Birthright

paths the first time around. If they’d taken time to be friends, to talk about who they were instead of assuming they knew.
    A single moment could change a life. She knew that firsthand now. What if instead of that last blowup where they’d accused each other of everything from stupidity to unfaithfulness, where they’d slapped the word divorce in each other’s faces before he’d stormed off, they’d stuck it out?
    If they’d passed through that one moment together, would they have fought for their marriage, or stepped back from it?
    No way to know for sure, but she could speculate, just as she speculated about the tribe who’d built their settlement along the creek. As she speculated about what turns her life might have taken if she’d grown up with the Cullens.
    If she and Jake had gotten through that moment intact, if they’d continued to scrape at the surface, digging down, they might have found something worth keeping.
    Marriage, family, partnership and yes, even the friendship he seemed determined to forge this time around.
    She hadn’t trusted him, she admitted now. Not whereother women were concerned. He’d had a reputation with women. She’d heard of “Jake the Rake” before she met him.
    It wasn’t something she’d held against him until she’d fallen for him. Then, she admitted, it had become something lodged in her mind, something she hadn’t been able to pry out and discard.
    She hadn’t believed he loved her, not as much as she loved him. And that had made her crazy.
    Because, she thought with a sigh, if she loved him more, it gave him more control. It gave him the power. So she’d pushed, determined to make him prove he loved her. And every time he’d come up short, she’d pushed harder.
    But who could blame her? The close-mouthed son of a bitch had never told her. Not straight out, not plain and simple. He’d never once said the words.
    Thank God the whole thing had been his fault.
    Since the conclusion made her feel better, she worked another thirty minutes before her stomach announced the can of Hormel’s chili she’d nuked for dinner had worn off.
    She glanced at her watch and slipped downstairs to see what she could grab for her habitual midnight snack.
    She didn’t switch on any lights. There was enough of a moon to guide her and she’d always had good instincts where food was concerned.
    She padded barefoot into the kitchen on a direct line with the fridge. As she reached for the handle, the lights flashed on.
    Her heart leaped up to her throat and popped out of her mouth in a thin scream. She managed to turn it into a curse.
    “Goddamn it, Graystone,” she said as she whirled on him. “What’s the matter with you? Why’d you do that?”
    “Why are you skulking around in the dark?”
    “I’m not skulking. I’m moving quietly in consideration of others as I seek food.”
    “Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “Twelve-ten. You’re a creature of habit, Dunbrook.”
    “So what?” Spotting a bag of Suzanne’s Kitchenchunky-chip cookies on the counter, she bypassed the fridge and snatched them up.
    “Hey, I bought those.”
    “Bill me,” she mumbled with her mouth full.
    She pulled open the fridge, took out a jug of orange juice. He waited while she poured a glass, washed down the first cookie.
    “You know, that’s a revolting combination. Why don’t you drink milk?”
    “I don’t like it.”
    “You should learn. Give me the cookies.”
    She wrapped her arms around the bag possessively. “I’ll buy the next bag.”
    “Give me a damn cookie.” He pulled the bag away, dug in.
    With one clamped between his teeth, he got out the milk, poured a short glass.
    He was wearing nothing but black boxers. She wasn’t going to mention it or complain. Even an ex-wife was entitled to enjoy the view. He had some build on him, she thought. Lanky and tough at the same time, with a few interesting scars to keep it from being too pretty.
    And she knew he was that same dusky gold color all over.
    There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have resisted—couldn’t have resisted—jumping him at a moment like this and sinking her teeth into whatever spot was the handiest.
    Then they’d have made love on the kitchen table, or the floor, or if they’d been feeling a little more civilized, they’d have dragged each other into bed.
    Now she grabbed the bag back, ate another cookie and congratulated herself on her stupendous personal control.
    “Come take a look at