Sheridan’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s it. Reverting to type, Hope? Sleeping with the boss’s son. How pathetic.”

“Lady, there’s a dozen men over there who saw you give Hope that bitch slap. Every one of them will go to court and say so when she has you charged with assault.”

“I—”

“Shut up, Hope.” He snapped it out at her interruption. “You get in your car and you get the hell out of here. You don’t come back. If I hear you do, and in a small town word gets around, I’ll have you arrested. I bet the Wickhams will love having their name smeared all over the Washington Post.”

“She’s just using you.” But there were tears in Sheridan’s eyes now, and the quaver of them in her voice. “She’s using you and trying to wreck my marriage. You’re the one who’ll be sorry when she tosses you away for a bigger catch.”

“Sheridan?” Justine spoke with surprising gentleness. “You’re making a fool out of yourself now. Go on home.”

“I’m going. It’s impossible to try to reason with a couple of hicks anyway.”

Justine’s grin spread wide as Sheridan swung back to her car. “Yee-haw.” As the BMW peeled out, Justine put her arm around Hope’s shoulders. “Oh, honey, don’t let that pitiful fool upset you so.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ryder turned back—he’d wanted to be sure the Roadster kept going. And saw tears spilled down Hope’s cheeks. “Cut that out. Just stop it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. Come on inside,” Justine urged. “We’ll put some ice on that cheek. She really clocked you one, didn’t she?”

“I’m sorry,” Hope repeated, couldn’t seem to say anything else. “I need to . . .”

She shook free, rushed for the door, past a stunned Carolee, and straight up to her apartment.

“Ryder, you go after her.”

“No. No, ma’am.”

Justine whirled on him, eyes hot, hands fisted on hips. “You go after her right this minute. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“She’s crying. I don’t do that. You do that. You go. Come on, Mom, you go.”

“Christ on a broken crutch.” Justine rapped one of those fists on his chest. “What kind of man did I raise who won’t go see to his woman when she’s crying?”

“My kind. Please. I’ll talk to her when she stops. You’ll know what to say to her, what to do.”

Justine huffed out a furious breath. “Fine then. You do what you do and go buy her some goddamn fucking flowers.” After giving him a second, harder rap, Justine turned on her heel and marched inside.

Wincing, Ryder rubbed his chest, pulled out his phone to call the local florist.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN