I don't see what that has to do with it

"I don't see what that has to do with it." Devon picked up

her purse, tan leather, made by coach and another gift from

Luke, and tucked the ring box safely inside. "It's not like I

lied to Luke. I did plan on marrying him. He gave me the

ring, and it's mine. I'm sure he'd want me to keep it."

"Traditionally, you're supposed to give the ring back."

"So?" Devon set the purse on the bed and turned back to

finish packing her makeup. "Traditionally, you're supposed

to be madly in love with each other when you get married.

Luke and I had a business arrangement. He gave me the

ring for getting engaged to him. We were engaged, and the

ring is mine. Besides, it's worth a lot of money. It would be

stupid to give it back."

That was so typically Devon, that mixture of naivete and

ruthless practicality. with a sigh, Cat gave up any thought

of trying to get her stepsister to change her mind. Short of

arm wrestling, there was no way Devon was giving that

ring back. Realistically, it wasn't as if the value of the ring

was going to make a significant impact on Luke Quintain's

bottom line. Whatever it was worth, it was probably pocket

change to a man who bought and sold Los Angeles real

estate like baseball cards.

"So you'll take the letter to Luke?" Devon asked, focused,

as always, on getting what she wanted.

"I don't think―"

Devon picked up the envelope and held it out. "If you

don't take it to him, I'm just going to drop it in a mailbox."

Cat hesitated, but she knew the other woman well

enough to know she would make good on her threat. Even

if it hadn't been a love match, Luke deserved better than to

have the U.S. Postal Service give him the news that he was

being jilted. She crossed the room reluctantly and took the

envelope, which was addressed in Devon's childishly round

handwriting, with-incredibly-tiny hearts dotting the i's in

Quintain.

"Devon, are you sure you―"

"I'm positive." Devon zipped shut the tote holding her

cosmetics and glanced around the room to see if she'd

forgotten anything. Satisfied that she had all the essentials,

she looked at Cat. "I really appreciate you doing this," she

said, as if she hadn't virtually blackmailed Cat into it. She

frowned a little. "I'm sure Luke will remember you. Pretty

sure, anyway. I mean, who can forget that hair?"

Cat slid the envelope into the back pocket of her jeans

and resisted the urge to smooth her hair. It wouldn't do any

good, anyway. In her better moments, she fancied the mass

of tumbled copper curls had a sort of Botticelli by way of

Titian look about it. On a bad hair day―and she'd had more

than her share―she thought it was more red mesh

scrubber after a trip through the garbage disposal. Either

way, she'd learned that there wasn't a whole lot she could

do to influence things.

***

Twenty minutes later, Cat stood on the sagging front

porch and watched Devon and her soon-to-be husband

drive off down the long gravel driveway, on their way to

Minnesota or Michigan by way of Las Vegas. She wished

them luck. She was fairly sure Rick was going to need it.

She pulled the letter out of her back pocket and tapped it

absently against her thigh. Staring out at the haphazardly

landscaped yard, she considered her options. She could

wash her hands of the whole thing, pop the letter into a

mailbox and never give it another thought. But she wasn't

going to do that. Even if it hadn't been a love match, no one

should find out they'd been jilted in such an impersonal

fashion. She would go to see Luke, give him the letter, tell

him how sorry she was that things had worked out this way.

It was the right thing to do.

And wasn't it handy that doing the right thing gave her

an excuse to see Devon's ex-fiancé again?