Line of Scrimmage Excerpt
At the sound of boots landing in her foyer. . .
“Excuse me,” Susannah stammered to her fiancé Henry and his parents as she rushed from the dining room, through the kitchen, and into the foyer, stopping short at the sight of her ex-husband, Ryan.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in an exaggerated whisper.
He was bent in half putting something into the shabby duffle bag that sat at his feet. When he slowly stood up to his full six-foot, four inches, his signature Stetson shaded half his face. One deep dimple appeared when he smiled at her. “Hello, darlin,” he said in the lazy Texas drawl that used to stop her heart. But now, like everything else about him, it left her cold.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
“I’m home,” he said with a casual lift of his broad shoulders. He shrugged off a beat-up calfskin jacket and tossed it at the coat stand.
Susannah wasn’t surprised when the coat snagged a hook and draped itself over the antique brass stand. “What do you mean home?” she hissed. “This isn’t your home.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He made a big show of checking his watch. “For ten more days I own the place.”
“This house is mine,” she whispered. “You need to get your stuff and get out of here. Right now.” She reached for his coat and yelped when his hand clamped around her wrist.
Bringing his face to within inches of hers, he grinned and asked, “Why are we whispering?”
“Because I have guests.” She made a futile attempt to break free of the grip he had on her arm. “And you’re not welcome here.”
He sniffed at the air like a dog on the scent of a bone. “Do I smell lamb?” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “You know I love your lamb. I hope you saved some for me.”
Realizing the movement of his tongue on his lip had captured her attention, Susannah tore her eyes away. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, Ryan Sanderson, but you need to pick up your stuff and get out,” Susannah said in an increasingly more urgent tone as she struggled once again to break free of him.
But instead of letting her go, he brought her left hand up to his face, his brown eyes zeroing in on her engagement ring. “Is that the best old Henry could do? Not exactly the rock you got from me, is it?”
“It doesn’t come with any of the headaches I got from you, either. Now, let me go and get out!”
“Let go of her!” Henry roared from behind Susannah. “This instant!”
Ryan snorted. “Or else what?”
Susannah wished the marble floor would open up and swallow her whole. “Henry, honey, go back to your parents. Everything’s fine. Ryan was just leaving.”
“The hell I was. I just got home. Is this any way for a wife to greet her husband?” Ryan asked, adding in that exaggerated drawl of his, “Got yourself another man while I was off fighting the wars, did ya, darlin’? You didn’t even send a Dear John.”
With desperation, Susannah glanced up at Ryan. The half of his face that wasn’t hidden by the big hat was set into a stubborn expression that told her he was determined to get his way. This was not good. “Henry, please. Go back in with your parents and give me a moment,” Susannah pleaded with her fiancé, who shot daggers at her ex-husband—or, well, her soon-to-be ex-husband. “Please.”
“Only if he takes his hands off you,” Henry said. His cheeks were bright red, and he was clearly struggling to keep his rage in check.
Ryan released Susannah’s arm. “Happy now, lover boy?”
“I’ll be happy when you get the hell out of here and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under.”
“Ohh,” Ryan said with a dramatic shiver. “I’m scared. You’re so intimidating in that bow tie.”
“That’s enough, Ryan,” Susannah snapped. With a weak smile for Henry, she nodded toward the dining room.
After one last long, cold stare for Ryan, Henry turned and left them.
“He’s a real tiger, that one,” Ryan said with an animated growl. “I’ll bet he tears it up in bed.”
“What do you want, Ryan?”
“In a word? You.”
“Well, you can’t have me. So this visit—while unexpected—has been nice.” She spun on her heel and walked away from him. “You know the way out.”
“Not so fast. I’m not going anywhere. This is my house. I bought it and everything in it.”
Susannah whipped around to face him. “And you gave it all to me in the divorce!”
“Which, I might remind you, is not final for ten more days. Now, I’m a pretty reasonable guy, and believe it or not, I’m not looking to start trouble for you and lover boy. So let me make this easy for all of us, okay?”
Wary, Susannah nodded. “That would be best.”
“We’ve got ten more days as Mr. and Mrs., and we’re going to spend them together.”
Susannah started to protest, but Ryan held up his hand to stop her. “Every minute of every day for the next ten days.”
“You’re out of your mind! There’s no way I’m spending ten minutes with you, let alone ten days. No way.”
“You always had such a soft spot for the McMansion.” He sent his eyes on a journey through the spacious foyer, the sweeping staircase, and the formal living room. “It took us long enough to hammer out a settlement the first time. A renegotiation would tie things up for months, and in light of your engagement, I’m thinking that might be a little inconvenient for you. . .”
“You wouldn’t!” Susannah fumed, but even as she said it she knew he would. Her stomach knotted with tension as she thought of the wedding and all her plans with Henry.
Ryan crossed the marble foyer to her. His scent, a woodsy mixture that always reminded Susannah of the mountains, was as familiar to her as anything in her life. “Watch me.”
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"Line of Scrimmage," Sourcebooks, September 2008