Page 45 of Merging Wright

Most people in this town do.

Reminders of Ripley play out. How I thought I was everything to him, while everyone else knew the truth. He had someone else on the side.

I chew my lower lip and Mach watches me.

“Beau, do you remember Mach Wright? This is his wife, Jane.” Charlese is tugging Mach toward the bar, where a broad-shouldered man with a scowl on his face stands behind the counter. He tips his chin in greeting to Mach and glances at another man sitting on a stool.

Myles is here.

“I’m not Charlese Frasier anymore. It’s Charlese Mitchell now. Beau is my husband, and we own Trophy’s.”

While this explanation happens, another set of arms wraps around Mach’s middle from behind him. Mach stiffens as the woman says something to him. Cautiously, he peers over his shoulder, and a pretty blonde steps around him. Her eyes are green like moss on trees but bright and focused on him. Love blooms across her face.

“I can’t believe you’re back.” Mach’s voice strains in response to whatever she said to him first. My insides boil as I watch another woman hold onto him, another female with history, another secret I don’t know about him.

“I’m sorry about Fischer.” Her condolence is genuine, but I detect the same sincerity of deeper-meaning sympathy in her tone.

“Yeah, well . . .” Mach hasn’t removed his eyes from her face. She hasn’t been introduced to me yet, and I’m counting the seconds until he remembers me.

His Adam’s apple softly bobs before he says, “I didn’t know you were living here.”

“Came back a few years ago. Divorce. Three kids. Pathetic story.” She cringes while still offering him a too-friendly smile and a dismissive wave. Is she suggesting she’s available?

Taking my jealous bull by the horns, I step forward and hold out a hand. “I’m Jane. Mach’s wife.”

Her head swivels from me to Mach and back before she shakes my hand. She doesn’t offer a name and turns back to Mach.

“You’re married again? I’m so happy for you.” She pauses, offering me a tight smile. My own grin pinches. “Too bad Myles never moved on.”

Her words are said low, but Myles is near, and I’m certain he heard her. When Mach doesn’t introduce the woman to me, I step forward and wedge myself between Myles and the stool occupied beside him. I need a drink.

“Do you know how to make a Southside?”

Beau Mitchell looks at me like I’ve just spoken a foreign language to him.

“How about gin and tonic? Do you have Tanqueray?”

Without a word, Beau reaches behind him and pulls forward a bottle that is not the distinct green bottle of my favorite gin.

“How about a glass of white wine?”

Beau snorts and turns for the wine fridge while Myles chuckles beside me. “Hitting the hard stuff?”

“I’d do shots if I thought I could get away with it,” I admit, glancing over my shoulder. Two more women are near Mach, building a harem around him. One presses up to whisper something in his ear, and he smiles back at her, offering her that charming grin of his. I twist back to the bar, waiting on my drink.

“She’s her sister,” Myles offers.

My gut knows the answer, but I ask anyway. “Whose sister?”

“Ainsley Evans. Ainsley Boyd now. She’s Tracy’s younger sister.”

I hate that I didn’t know Mach’s late wife’s name. I hate that I didn’t even know he had a wife before me, and I hate even more that I still don’t know her story.

I peek at Mach again. Ainsley’s hand is still wrapped around his upper arm, and he sneaks another glance at her. A different woman has an arm wrapped around Mach’s back, but he’s oblivious to her touch, holding his gaze on his first wife’s sister. Is he seeing a ghost or the prettiest face he’s ever seen? His expression is frozen in that smug smile he uses to ensnare the ladies.

Sheep beware of the wolf in disguise. He’ll drown you in champagne and leave you thirsty for more.

When my white wine is placed before me, I turn to Beau. “On second thought, how about a shot of whiskey.”