Beyond Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  With ten people staying in Levi’s daughter’s house, a woman named Marybell, who Trevor learned was vacationing in Belize, he experienced a level of pandemonium he had never before witnessed as a work-weary bachelor.

  Although happy to see his daughter and ready-made family enjoying time with newfound friends, he was relieved to have an excuse to take care of last-minute items before moving into his fixer-upper in the middle of town between the kids’ school and Wilder’s Hardware and capturing himself a few hours of relative silence.

  The three children seemed to be happy and doing well, re-establishing their tight, committed unit born in a cold, sterile environment hundreds of miles away. But, in a way he hadn’t quite come to terms with, he felt more like an outsider than an integral part of that unit.

  Haley had yet to warm up to him or speak to him, for that matter. Granted, she didn’t say much to Nate or Marleigh either, did a lot of pointing, which somehow gave her an immediate response from them. But it appeared as though she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Before traveling to Wilder, while in the apartment, it was nothing for her to walk past him to the back bedroom, pulling Marleigh or Nate behind her and then motioning for them to reach something sitting next to where he was standing.

  Marleigh appeared to like him, if attaching herself to his thigh and holding on tight whenever strangers appeared were any indication.

  And although Nate had no trouble telling him everything he was doing wrong—“Haley hates chunky peanut butter,” “Haley prefers chocolate milk,” “Haley can’t sleep without her stuffed bunny”—he was emotionally impenetrable. When Trevor would try to strike up a conversation, Nate would deflect by tunneling into caretaker mode, too busy taking care of his sisters to share his feelings or thoughts about anything. And when he wasn’t called to fetch, he avoided Trevor at all costs, researching anything and everything pertaining to what it would take to make Mercy’s life easier with the hopes of ratcheting up the value factor of adopting him.

  He was currently reading a book titled, “The Secret to Day Trading Without Losing your Shirt.”

  No one appeared to need him. A necessary evil amongst other options.

  Fuck, that killed him.

  Maybe he needed a private session with Haley’s psychiatrist.

  As for his new business partner, Alec, he was still in New Mexico, hovering around Loren as much as possible given her distancing mandate. All while enforcing the deal Alec, Trevor, and Director Birch cut with the feds. He’d also secured a ruthless attorney for Loren to further ensure no clauses were breached in what was already an ironclad deal.

  Suffice it to say, the authorities hammering Loren weren’t too pleased to hear that it was M2M that cracked the case in terms of the incriminating evidence that was sure to have worldwide consequences for a number of suspect organizations. Evidence that was found, as promised, on a server behind the false wall of a storage room stacked to the ceiling with broken hospital and office furniture.

  How she managed to squirrel away a server and stealthily wire the feeds into that hidden room without anyone the wiser at the time when security was meticulously and ruthlessly enforced was a mystery to Trevor. And if he were honest, despite being bested by the ingenious woman with such a big heart and otherworldly tenacity on more occasions than he would like to admit, he admired her. And it appeared the middle sister was just as awe-inspiring. And smart-mouthed.

  And sexy as hell.

  She also looked quite fetching in her pink bunny pajamas and tank top she wore before going to bed last night.

  His dick grew hard at the memory of her bending over to pick up Haley and giving him a braless view of some spectacular tits. That would look even more appetizing squeezing his . . .

  Dropping the box he was carrying, he pressed his palms to his eyes to blot the vision from his disgusting mind. He had no business having filthy thoughts about his fake fiancée’s flawless olive complexion and eyes the color of a topaz gemstone.

  Fuck, she was beautiful. And smart. And kind.

  Nate adored her, and Trevor had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t staring starry-eyed at her like his hapless foster son stared at Cara. Haley and Marleigh followed Mercy’s every move like she was a militant pied piper disguised as a fairy princess, easily conversing with them, their heads nodding enthusiastically at everything she told them to do.

  Whereas Trevor asked them, politely, to put on their pajamas, and they just all stood there looking at him as if unable or unwilling to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. And then, when Mercy, with the energy of an irrepressible drill sergeant, jumped up from a chair clapping her hands and instructing them to move their sorry behinds, they all clambered to attention and marched obediently behind her.

  Why couldn’t he do that? Why was he so stiff and formal with them? Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a dad.

  Maybe he lacked mammary glands.

  Jesus. He was failing. Failing Haley.

  No, he thought as he opened another box of kitchenware. He refused to admit defeat.

  The new house would make a difference. Of course it would. A new start in a new school and a friendly neighborhood. It was all just a matter of time, and he needed to be more patient.

  “Knock, knock,” a voice sing-songed by the front door he’d left open while hauling in boxes.

  Hm, that didn’t sound like Mercy, who he was expecting along with the miniaturized Russian panel of parental judges.

  A head poked around the corner, and she was holding a tray of goodies in her hand.

  God, he was hungry.

  “Please come in,” he said even though she already assumed as much as she walked into the kitchen and set a tray of what looked to be cookies on the kitchen counter.

  The woman reached out a hand. “I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’m Emmy Lou Roberts, Pastor Roberts’ wife.”

  He shook her hand and offered his name as her eyes darted around the room. “I see you bought the Sterling house.”

  Trevor nodded. “Made sense. They were moving to Florida since selling the hardware store, so I purchased the house as well. Win-win.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I also hear you’re Mercy Ingall’s beau.”

  Was that a statement or a question? He wasn’t sure.

  “I am. We’re . . . engaged.”

  “Yes, she said as much at church service a couple of Sundays ago. It came as a surprise, you know, without her wearing a ring and all.”

  He sighed. Between cutting a deal with the feds with the flash drive, buying a local business, and moving to Wilder, he hadn’t thought about what it might look like to be engaged without giving her a ring.

  “It’s . . . at the jewelers being sized. I guess I kinda sprung it on her. You know, us being so in love and eager to get engaged.”

  “That’s funny. She said she didn’t need a ring.”

  Fuck.

  Wait, he was an expert at reconnaissance and espionage. He could certainly handle a nosy woman from a small town in the Texas prairie.

  “That’s because it’s a secret. Thought it would be nice to propose in public. You know, grand gesture sorta thing.”

  “I see.” It was obvious she thought he was lying. Which he was.

  “Maybe . . . you could help me plan it? The proposal thing, I mean.”

  “Well of course!” She perked up. “I’d love to help with that. Where and when were you thinking of popping the question? Maybe after the church service? You could surprise her after Pastor Roberts gives his rousing sermon on the importance of being honest and bearing no secrets in a sound, healthy, Christ-driven marriage.”

  The house of the Lord was the last place he wanted to supposedly re-pop the question, pertaining to a marriage proposal fraught with lies.

  His head jerked up at another knock on the door, and he thanked the god of white lies for interrupting the line of questioning from this formidable petite woman wearing maroon polyester pants
and a matching floral top.

  “Come in,” he responded eagerly, giving Emmy Lou a wide innocent smile. “This town sure is neighborly.”

  In walked a woman wearing Carhartt overalls with what looked to be a twenty-five-pound bag of birdseed.

  She jutted out her calloused hand and vigorously shook his.

  “Sue Ellen,” she clipped, plunking the birdseed onto the kitchen counter beside the tray of cookies.

  “Trevor Forrest, nice to meet you.”

  She straightened, cricking her neck from side to side. “I hear you and Mercy Ingalls are engaged.”

  Wow, cut to the chase.

  He nodded, refusing to look at Emmy Lou’s ever-skeptical glare.

  “I work over at the feed store. Mercy likes bird feeders. I figured you’d want to put some up for her. She likes waking up to them in the mornings. Brought you a starter bag of birdfeed.”

  Trevor’s eyebrows raised, contemplating what size birds Mercy enjoyed listening to outside her bedroom window if this one was considered a starter bag.

  “Uh . . . thank you,” he said and nearly lost it when she whipped out a box cutter. “On my lunch hour, let me help you with a few of these boxes.”

  Emmy Lou cooed, “Why, isn’t that thoughtful,” just as Sue Ellen plunged the knife into the first box. He desperately hoped that wasn’t the box with Haley’s and Marleigh’s stuffed menagerie.

  He didn’t know what he’d say if they were to come home for the first time to find their beloved stuffed animals slaughtered. And he was equally uncomfortable asking this burly woman to take care with a large cutting utensil.

  “So,” Sue Ellen continued, scoring deeply into another box, not taking her beady eyes off him while wielding the steely knife. “What do you do for a living? Gotta good job?”

  The next couple of hours were a lot more of the same. A guy named Gus stopped by to introduce himself, drop off some gift cards for his bar, Lucky’s, and insinuated that if Trevor wanted to continue patronizing the only watering hole within a thirty-mile radius, he’d better treat Mercy right.

  At least ten more people stopped by to leave their alleged welcome packages, inserting interrogation-level questions that appeared good-natured at first and then turned subtly threatening prior to departing.

  Not unlike the round of questions he had to answer every time he met with the Sterlings. Henry would ask a question with a drawn-out, uh . . . huh, after each of Trevor’s stilted responses. Lenore, his wife, flat out told him that Mercy deserved nothing but the best, and the good news for him was that first impressions were less than accurate.

  “Sugarplum, we’re home.”

  Trevor’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice and tripped over an open box, hissing at himself to calm the fuck down.

  In walked his tornado of a fake fiancée with her hands clasped under her chin as she took in her surroundings, looking adorable in a pair of jeans with the legs rolled up a couple of times and an oversized sweater. The woman was hot-blooded, not bothering to wear a lightweight jacket even though it was well under sixty degrees. But she had the kids wrapped up in coats.

  Haley was peering inside each of the open boxes as if looking for something while Nate and Marleigh ran through the house arguing over which bedroom was theirs.

  It didn’t take long for Haley to give up the ghost and followed the shrieking sounds at the opposite side of the house.

  “Trevor, this place is perfect.”

  Of course she thought it was perfect. She didn’t notice the outdated appliances and the need for a fresh coat of paint. She saw only good things.

  “This place is so much nicer than ours when we moved into Wilder,” she said, taking in the expanse of rectangular solid wood windows that provided a full view of the backyard.

  “Oooh,” she said, pointing toward the yard. “You should put bird feeders back there.”

  He’d buy them and install them tomorrow. Because— twenty pounds of birdseed, of course.

  Mercy continued to snoop, opening doors and cabinets. “The house has tons of curb appeal, and I love the small little square panes at the tops of the second-floor windows.”

  Trevor replied, “That’s typical for a Craftsman-style house. Low pitched gable roof, wraparound porch, clapboard siding with stone accents.”

  “Very warm and homey,” she added. “I knew Henry and Lenore, but I’d never been inside their house. This is going to be perfect for you guys.”

  Dusting her hands on the thighs of her jeans, she turned toward a box and got to work pulling out glass jars of spices and seasonings. “When does Mrs. Puppycoat see the place?”

  “Two days. I pushed her off as long as I could. Things took a little longer than expected.”

  “So, how do you want to play this with the kids?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’re pretty much lying to Mrs. Puppycoat. It’s all for the greater good, and I totally get that, but how do we explain our lies to the kids? Nate’s old enough to understand, not to mention the instigator of this whole thing. I think Marleigh gets that this is all a hoax, but only to a certain extent. The problem with her is that she’s eight years old. I don’t know a single eight-year-old girl who can hold water, let alone a lie of this magnitude and importance. I mean, what if she blabs to Puppycoat that we’re really not engaged, not fully understanding the consequences?” She took a breath. “And then there’s Haley.”

  His head bobbed up as he placed a set of perfectly clean cookie sheets in the drawer at the bottom of the stove. “Haley’s not a problem.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she doesn’t talk.”

  “She talks.”

  Trevor hesitated. “She talks to you?”

  “Not a lot. A few words here and there.”

  “What . . . what does she say?”

  “I dunno, not a lot. But enough to get her point across, and when I tell her to use her words.”

  “You tell her to speak?”

  “Yeah, I mean, it’s kinda hard knowing what she wants by just pointing at stuff.”

  “And she tells you what she wants with words?”

  “Yep.” She tore open another box full of small kitchen appliances. “I’m not as much of a sucker as Marleigh and Nate. I won’t do her bidding without some effort on her part. But it’s all good. We get one another.”

  Trevor didn’t know how to unpack this new information. He had never asked Haley to talk to him. Rather, he allowed her to communicate in a manner that made her more comfortable. He thought he was being sensitive to her needs and nonjudgmental of her preferred form of communication.

  Mercy continued as if the vein of the discussion wasn’t all that notable. “I mean, I’ve spent the better part of my life lying to people, pretending I was someone I wasn’t, but this seems so much more complicated. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no ‘black-and-white’ girl,” she said with air quotes. “Lord knows I’ve done the backstroke through the gray area more times than I care to count, but I just don’t want to do or say anything that will adversely affect Marleigh and Haley.”

  “O-kay,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

  She was on a roll. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. If we tell them the truth, they’re now complicit in the lie. If we lie to them, telling them we actually are engaged, to ensure they don’t spill the fake proposal beans, they’re going to be crushed when we break up. And messing with little kids’ feelings isn’t cool and a hard stop for me.”

  He fidgeted, wondering why he hadn’t thought of all this. “If we just stop talking about it in front of them, only discuss the logistics and details in private, maybe they’ll just . . . I don’t know, flow with it.”

  “But what happens when someone in town asks them if they're excited about their dad getting married to the town goddess better known in these parts as the Mercy Ingalls?”

  She was a goddess.

  “I see your point
.”

  “So, you think I’m a goddess.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you think that.”

  “I think you’re a pain in my ass.”

  “So . . . goddess then.”

  He hung his head and pinched his nose. “Maybe we tell them the truth and explain our motives.”

  “How do you think Haley will take that?”

  What do you mean?”

  “She’s totally a black-and-white girl. I’m talking, straight as an arrow. That chiclet wouldn’t dip her big toe in the gray area, let alone swim it.”

  “She is?”

  “Oh yes, sister’s got a super-sized moral code. Reminds me of Cara.”

  He worked through that new dilemma.

  “But you’re right.”

  He perked up. He was right about something?

  “We need to be straight up with them,” she continued, pulling out a food processor that was still in its original box. “Let them know we don’t condone lying, but there are extenuating circumstances, and to ensure all three of them stay together, we all have to fall in line.”

  He nodded, wondering if this would bite him in the ass one day. “I think once Haley understands that by playing along means she gets to live with Nate and Marleigh, she’ll bend.”

  “Where do you want these never-before-used kitchen tools?” She held up the processor.

  “Oh, uh, top shelf in the pantry.”

  Chewing his lip at the thought of having to teach the concept of “extenuating circumstances” and justifying a blatant lie didn’t feel right to him. But he couldn’t come up with a better idea.

  The facts were the facts. Haley was emotionally and intrinsically tethered to Nate. And Nate’s self-worth was tangled in taking care of Haley and Marleigh. And for him to help them work through all those complicated co-dependencies, they all needed to be living together.

  His attention moved to the open door of the pantry and the woman on her toes attempting to reach the top shelf, muttering pseudo-curse words.

  “Jesus, Mary and . . . and that other guy.”

  Although the taller of the three sisters, she was still under five six and a few inches short of reaching the shelf. Her sweater rode up, her tits jiggling as she was now making small ineffective jumps to gain a couple more inches.