Trust Fund Fiancé (Texas Cattleman's Club: Rags to Riches 4)

“Failed with Melissa?” she repeated. “Zeke, she died in a car accident.”

“Yes.” He nodded, images of that night so long ago flashing across the screen of his mind. “But what you don’t know is I was supposed to be in the car that night. I was supposed to be driving. If I had been, maybe...” He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. He’d repeated the words so often over the years, they were engraved on his soul.

“Then maybe you would both be dead,” Reagan said, grasping his upper arm and tugging until he turned from the window and looked down at her.

Dammit. He hadn’t wanted to do that. Would’ve avoided staring down into her beautiful face if he had his way. Because those espresso eyes, elegant cheekbones and lush mouth unraveled his already frayed resolve.

“There is no guarantee that you would’ve been able to save her. The only person responsible for her death is the drunk driver who crashed into her. This isn’t your burden to bear, Zeke.”

He heard her—had heard the same from Luke, Harley and Piper over the years. But the guilt remained. It burrowed down deep below bone and marrow.

“You know, when I first told Luke I asked you to marry me, he accused me of having a savior complex—of trying to rescue you, because I couldn’t do the same with Melissa. I told Luke that wasn’t true,” he continued, not addressing her assertion of his innocence. “And at the time, I believed it. Melissa had nothing to do with you, and I wasn’t trying to save you. But now...” He gently removed her hand from his arm. “Now, I think he had a point, and I was fooling myself into believing I could help you. Provide for you. Protect you. I can’t, Reagan. Your father was right, and we both know it.”

Shock blanked her eyes and parted her lips. Her soft gasp echoed in the room, and he locked his arms at his sides to keep from wrapping her in them. When he’d suggested this arrangement those months ago, his goal had been to avoid the pain that gleamed in her gaze. But now, to be the cause of it... He closed his eyes, yet seconds later reopened them. He did this; it would be a coward’s move not to face it.

“When I asked you to marry me—when you agreed—this wasn’t the life you envisioned, and it wasn’t the one I promised you. Your father said I couldn’t take care of you, that I would only bring you hardship and scandal, and he was right. I took away the life you’ve known, the one you deserve. Because of me, you’re estranged from your family and still don’t have access to your inheritance.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Zeke.”

“Yes...I do,” he ground out. “I failed you, Reagan, and all I can offer you now to make it right is a divorce. Then you can have your relationship back with your parents and a chance at the money your grandmother wanted you to have. You can have your dreams and the girls’ home you were meant to build. I refuse to take all that away from you.”

“Am I so easy to toss aside, Zeke?” she whispered, her fingers lifting to that scar on her collarbone.

“Ray, no,” he murmured. Nothing about this was easy. It was ripping him to shreds inside. “That’s not true.” He reached for her, to draw her hand away from that mark that represented so much tragedy for her, but she stumbled back, away from his touch.

“My ex. My parents. You. What is it about me that’s so easy for people to walk away from?” She paced away from him, dragging fingers through her hair. Her hollow burst of laughter reverberated in the room. “No, I take that back. This isn’t on me. It wasn’t ever on me,” she said softly, almost as if to herself.

Spinning around, she faced him again, and he was almost rocked back on his heels by her beauty and the fury in her eyes. “For too long I’ve blamed myself for whatever deficit in me permitted people to abandon me. I’m through with that. And you don’t get to use me as an excuse for running scared and not owning your own shit.”

“What do you think I’m doing now, dammit?” He took a step toward her before drawing to an abrupt halt. “Do you think it’s easy for me to admit that I’ve failed you? That I couldn’t give you everything I promised? That I wasn’t—”

He bit off the rest of that statement, hating to think it much less state it aloud. But she didn’t have that problem.

“Enough? You weren’t enough to save Melissa. You aren’t enough to save Wingate. And you aren’t enough to save me?” For a moment, her expression softened, but then it hardened into an icy mask. One he hadn’t seen on her before tonight. “News flash, Zeke. I didn’t ask you to. It isn’t me you’re so concerned with protecting—it’s yourself. I threaten that pain and guilt that you’ve become so comfortable carrying around it’s now a part of you. Because to admit that I’m more than a charity case to you means you would have to deal with the reality that you stand in your own way of finding acceptance and love. You’ll have to face the truth that you’ve been lonely and alone out of choice, not cruel fate.”

Anger sparked inside him, flicking high and hot. As did fear. But he fanned the flames of his anger, smoking out that other, weaker emotion. He wasn’t afraid. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know all he’d suffered, lost. How could he not throw up shields around his heart? To protect himself from that kind of devastation? Even now, knowing he was letting her go, damn near pushing her out the door, had pain pumping through his veins instead of blood. But the thought of how much worse it would be if something happened to her...

No. Fuck it. Call him a coward. Selfish.

He couldn’t do it. Not again.

“Zeke.”

He dragged his gaze from the floor and returned it to her face.

The fury that saturated her features thawed, leaving behind a sadness that cut just as deep as her hurt. She sighed, shaking her head. “You are enough. You’re more than enough. But I can’t make you believe or accept it, so I’m leaving. Not because of some perceived stink of association with you. I’m leaving because the first time you ‘released’ me for my own good, I let you. Then I returned and begged you to marry me. I won’t do it again, and I won’t stay with a man who doesn’t want me enough to fight for me. For us. And I damn sure won’t beg him to let me stay.”

She strode forward and past him. He lifted an arm in a belated attempt to reach for her, to try to make her understand why he was a bad bet. Why he was putting her before his wants and needs. Because she was wrong—he did want her. Too much.

But either she didn’t see his hand or she didn’t want his touch, because she blew past him and headed toward the hall leading to their bedroom. He parted his lips to call after her, but then she stopped in the opening without turning around, her slim back straight, her shoulders drawn back.

“I didn’t need you to be my superhero. I am fully capable of saving myself. I needed you to be my friend, my lover, my husband. I needed you to love me more than your fear of opening your heart up again. Just like I love you more than my fear of being abandoned again. And for the record, you were—you are—worth the risk. But this time? I’m walking away. Because I’m worth the risk, too.”

Then she walked away. Just like she’d promised.

Sixteen

Reagan climbed the steps to her parents’ home and, twisting the knob, pushed the front door open. Since her mother was expecting her for lunch, there was no need to knock.