Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 by Roz Lee

couldn’t be choosers. With her new plan in mind, she felt better about the odds of convincing him to give her another chance. She twisted the cap back onto her water bottle and set out to find Royce.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Royce sat in his favorite chair, a big, overstuffed piece with a matching footstool he’d purchased especially for the den. He spent more time in this room than any other besides the bedroom, simply because the two rooms had furniture. One of these days, he’d get around to furnishing the rest of the rooms, but for now, he had everything a single man could need. He had a giant screen television, a satellite dish, some comfortable furniture to relax in, and he had a bed.
    He didn’t have a clue why he’d brought Dr. Reed to his house or what he was going to say to her now that she was here. She seemed wary of his intentions, but he hadn’t imagined the light in her eyes when it came to his home. Her appreciation for his home went a long way to softening his anger toward her. He’d purchased the house, hoping it would bring Hannah back to him, but she’d taken one look and turned up her nose.
     
    “It’s old.” Hannah wrinkled her nose in distaste.
    It wasn’t what she said, but how she’d said it, as if she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want an old house when they could have the new mini-mansion they’d purchased right after their move to Dallas. In his opinion, that structure lacked character, and no amount of age would give it any. For all its size and upgrades, it was still nothing more than an expensive tract home.
    “I want more out of his living space,” he told her. “I want hardwood floors, worn in the right places, and handcrafted woodwork. Not run-of-the-mill flooring and cheap pressed-wood moldings. I want quality that has already lasted a lifetime and will last for a few more.”
    She rolled her eyes at him and stormed off.
     
    He’d thought Hannah was made of better stuff, but over time, her veneer had worn as thin as a hollow-core door. He couldn’t blame her for everything that had gone wrong in their marriage. No, most of the blame rested on his shoulders. When they’d had no money to spend, Hannah had seemed content. She’d clipped coupons, bought off the sale rack, and furnished their cheap apartments with thrift store finds and build-it-yourself furniture.
    Things had gone downhill when the money started pouring in and the demands of his career took more of his time. Suddenly, Hannah wanted to throw out everything old and replace it with new. He hadn’t argued. Most of what they had was crap—but lovingly sought out and restored crap. When she’d pronounced the new house “finished”, he realized he missed the personal touches of their previous home.
    That’s why he planned on spending the off season looking for the perfect furnishings for the rest of the rooms in his home. He already had a list of trade-day events, auctions, and antique stores he intended to visit. He wasn’t a decorator, but he knew what he liked, and the hell with anyone who didn’t approve. For once, he owned his own home, and when he was through with it, everything in it would be just the way he wanted it.
    He’d almost forgotten about the woman he’d brought home until she appeared in the doorway looking as if she’d just fallen down the rabbit hole.
    “There you are.”
    “I figured you would find me, eventually.”
    “You know, none of your rooms are furnished?” She sounded almost amused, definitely perplexed.
    “I noticed.”
    “That one”—she pointed down the hall—“the dining room? It has the most amazing woodwork. Is it hand-carved walnut?”
    She was his Kryptonite. He wanted to be mad at her. He needed to be mad at her, but knowing she valued the same things he did tempered his anger. He felt the stirrings of something very different—something he’d been fighting since he first laid eyes on her. But, she’d done something to jeopardize both