn’t felt the thrill a woman should when thinking of having sex. She’d told herself over and over again that ‘size’ didn’t matter, but in truth she’d often speculated if that were true. Again, she’d compared another man to Dodge. Not all men could be built like a stallion. She remembered how broad his shoulders were. The lean tapering of his waist. His endurance in and out of bed.

Sweat beaded between her breasts and her inner thighs fluttered. She picked up a newspaper and fanned herself as her thoughts went to the vibrator she kept in the drawer of her desk. The pink toy was getting too many miles here lately, and she seriously needed to think of trading it in for a newer model—maybe upgrade to the real thing. She wanted a man’s arms wrapped around her, hear him whisper sweet words into her ear, and show her that she was all woman.

Dodge was a poison that must be eradicated.

If he wouldn’t return her calls or acknowledge that she wanted a divorce, then she had no other choice than to go to him. If she was a guest at Nirvana, he couldn’t ignore her.

Back on the Nirvana website, she found the reservation button and clicked on it. A form popped up asking for all of her information and a calendar of the dates available. The first date was six months away. Six months?!
What the hell is this place?