“Yeah, glad to see you, too,” Trent said as he opened the door. Tail wagging wildly, Hud hopped onto the passenger seat.
It had been ten minutes since Trent had left the dog alone and the shepherd acted as if he’d been waiting for years.
Another sharp yip.
“Settle down, boy.” Scratching Hud behind his ears, he added, “Let’s go home.” The words echoed through his mind and for a second he hesitated, key in position over the ignition as a memory sizzled through his brain, a white-hot image of Cassie, after two glasses of wine, draping her arm around his shoulders, rising on tiptoes and whispering those same words.
They’d been married barely a month and had gone to a restaurant in Malibu for dinner and drinks at an outdoor table where they were able to watch the sun settle into the Pacific. Before the check came, Cassie kicked off one sandal and beneath the table had inched her bare toes up his leg. He’d immediately felt his damned cock harden and had sent her a warning glare. But her mischievous gaze had met his and she’d whispered in a sultry voice, “I love you, you know, Trent Kittle. So let’s go home and do something about it.”
He’d left cash, including an overly generous tip, on the table, taken her hand, and they’d wended their way quickly through the tables packed tightly onto the patio. Once in the car, Trent had ignored the speed limit. When they’d reached their apartment she’d taken off before he’d put the car into park and, laughing, led him through the garden and front door. He’d chased after his wife as she ran into their unit and through their small apartment, both of them laughing and tossing off their clothes on the way to the bedroom, where he’d caught her, pulled her close, and kissed her with a fervor he’d never felt with any other woman. It had been ninety degrees in the apartment, only a fan to move the air, but they hadn’t cared. They’d tumbled onto the bed, half-dressed and entwined, somehow managing to peel off the remainder of their clothing and make love until long after midnight.
His muscles tensed at the memory and even now, seeing her in his mind’s eye, her streaked hair wet from perspiration, her breathing rapid, her eyes dilated in the darkened room, he felt an erection in the making.
Annoyed, he turned his thoughts away from his missing wife.
Jabbing his key into the ignition, Trent switched on the engine, then he backed out of the badly marked space and put the Ford into drive. He hit the gas a little too hard. The truck leaped forward and he eased off the pedal as he nosed his pickup into the heart of Falls Crossing, the Oregon town he’d called home except for his brief stint in LA. Traffic was light along a street where retail stores and offices were crowded together, windowed storefronts lining the sidewalks, pedestrians dashing under awnings to protect them from the rain that had begun to spit from the dark sky. Turning on the windshield wipers, he only had to slow to a stop at one intersection where, while his truck idled, he checked his cell phone.
No one had called him, which wasn’t a surprise. He told himself it didn’t bother him that Cassie hadn’t phoned him back; he hadn’t really expected her to. But deep down, in a place he refused to acknowledge, he had hoped she would reach out to him, had wanted to hear her voice and determine for himself if she was okay. He slid the phone onto the console and waited for the light to change, then drove out of town.
Cassie was still his wife, at least legally, and he still worried about her. No matter how many times he reminded himself that she’d walked out on him, wouldn’t listen to his excuses, explanations, or reasons, just called him a “stupid ass son of a bitch,” before leaving him and moving out permanently, he couldn’t completely eradicate her from his thoughts.
The phone calls and visits he’d attempted to make after their last fight had been ignored or rejected, even after the accident on the set of Dead Heat and her sister’s disappearance.
While the dog kept his nose to the cracked window and the town gave way to farmland, Trent told himself that he should just leave well enough alone. Cassie had made it more than clear that he should back off. His jaw tightened as he remembered how he’d panicked upon hearing that an actress had been shot while filming a final scene for Dead Heat. He’d flipped out, fearing for Cassie’s life, only to discover that the victim had not been either his wife or his sister-in-law. For a second he’d felt relief, then he’d learned Allie had disappeared.
