“Don’t worry about Sheridan. We’ll be discreet, and she’ll adjust.” She watched him shrug marriage, vows, fidelity away in a smooth and careless gesture. “You can’t be happy here, Hope. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

She took a moment, almost surprised she had room for the enormity of the insult. Then equally surprised her voice stayed calm and level when the insult clawed at her to shriek.

“Let me explain something to you. I’m responsible for my own happiness. I don’t need you, or your incredibly insulting—to me and your wife—offer. I don’t need your father or the Wickham. I have a life. Do you think I put that life on hold because you used me and discarded me?”

“I think you’re settling for less than you can have, less than you deserve. I apologize, sincerely, for hurting you, but—”

“Hurting me? You freed me.” She shoved to her feet. Calm and level were done. “You gave me a hell of a rude shove, you bastard, but you pushed me hard enough to make me reevaluate. I was settling, for you. Now this is my home.” She threw a hand up toward the porches—thought for a moment she saw a shadow of a woman. “A home I love, can be proud of. I have a community I enjoy, friends I treasure. Come back to you? To you when I have—”

She couldn’t say what made her do it. Impulse, unspeakable fury, pride. But she saw Ryder crossing the lot, and went with it.

“Him. Ryder!” She dashed through the arch of wisteria when he stopped, frowned at her. She imagined the smile on her face showed edges of insanity. She didn’t care.

“Go with me on this,” she muttered as she rushed to him, “and I’ll owe you big.”

“What—”

She threw her arms around him, pressed her lips to his as D.A. wagged and tried to nose between them to get in on the action. “Go with me,” she said against him mouth. “Please!”

She didn’t leave him a lot of room for otherwise as she was plastered against him like a second skin. So he went with her. He fisted his hand in her hair, and went.

She lost track of the point for a moment. He smelled of sawdust, tasted like candy. Hot, melted candy. A little unsteady on her feet, she pulled back.

“Just follow my lead.”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Ryder.” She took his hand in hers, squeezed it as she turned. “Ryder Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Jonathan Wickham. Jonathan’s family owns the hotel in Georgetown where I used to work.”

“Oh, yeah.” Okay, now he got it. Sure, he could play the part, no problem. He slid an arm around Hope’s waist, felt her tremble. “How’s it going?”