The childhood nickname widened the smile on his lips. “Whenever you feel better, come out. I’ll text when I’m leaving if I don’t see you before then okay?”
Dean waited until she’d taken another bite of the food before getting up, sliding on shoes that were much nicer than he normally wore to work, and slipping out the door. Within seconds he had hopped into the truck beside Mat. “Thanks for this, bro.”
The other man carefully backed out of the narrow driveway before responding. “You realize that you have three actual brothers who are all happily married and probably a lot better at this than your divorced cousin, right?”
“Listen, Sherry was a—” Dean managed to stop talking before the word that was so accurate, but also so insulting, to the woman Mat probably still cared about came out. “You’re better off. Seriously, you’ll find someone else. And…I am better off without my brothers knowing anything about any of this. It’s a friggin’ mess until I can get her to see that it doesn’t need to be.”
Mat sighed and hit the right turn signal with a little more force than necessary. “So where to first?”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window before facing Mat again, his cheeks burning with the knowledge he’d left out a few important details. “Before you say anything, I already talked to Wyatt. He knows we’re going to be late today and I know you don’t have any clients booked until one…”
His cousin groaned loudly. “What are you getting me into here, Dean?”
“Mini road trip?” He held up the directions on his phone, already being called out by the slightly robotic female voice.
Mat uttered a string of curses under his breath, but took the device from Dean’s hand and slid it into the phone mount attached to his vent. “I better at least get a decent lunch for this.”
“I’ll pick something amazing. And I’ll buy.” Dean held up three fingers, his pinky and thumb touching at his palm. “Scout’s honor.”
His cousin merged onto the interstate smoothly before shooting him a disbelieving glare. “First, you’re gonna be broke by the time this little errand is over, and second, you were never in the scouts.”
Dean chuckled but didn’t argue either point. Just because he worked at his brother’s ranch and spearheaded a unique and highly recommended program there didn’t mean he was as comfortable as his siblings. But he was smart with his money, and aside from the tricked out motorcycle, he put a decent chunk in his savings account every month.
One thing he held in common with both Wyatt and Connor was the fact that they did things on their own without the financial backing of their parents…aside from the sports car they gifted him for his graduation. Even if that meant struggling sometimes.
Being broke was a bit of an exaggeration, but his savings would take a small ding. And he really couldn’t think of a better reason.
***
Jillian
Present Day
Jillian fumbled with the phone blaring out a calypso rhythm, her blurry eyes struggling to focus on the screen. When her sleepy vision righted itself, she groaned and swiped across the glass screen to connect the call. “Hello, Mother.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still lazing about. It’s nearly two in the afternoon.”
Her mother’s shrill voice combined with the realization that she’d slept another six hours after Dean had left was better than a bucket of ice water. She cleared her throat and jumped from the bed, thrilled her headache was gone when her feet landed firmly on the hardwood floor.
She rummaged through the small bag that housed her essentials, desperately seeking a toothbrush and toothpaste to rid her mouth of the lingering aftertaste of beer mixed with the Bloody Mary and omelet. How the hell had Dean managed to talk to her with breath this lethal?
“Sorry, Mother, I’m still operating in a vastly different time zone. Did you need anything specific?” Locating the small items felt like finding gold and she clutched them to her chest and raced to the bathroom.
The older woman cleared her throat in such an exaggerated way Jillian rolled her eyes as she applied the thick paste to the brush. “Well, I’ve secured the club two weeks from now for this…wedding.” She paused just long enough to make her disdain apparent. “You were making some sort of ill-fitting joke by calling this entire thing real…weren’t you?”
As much enjoyment as Jillian got from tormenting her mother with the idea that she and Dean were getting married for real, she didn’t want the woman to have a heart attack. And despite all her faults, Helena had been through a hellacious few months. The family fortune and high social standing that meant nothing to Jillian meant the world to her mother. Even though she couldn’t understand it, she also couldn’t turn off the stirring of empathy.
“No, Mother, you know exactly why I’m getting married and you know the validity of it.” She scrubbed her teeth for a few moments and spit out the excess foam in the sink. “But you also need to remember that Dean is bailing us out by agreeing to this. His entire life is being upended by going along with this ridiculous ploy to appease Grandfather’s insane and archaic stipulations.”
Helena huffed on the other end. “I still can’t believe Silas Murphy agreed to write such a preposterous will.”
Jillian finished freshening her mouth, swished some water, and sent it spiraling down the drain. “That doesn’t really matter at this point. We are in this situation and the only way to access the funds you need is through Dean.” She pressed her lips together for a moment and summoned a brief flare of will. “And I expect you to remember that and treat him kindly from now on. Especially considering the fact that your own son is barely even answering your calls and certainly hasn’t stepped up to help in any way.”
“First of all, it sounds like you’re brushing your teeth, which is exceptionally rude to do while on the phone. You’ve apparently lost all sense of decorum out in that…wilderness. Secondly, Bradford sunk every dime of his half of the inheritance into his business, and with the time difference in Thailand, it’s unrealistic to expect him to be in contact regularly.”
Jillian rolled her eyes at her mother’s familiar excuses for her brother’s absence. “It’s Sierra Leone, Mother. An actual country. Remember? You’ve done fundraisers to dig wells—”
“Yes, yes, fine, the bush.” Even though they were only on the phone, Jillian was certain her mother waved her hand dismissively with the comment. “And I’ve always been kind to your little friend. Even though he comes from new money.”
Jillian rolled her eyes so hard she was afraid she’d incite the return of the headache that had plagued her all morning. “I don’t mean cordial, Mother, I mean nice. Friendly even.” She held a breath for a moment. “And his parents, his entire family, they…they don’t know why. I thought it wise to keep those who know the truth to a minimum considering the circumstances.”
It was a lie, but one she knew would be effective. Her mother would rather die than have it widely known the Monroe family teetered on the edge of financial disaster.
Some strangled sound from her mother answered before any words did. “Of course I’m not going to say anything. This isn’t exactly happy news. Well, not for me. Possibly for Priscilla Gordon.”
“I assume you’re planning everything, yes?” If Jillian had her way, if this had been her real wedding, Helena wouldn’t have come near any of the plans. But the wedding, like the marriage, was simply for show. Even still, a small corner of her heart ached at that fact.
“Darling, you may be my daughter, but your taste is…questionable. Naturally, I’ll be handling all the details. I’ll send you information about your dress fitting tomorrow.”
With that, Jillian offered her mother a hasty goodbye and typed out a rapid fire text to Dean asking what time to pick him up. She grabbed clothes from her suitcase before hopping in the shower. Appreciation for hot water never waned and she took a few moments to let the nearly scalding spray wash over her body before scrubbing herself c
lean and stepping out to wrap a towel around herself.
She grabbed her phone and grinned as his face looked back at her, notifying her that he’d sent a message.
Dean: I’ll be done around five thirty, but take your time. I’m attaching the directions to Wyatt’s ranch. The keys are hanging on the hook by the door. Feeling better?
Her fingers flew across the screen.
Jillian: Much better thanks to your miracle cure and a few uninterrupted hours of sleep. Have great news for you, our wedding date is set. Aren’t you thrilled?
A dancing cow gif popped up within seconds and nearly caused her to double over with laughter. No matter what was going on in her world, Dean always managed to make her smile. It was one of the first things that cemented their unusual friendship.
By the time she’d dressed and rummaged through his refrigerator and cupboards to find something to eat, it was nearly five and she wanted to head out early since she’d never visited Wyatt’s dream-turned-reality. She pulled her long auburn waves back into the practical ponytail she sported nearly every day and grabbed the keys from the hook before exiting the townhouse and locking the door behind her. Even with the running boards offering a boost, she still had to climb into the high cab of the truck.
The GPS on her phone guided her to the ranch easily and she parked near the paddock watching Dean from a distance as he showed a man that was probably twice his age how to harness one of the horses. He gave the older guy a pat on the back and lifted his head just in time to meet her gaze and offer a smile.
The same smile that once-upon-a-time gave her butterflies. For that brief period in high school when she childishly entertained the notion that she was in love with her best friend. A crazy train of thought she was thankful she hopped off before she did something stupid and lost the single most important person in her life.
A spear lodged itself directly in her heart. The single most important person after her grandfather. His loss, though years earlier, was still so fresh to her. Even if his antiquated beliefs, combined with stupidity from her family, were the reason she was here grinning like an idiot as Dean jogged over.
“Any trouble finding it?”
Jillian shook her head, annoyed that a few strands of her unruly hair were already escaping. “Nope. Are you ready to go yet?”
A wide smile spread across Dean’s face and he shook his head slowly. Jillian immediately narrowed her gaze in response. That shit-eating grin could only spell trouble with a capital T.
He eyed her up and down, giving an approving nod to the denim shorts and teal t-shirt. “Glad to see you dressed just right. I’ve got Honey all saddled up and ready to go.” He winked. “Fredrock is an easy ride from here.”
It hadn’t dawned on her until that exact moment because she’d been so focused on making all the turns the robotic voice from her phone commanded, but in her mind’s eye she could picture the patch of land that now housed Wyatt’s ranch and realized it was just adjacent to the home where Dean had grown up, and hers as well by default.
She easily scaled the two logs of the fence separating them and landed in front of him on the dusty ground. “Why the hell didn’t you say so sooner?” She scanned the half a dozen horses enclosed with her. Only one had a saddle, and with the warm, earthy tones of the coat, it was easy to see why it would be called Honey.
Jillian looked up at him with a mischievous grin. “I’m riding in front.”
Chapter Eight
Dean
Fourteen Years Earlier
“He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me n—”
“Aren’t you a little old for that?”
Jillian’s head snapped up at the tone Dean had intentionally made as mature as possible, far more than his thirteen years on the planet should have allowed. “Aren’t you a little immature to be so bossy?”
His steps toward their sacred rock where Jillian sat with the half destroyed purple flower still in her hands halted. He straightened his posture to his full height and pulled his brows together. “You’re gonna lose that invitation to eat dinner at my house whenever you want if you keep sounding like my brothers.”
She lifted one shoulder and returned to pulling the petals free one at a time, but this time remained silent. Once it was empty she tossed the stem near the edge of the pond. “You act like I’m not the baby of the family too.”
Dean snorted and plopped down beside her. “You aren’t. You’re an only child.”
Jillian rolled her eyes and twisted her head to look at him. “Let me remind you of Bradford. You know the tall, strawberry blond guy in the ginormous family portrait hanging in our formal room?”
An involuntary grin at Jillian’s proper and refined tongue saying something like “ginormous” spread across his face and he gave himself a small pat on the back for opening her up to something a lot more fun than stuffy dinner parties he still couldn’t figure out how she survived. “Yeah, technically you have a brother, but he’s never around. He’s been in that hoity-toity boarding school for as long as I’ve known you.”
He scuffed his sneaker on the surface of the rock. “He doesn’t live to pick on you and push you around like my brothers.”
Jillian grabbed his chin and an uncharacteristic fierce expression colored her face. “I tell you all the time, but you need to actually listen.” The corner of her eye sparkled in the spring sun. “You have an amazing family. Sure, your brothers are assholes sometimes, but all siblings are. You are sometimes too. But they love you. They’d do anything for you.”
The truth of her words cemented in his gut. Yeah, the four boys brawled more than their mother wanted, but after a few rounds, whatever had been between them disappeared and they’d go back to being each other’s closest friends. Especially Connor. Being so close in age and the last two of the tribe had created a special bond between the brothers similar to the one shared between Wyatt and Tanner as the two oldest.
The glittering drop that had been threatening to spill over ran down her cheek. “And I would give anything for my parents to love me the way yours do. The only one who does is Grandpa and he…”
Silence was far more concerning than whatever words she hadn’t spoken. He gripped her upper arms. “What, Jillybean?”
She lifted one shoulder and sniffled. “Daddy says he’ll be fine, but he’s been in the hospital a long time and I keep hearing my mother mentioning his heart to friends, but she stops talking as soon as I get close enough to find out what she means.”
Dean wiggled on the stone slab as he watched a few errant tears trail down her cheeks.
He wished he were Tanner. His oldest brother had a way of always knowing what to say or do. It was annoying.
He wished he were Wyatt. He might not say the right things, but Wyatt always managed to make people smile. It was frustrating because it was nearly impossible to stay mad at him.
He wished he were Connor. Though only eighteen months separated them in age, they were practically as different as night and day. The older boy had a weird way of calming anyone he was around…especially girls. It was a trait that worked in all the brothers’ favor when Connor managed to smooth over whatever someone had done to irritate their mom.
Instead Dean caught one of the discarded petals from the rock. “So who loves you?”
Her dark green eyes clouded in confusion. “What in the world are you talking about?”
The question was punctuated with a much softer sniffle that encouraged Dean to press on, hoping for distraction if he couldn’t manage to comfort her. “I counted when you finished. You ended with ‘he loves me.’”
Her freckles blended into the red coloring her cheeks as she dipped her head and turned away. “It’s…it’s nobody.”
She hopped off the stone, brushed dirt he certainly couldn’t see from her clothes, and lifted one hand. “I’ll, um, see you later.”
With that she raced off toward her house and quickly melted from a retreating figure to a speedy b
lur he could barely make out in the distance.
Dean pressed his lips together and shook his head, huffing through his nose. He dug around in the grass and dirt nearby until he found half a dozen smooth stones and expertly whipped them into the pond, smiling as the first skipped seven times across the water.
“Girls,” he mumbled to the next rock he turned in his hand, “I will never understand a single one of ’em.”
***
Jillian
Fourteen Years Earlier
For the tenth time that morning Jillian wished Dean went to the same school as her. The upper class, private school with the annoyingly uncomfortable uniform would be far more tolerable if he were there to crack an irreverent joke or goad her into using the kind of language that would shock her mother, even if the swear words were all ones she’d heard Helena Monroe utter more than once when frazzled from a planning meeting or irate with one of the “friends” she air kissed at every function.
Jillian snorted. With friends like the ones her mother had—and the kind Helena herself was—she didn’t need enemies.
She neatly filed her notebook in her locker between two thick textbooks and pulled out the ones she needed for her final two classes of the afternoon. Just as she looked up to close the door, she caught a glimpse of ash blond hair and her stomach involuntarily flipped.
Tristan Randolph.
He managed to make the khaki pants and navy blazer of the school uniform look like something out of a teen heartthrob magazine. He stood half a head above the other boys that circled around him, leeching off his popularity and status.
Meant to be More (Meant to Be Series Book 4) Page 6