Page 36 of If I Didn’t Have You

“Did you not eat yet?”

I made a point of looking around the kitchen, then let my eyes settle back on her. “No, I haven’t eaten. I didn’t have a decent breakfast or lunch either. But since you’re home now, I figured you would make something.”

There. I got that whole sentence out without yelling. Bonus points for holding my shit together.

“Well, Krista and I had a late lunch before we left Missoula. I’m really not hungry.”

“Missoula?” I chuckled. “Why the hell were you in Missoula?”

“Oh, there was this art show that we wanted to see. It was so amazing, and they had all kinds of different artwork. It really was amazing.”

She continued to babble on, her eyes lighting up as she spoke about the different pieces she saw. It should have made me happy. I should be fucking ecstatic to see that look on her face after what happened to her. But instead, all I felt was undeniable rage that she had run off to the city to see fucking art while I was here going hungry.

“And there was this one sculptor who rivaled some of the greats. I mean, his attention to detail was absolutely amazing.”

I couldn’t fucking believe it. I had been here working all day on a house she wanted me to build, and she ran off to look at art.

But I couldn’t say that, not if I wanted to keep my balls intact. So, instead I kept my tone calm and even.

“Well, now that you’re home, you can whip up something to eat.”

“I just told you, we already ate. But I can put a can of Dinty Moore beef stew on for you.”

“Dinty Moore beef stew,” I repeated. She had to be fucking joking because there was no possible way that after all my hard work, she was suggesting I eat food out of a can.

“Yeah, it’ll be quick,” she smiled as she got up from her chair.

Her hand dragged across my shoulder as she walked over to the cabinet and pulled down a can of the stew. And I just sat there, steaming over the fact that she was being so damn inconsiderate. It was like all my hard work meant absolutely nothing to her. She didn’t seem to care at all that I was over here, sweating and working my ass off just to please her. Did my efforts mean nothing to her?

I slowly stood and turned to face her, irritated that she was humming as she dumped the can of food into the pot on the stove and flitted around the kitchen like a damn butterfly, completely oblivious to my anger.

“Enough!” I shouted, finally losing my temper.

But she didn’t even startle. She slowly turned, leaning against the counter as she crossed her arms over her chest, watching me like I was some damn annoyance instead of her hardworking husband.

“Clara, I have sat back and waited for you to come out of…whatever the hell this is that you’re going through. I’ve been patient. I have gone more days without a proper meal than any man could stand. But enough is enough. You can’t run off to see fucking art while I’m here, working all fucking day on a room you wanted for God knows what reason!”

I took a deep breath, hoping to calm myself, but when I saw her just staring at me without the slightest hint of regret on her face, it only made me angrier.

“You will be home every day to do your damn job around here. You will make the meals you always have, so that when I’m done working, I have some actual food in my stomach. Are we clear?”

Her lips twitched in amusement.

Seriously? After all that, she was fucking laughing?

“Is something funny?”

“Oh, something is definitely funny. Downright hilarious.”

“I’m glad to know that you find me so amusing,” I gritted out.

“Ben, we’re going on nearly five years since the boys turned this ranch around. I sat by and watched as you caved in on yourself. I have waited for you to come out of this fog you’re in, and the whole time, I dealt with your horrible attitude, your ungratefulness for everything in your life, and I have made your damn meals day in and day out.”

I opened my mouth to set her straight on a few details, but she just opened her mouth and kept going.

“Not once have I told you what an ass you’re being. I haven’t argued with you when you’ve been a jerk to your kids, and I haven’t corrected you when you yelled at me for something that had nothing to do with me. In fact, I have been the model wife for years, and I’m done with it. Make your own damn dinner.”

She pushed off the counter and stormed away, leaving me with a pot of canned stew and more than a few indignant responses she would never hear.