Not so the other.

At the sight of her, Bo started barking and scratching the window, his entire rear end in motion. Slade, curse his miserable hide, opened an eye, stretched, and grinned, that wide I-don’t-give-a-damn smile with teeth flashing white against a day’s worth of stubble on his square jaw. No one should have the right to look so damned sexy after spending a short night sleeping in a truck.

So what the hell was he doing here?

She’d been headed for her car but angled from the path to tromp across the wet grass bordering Freya’s pride and joy, an herb garden that was as drenched and beaten down as the rest of the foliage.

With a massive groan, the driver’s door opened and Slade stepped onto the gravel just as Bo, unable to contain himself a second more, leaped from the cab. Whining and squirming, the big dog raced up to her.

“Hey, boy,” Val said, her heart melting as she squatted down to pet the dog’s sleek head and receive exuberant licks on her face and hands. “Yeah, I missed you, too.” The hound couldn’t get close enough to her, and for a second she remembered bringing him home from the pound, a small black and tan puppy with bright eyes and ears that nearly hung to the ground.

“And me? You miss me, too?” Slade asked as he slammed the truck’s door shut and leaned against the front quarter panel. His voice, with his easy East Texas drawl, brought back memories that were better left forgotten.

Still scratching Bo behind his ears, she lifted her gaze. “You’re kidding, right? Miss you?” She almost laughed, except nothing about their meeting was funny. “Like I miss the plague.”

He squinted, his face an expression of disbelief. “You always were a pathetic liar.”

“Unlike you,” she said, “the master of deceit.”

He didn’t crack a smile.

“So what’re you doing here, Slade?” Straightening, she felt the heat of the morning sun upon her back, the promise of a warm day after last night’s battering storm. The jays were chattering, and from a hidden branch an owl softly hooted.

“I thought we should talk,” Slade said, “just you and me. Face-to-face. No two-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyers speaking for us.”

“We tried that. Didn’t work.”

“Maybe we should try harder.”

“Seriously?” She thought back to their marriage, the times she’d tried to communicate with him, the times he’d clammed up, the way he’d been so distant. Unreachable. The mess with Cammie. Slade’s incredible ego. Her own pride and stubborn streak. “So you drove down here in the middle of the night and slept in your pickup?”

“I just got in a few hours ago, and I didn’t have a reservation—didn’t think you’d appreciate me waking you up.”