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Ah. Gotcha. Macie worked overtime not to roll her eyes. Janice didn’t approve of Hank’s new girlfriend. No doubt she felt she owed it to Sharon to make sure her husband found someone more suitable to date.

Shit like this fired Macie up. Two could play the Janice game, so Macie put on her sweetest smile and when she spoke, it was like pure sugar dripping out of her mouth. “Oh, I don’t think it would be that hard at all. The ranch hands fend for themselves these days. Hank and I take dinner alone together, and he’s a wonderful cook.”

“You make him cook?”

Hello, Miss 1950. Way to set women back sixty years.

“Make him? No. I don’t tie him to the stove. He likes to cook.”

“Coop never made dinner when Sharon was alive.”

“I see.” It was on the tip of her tongue to remind Janice that Sharon wasn’t alive, but no matter how pissed off Macie was, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be so cruel.

“I just think perhaps you’ve got blinders on where Coop is concerned, Macie. The poor man lost the love of his life. He’s not exactly thinking clearly. I’m sure the two of you have fun together.” Janice’s gaze dropped to where Macie’s blanket had fallen open to reveal her nightie. Macie tightened her grip on the fleece.

“He’s a man. And he has needs. But you have to see that in the long run, the two of you aren’t compatible. Beyond the physical, he needs a wife to cook, clean and run this home, to take care of him.”

Macie’s blood was boiling. She was so fucking angry, she could hardly see straight. “I think you should leave.”

Janice had the gall to look affronted, like Macie had insulted her. The woman had just looked Macie in the eye and all but called her a slut, whose only purpose in Hank’s life was to spread her legs for the grieving widower, and she had the nerve to act slighted.

“Macie, I’m not saying these things to be unkind. Surely you see that Coop is trying to find his sea legs again. Trying to move on without Sharon. He’s going to make a few mistakes along the way and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

So now Macie was a mistake? A slut and a mistake? Macie had never hit another person in her life, but if Janice didn’t get away from her in the next thirty seconds, that record was going to end in brutal fashion.

“Janice, my personal life is none of your concern. At all. And now, I’d like you to leave before I call my other cousin, Evan, the cop, to drag you out of here.”

Janice rose, shaking her head and giving Macie a holier-than-thou look that insinuated she might have expected such behavior.

Macie balled her hand in a fist and started counting to ten.

Mercifully, Janice moved toward the kitchen door. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder at Macie. “You may be angry at me, Macie, but I think if you dig deep, you’ll realize that you’re not Coop’s type. Sharon was. And you’re not her. You never will be.”

With that, Janice left.

And Macie picked up her wineglass and threw it against a wall.

Sinking back into her chair, it took a full five minutes for Macie to stop trembling with anger. And another twenty minutes before she managed to stop muttering aloud all the things she wished she’d said to Janice.

Why did the zingers always come after the fact? Shit like that just pissed her off even more.

After thirty minutes, Macie had calmed down enough to stand and clean the broken glass. Then she called Amanda. The two of them cussed Janice VanMeter up one side and down the other—because that was what friends did. Amanda was the best at righteous indignation, never failing to leap to Macie’s defense when needed. Once she’d had a good long bitch session, she and Amanda said goodbye.

And an hour later, she was alone in Hank’s bed. And trying to drown out the one thing Janice had said that stuck, no matter how much Macie tried to forget it.

You’re not Coop’s type. Sharon was.

Macie had said that exact same thing at the beginning. And Hank had assured her she was being silly. He had assured her so well, she’d believed him, but the truth was, Macie was his first relationship since Sharon’s death. She had watched enough damn chick flicks to know about the transition girlfriend. There was always a chance that was what she was. The woman to help Hank heal, to help him move on with his life.

And then…he’d move on.

To someone more his type. Someone closer to his age, who could cook. Who wanted to be a full-time rancher’s wife. Who didn’t talk constantly, cuss like a sailor, drink too much, tell dirty jokes and gossip shamelessly. Someone who was calm and quiet and well versed in being a grown-up and a lady.

Someone like Sharon. Whom he’d loved dearly.

Macie looked at the clock and wished Hank would hurry up and get back. Lying in bed alone was giving her too much time to think.

And the worst part was she’d let Janice get to her. She was smarter than that. She knew the woman had said those things to be cruel. But damn if the bitch hadn’t found the weak spot, hadn’t cut the right artery.