The Best Way to Lose by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online

his hands away, but he wasreluctant to comply with her second request. There had not been a tear, nor a single outcry of grief. Too much emotion was being suppressed. It was unnatural to be so controlled. This containment of her feelings bothered Trace more than a hysterical outpouring.
    “I’ve already made preliminary arrangements for the funeral services to be held the day after tomorrow, pending your approval.” He tried to press the reality of his father’s death onto her, but there was no reaction. “You’ll need to speak to the funeral director later on to let him know where you’d like Elliot to be buried. It was a question I didn’t feel I could answer for you, since I wasn’t sure if you wanted him buried in the family plot next to my mother or whether you preferred a different gravesite.”
    “Get out!” She choked on a hacking sob as terrible shudders racked her shoulders. A spinning pool of pain swirled around her. Pilar never heard the door close behind him when Trace left the room. It was the worst kind of crying—the type with no tears to wash away the awful ache.
    The black wreath brushed against the mahogany front door as Pilar closed it on the last of the departing mourners. She paused to switch off the porch light, then turned to walk to the former parlor of the old house. Cassie was just leaving the room, carrying a tray of dirty cups and glasses.
    “I’m just carrying these out to the kitchen,” she assured Pilar. “We’ll leave the cleaning-up until tomorrow morning.”
    Satisfied that Cassie did not intend to do any more than clear away the dirty dishes, Pilar merely nodded a silent agreement with her plan and continued into the high-ceilinged parlor with its ornate moldings dominated by a chandelier. A smattering of antiques lent an air of authenticity to the room’s furnishings.
    The clatter of ice cubes in a crystal glass drew Pilar’s glance to the side table where Trace Santee was standing. A black arm band encircled the sleeve of the dark jacket he was wearing. The suit and tie took away the ruffian look that had always made him seem coarse and uncultured to her. There was a polished, experienced air about him that reminded her of Elliot even if the physical resemblance to his father wasn’t there.
    Trace picked up two glasses and crossed the room to hand one of them to her. While he sipped at the iced bourbon, his gray glance studied her over the rim of his glass. Although it wasn’t strictly necessary, she had elected to wear a plain black dress, chicly simple in style. Her neck and wrists were devoid of any jewelry; only the wedding ring adorned her fingers.
    Her black hair was skinned away from her face and coiled in a sleek twist on the back of her head. Only a woman with Pilar’s strikingly classical features could get away with such a severe style and still appear beautiful. Thehaunting shadows in her eyes appealed to him with the vulnerability they indicated. She was a picture of black and white perfection, from the jet-blackness of her hair, eyes, and dress to the marble-white of her skin.
    The neat liquor burned her throat, making her cough, but the heat that coursed through her body took away some of the dead sensation. She wandered over to the fireplace with its mantel of Italian marble. Logs were stacked on the andirons in preparation for a fire that had never been lit. She rolled the glass between her hands, the precious metal of her wedding ring clinking against the crystal.
    “We were going to bring down all the Christmas decorations from the attic this weekend,” she recalled absently.
    “I can carry them down for you tomorrow,” Trace said.
    “No.” She turned from the mantel, which would have been bedecked with garlands of holly in another week. The drink glass was clammy and cold with moisture. Pilar set it onto an empty coaster, not liking the feel of it, and rubbed her hands over the snug-fitting long sleeves of her dress as if needing warmth. “I