Yesterday's Scandal (The Wild McBrides 3)

Mac’s voice turned even colder than it had been before. “My mother died still loving the man who’d broken her heart. She never got over him, never stopped hoping he would come back to her. She named me after him, dammit. I have a right to know who did that to her. The duty to seek retribution on my mother’s behalf.”

“Retribution?”

His eyes glittered like black stones. “Whichever McBride seduced my mother, he would not have wanted his gutless actions widely known by his children, his grandchildren, his neighbors and friends. And the way gossip travels around this town, it wouldn’t take long for everyone to know if I choose to drop a few well-placed words.”

The thought of Mac deliberately causing that kind of pain to so many people made her sick. She could understand his anger. She could even understand his desire for revenge. But to know that so many innocents would be hurt in the process—and that in the long run, nothing would really be accomplished…She just couldn’t approve of that.

She didn’t know what to say. She only knew that the entire situation broke her heart. But what hurt her the most was the fact that Mac had used her for his own purposes.

Though he didn’t move, he seemed to physically withdraw from her. “It’s obvious whose side you’re on.”

That brought her chin up again. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I won’t be put in the middle of your private war, Mac. You’ve used me to this point, but I won’t let you use me any longer.”

“It was more than that,” he muttered.

“Was it?” She kept her voice steady with an effort. “Earlier tonight, I asked if you had a word to describe our relationship. You didn’t. Do you have one now?”

Placing a hand on the back of his neck, he started to speak, then fell silent.

“I didn’t think so.” She turned on one heel toward the doorway.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” She didn’t look back. She didn’t want him to see the tears forming in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Mac, I won’t say anything about what I’ve learned here tonight. I won’t interfere with your vendetta, but I won’t help you, either. Whatever information you dig up now, you won’t be getting it from me. And whatever you do with that information is entirely your decision. I only hope you make the right choice.”

“What about the job?”

She couldn’t believe he’d brought that up now. It was wounded pride that made her square her shoulders, turn, and face him without expression. “I’d recommend that you bring in a professional decorator from Atlanta. This time you’ll probably want to hire someone on the basis of their training and experience, rather than their friendship with a family you want to destroy.”

“That wasn’t the reason I hired you,” he said flatly. “When it comes to my jobs, I choose the best people—and you’re the best. I’m holding you to your professional obligation.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “This assignment will look good on my résumé. I suppose it’s only fair if I use you in this.”

He inclined his head in an almost royal gesture. “Just do a good job.”

“I always do.” She turned and left, before she ruined her cool performance by bursting into tears.

BRAD FOUND Sharon crying Sunday evening. She had been proud of herself for not giving in to tears since she’d left Mac’s house in the wee hours of the morning. But something made her think of him Sunday evening, after she thought Brad was in bed, and the floodgates opened despite her efforts.

She was sitting in the kitchen, an untouched cup of herbal tea in front of her. Her elbows resting on the table, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. It hurt so badly to think that she had risked so much and had been given so little in return. She hadn’t been naive enough to think that he’d fallen in love with her at first sight, but she’d thought there was something real between them. Something that had a chance of lasting forever.

She’d obviously been more naive than she’d thought.

She’d been nothing more to him than a pawn in a calculated quest for revenge. Because of his manipulation, she had unwittingly aided his assault on her friends. It hurt so much she wasn’t sure she could bear it.

“Sharon? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” There was a note of panic in Brad’s voice as he spoke from the doorway behind her. He had seen her cry so rarely that he must have assumed something terrible had happened.

She caught her breath and mopped at her face with her hands. “It’s okay, Brad,” she said, trying to speak reassuringly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m just feeling sad this evening. Women do that sometimes.”

He didn’t buy it. “Something’s happened. Someone’s hurt you. It’s Cordero, isn’t it? What did he do?”

She sighed. “Brad, please. Let it go.”

“Did he say something about me?”