Texas Forever (The Tylers of Texas 6)

“It was hot when I put it on the table,” Vivian said.

“Don’t you dare contradict me!” A sweep of Hunter’s hand sent his plate crashing to the tile floor, splattering food and broken china in all directions. “You can’t cook or help with the ranch work or even be out in polite company without embarrassing me. All you’re good for is being a slut. A filthy, lying slut who’d let any man on top of her.”

Vivian stared at him, speechless with horror. He’d said some awful things to her but he’d never gone this far before.

Still unsteady from his father’s blow, Kyle pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ve had enough,” he said. “I’ll be out of here as soon as I can pack my things. Maybe if I get away from you two, I can figure out how to become a decent human being.”

A startled look flashed across Hunter’s face, but he swiftly masked it. “Go on,” he snarled. “You can even take that old shitbucket of a truck you’ve been driving. I don’t care what you do. I’ve never believed you were my son anyway.”

“Kyle!” A cry was torn from Vivian’s throat as her son headed for the stairs. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

He turned with one foot on the bottom step. “I love you, Mother,” he said. “But I won’t stay around and be part of this sick mess anymore. If you can’t stand up to your husband, maybe it’s time you thought about leaving, too.”

As Kyle disappeared upstairs, Hunter stood. Kicking a piece of broken china out of the way, he strode to the front door. “I’ll be back soon, Vivian,” he said. “And when I walk in the door, I want to see this place cleaned up and you in our bed.”

After he’d gone, Vivian cleaned up the kitchen, not because Hunter had told her to, but because she couldn’t stand to look at the mess. Her face burned with shame as she swept the china shards into a dustpan and mopped up the spatters of spaghetti sauce. From upstairs, she could hear the sounds of Kyle packing to leave. She wouldn’t try to stop him. Her son was right. If she’d been mistreated by Hunter, it was because she’d allowed it. His abuse would stop only when she refused to tolerate it.

By the time she’d finished mopping the kitchen floor, putting away the leftovers, and loading the dishwasher, it was dark outside. Kyle was running cardboard boxes and stuffed trash bags out to the truck. Standing in the kitchen, she watched him. She understood that he wanted to be gone before Hunter returned. But why couldn’t he stop and talk to her, or at least look at her?

Never mind—she knew the answer to that question. He was determined to go, and he didn’t want anything holding him back, least of all the mother who’d coddled and protected him all his life.

At last, Kyle went out the door and didn’t return. When she heard the old truck’s engine cough to life and fade with distance, Vivian knew he was gone. She hoped, with a mother’s desperation, that he’d be safe and that, somehow, he’d stay in touch with her. But he was a man now. She had to accept that and move on herself.

Dry-eyed and strangely numb, she mounted the stairway and walked down the hall to the master bedroom at the end. Inside, she turned on a side lamp and sat down on the bed, which was covered with a treasured quilt her grandmother had made for her wedding. The drapes, whi

ch matched the yellow color in the quilt, were closed, the room stuffy from the heat of the day. She should open a window, Vivian thought, but she felt too drained to get up and move.

What now?

Maybe it was time to look after her own welfare.

With Kyle gone, she would be the sole target of Hunter’s rages. And there would be no one here to stop him from getting physical—as he had tonight when he’d struck his son. Hunter was a strong man. If he lost control, she could be in real danger.

Unless she was going to leave—and she had yet to make up her mind about that—she would have to walk on eggshells around the man. Among other things, that would mean complying with his demands in bed.

As she reached under the pillow to get her nightgown, something crackled faintly beneath the mattress. Only then did she remember what she’d hidden there.

She hadn’t reread those forbidden fantasies about Will since his death. Somehow, now that he was gone, it just didn’t seem fitting. Vivian knew she’d be a fool to keep those blistering pages. If Hunter were to find them by accident, she could only imagine what he would do.

After rants like the one tonight, Hunter usually drove into town, to have a drink and cool off at the Blue Coyote. There was a shredder downstairs in the ranch office. He should be gone for at least another hour. That would give her plenty of time to rip those forbidden fantasies out of her notepad and shred them into sad bits of confetti.

Raising the edge of the quilt, she thrust her arm between the mattress and the box spring. Her groping fingers found the manila envelope that held the notepad. Stretching, she clasped the edge and pulled it free.

Her hand shook as she unfastened the clasp. It was just dawning on her what a dangerous thing she’d done. She should have destroyed the pages after writing them—or better yet, she should have kept her erotic dreams in her head and never written them down at all.

The notepad slid out of the envelope and into her lap. She stared at it, her whole body breaking out in a cold sweat. A wave of nausea washed over her, followed by a surge of panic.

The notepad was blank, the damning pages torn away.

“Is this what you’re looking for, Vivian?”

Her gaze jerked toward the open door. Outlined by the light from the hallway, Hunter stood on the threshold. His fist clutched a wad of crumpled pages. “Tonight I called you a slut,” he said in a low, quiet voice that was more terrifying than a shout. “You’re worse than a slut. You’re a whore. But you’re my whore, and nobody’s going to take you away from me. Will Tyler learned that the hard way.”

Vivian struggled to slow her careening thoughts. What had Hunter just said? Had he been the one who’d killed Will?

She forced herself to speak. “When did you find those papers, Hunter? They were mine. You had no business taking them.”

“A while ago. And I can take anything I want to in this house. When I first read these—” He shook his fist, crushing the pages tighter. “When I read what that sick bastard Tyler was doing with my wife—my wife—I wanted to kill him, and you, too. But no, I came to my senses. I decided to have it out with him—tell him to leave my woman the hell alone. I called him, but the housekeeper told me he’d gone to town. That was when I realized that talking to him wouldn’t be enough. I was a man. I had the right to satisfy my honor.”