She’d thought she’d lost it all when he’d pulled away from her and she’d been forced to ask for a divorce. Now she knew that wasn’t true. She hadn’t lost it all; he had. Because she still believed that good could win out over evil and had faith in humanity, while he…

He’d apparently lost faith in everyone and everything. Including her.

Including himself.

Gage got out of bed just as the sun was rising on the distant horizon, casting the sky in soft pink and orange and purple.

Not that he’d gotten a wink of sleep after Jenna had pressed him with the hard questions… and hadn’t liked his answers.

He didn’t think she’d gotten much rest, either.

There at the end, she’d had such a look in her eyes. A look of sadness, disappointment, and loss. It had clutched at him, squeezed him from the inside out and made him want to reach out. To grab her up, tug her back into bed, and hold her, murmuring reassuring promises until the sorrow faded from her eyes.

But he couldn’t do that. He hadn’t been able to offer a single soothing word, because everything he’d had to say had already been said. There was no changing his mind-no changing hers, either, he knew-and nothing was going to soften that blow for her.

Or the blow for him, especially after she’d looked at him that way, then simply turned and walked out of the room. She hadn’t closed the door behind her, but she might as well have slammed it for the hollow, resounding heartache she left in her wake.

Gage straightened what was left of the covers before leaving the room and heading downstairs. He suspected Jenna had slept-or not slept, as was more likely the case-on the sofa after leaving him. He’d thought about following her, but what would have been the point?

So he’d stayed where he was and hoped she wasn’t completely miserable, even though he’d known wishing for that was like wishing rain would fall up instead of down.

The stairs of the old farm house creaked as he took them slowly one at a time. He stopped in the entrance of the living room, but there was no sign of Jenna. No sheet or pillow on the antique settee. Not even the big, white plastic needles and purple yarn he’d tossed aside last night when things had still been good between them.

Good, ha! Before the conversation to end all conversations, things hadn’t just been good, they’d been freaking fantastic. He could have gone on that way with her…

Yeah, well, if he’d been lucky, forever. But where Jenna was concerned, he didn’t seem to be walking around with a four-leaf clover in his pocket. More like a black cat, a handful of spilled salt, and an upside-down horseshoe. Maybe even the number thirteen tattooed on his ass.

Turning away from the living room, he headed for the kitchen, but didn’t find Jenna there, either. Her yellow VW was still in the drive, he noticed when he glanced out the window, so unless she’d taken off on foot, there was only one place left where she could be.

He considered going out to the barn after her, but was in no hurry for the confrontation he knew was coming. Silent treatment or screaming match, either way it wasn’t going to be pretty.

There was coffee in the pot on the counter, so he poured himself a cup, then sat at the table to await Jenna’s return. He tried not to think about last night’s argument, but flashes flitted through his head. The words, the hurt, the ultimate outcome.

Just because he was responsible for ninety percent of it didn’t mean he didn’t have regrets. In a perfect world, he would change if he could. But the fact that this wasn’t a perfect world was the very reason he couldn’t change his mind, couldn’t change anything.

He was on his second cup of coffee when he heard Jenna outside the back kitchen door. She stomped her feet to kick the morning dew off her shoes, then stepped inside, closing the door behind her and shrugging out of the light jacket she’d worn out to the barn.

When she turned from hanging the jacket on a hook beside the door, she saw him and froze. But only for a split second. She recovered quickly, averting her gaze and moving about the kitchen as though he wasn’t there.

She could ignore him all she wanted, but he wasn’t going away. Not yet.

They might be right back where they’d started… well, practically. Thanks to her friends and their little sex plan, they’d technically started out in bed, with Jenna on top of him.

Things stirred behind the zipper of his jeans and he clamped his teeth together to put a stop to any more of those wayward memories.

They might be pretty much back where they’d started, but he still needed some answers of his own before he could leave, no matter how cold a shoulder she might aim at him.

“I see you got yourself a cup of coffee,” she said in a tone this close to being accusatory when she finally decided to acknowledge his presence.

“Yeah.”

She carried her own cup to the table and sat down across from him. Hostility-or possibly hurt, disappointment, and any number of other emotions blended together into hostility-rippled off of her in waves. Her actions and body language all but screamed, I’m not afraid of you. Look, I’ll sit right here and act perfectly normal to prove it.

And maybe she wasn’t afraid-she’d never been afraid of him and he didn’t want her to be, had never given her any reason-but she sure wasn’t happy with him. Didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

Same room, same house, same state. It didn’t take a psychic to figure out that she’d have probably stripped down and done an Irish jig on the tabletop if she’d come in from the barn and discovered him gone.

After blowing softly on her steaming coffee and taking a couple of sips, she set her mug down and faced him square on. Her green eyes were shadowed, both beneath her long, black lashes and in their shimmering depths.

“I think you should go,” she said quietly. The words were firm and forceful, but he noticed a brief, telltale quiver to her bottom lip.

His gut clenched, and every masculine instinct in his body screamed for him to get up, go to her, do something to end her suffering. But what could he do when he’d caused it all to begin with and wasn’t willing to go back on anything he’d told her?

Nothing, that’s what. Not a damn thing but sit there, hands fisted in his lap, fighting the urge not to leap to his feet.

“Go where?” he asked, not surprised when his voice scraped like sandpaper.

“Go,” she repeated, the words steadier than his own. “Leave. Collect your things and get out.”

“I can’t leave,” he told her. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Her eyes narrowed, but in case she hadn’t seen it before, he reached to his side and slid a box along the tabletop. The same box he’d picked up on his way out of the guest room and set aside when he’d first come downstairs.

“You can’t be serious.” Her shoulders went back and her spine snapped straight while an expression of disbelief crawled across her face.

He raised a brow, but otherwise didn’t respond. She’d reacted the same way the first day he’d confronted her with a home pregnancy test and asked her to take it. Since then-after they’d wordlessly agreed to disagree and sleep together, anyway-she’d taken the boxes from him each morning and grudgingly taken the tests just to appease him.

So far, they’d each been negative. He wondered if his luck would continue to hold out on that score, or if he’d run out of pixie dust the same as he had last night in bed.

Grabbing the box from the table, Jenna pushed to her feet. Her movements were stiff and jerky with fury.

“This is the last one,” she said.

She might have been only five-foot-three, but her petite form still managed to tower over him while he remained seated and she stood like a sentinel only inches away.