The passion in her voice was contagious. “You can do anything you want, Jillybean.” And at that moment in time he had never believed more in a single statement.
***
Jillian
Thirteen Years Earlier
Tap, tap, tap.
Jillian groaned and rolled over. It was a Saturday and she was determined to sleep in.
Tap, tap, tap.
Her groan turned into a growl as she threw back the covers and planted her feet on the floor. She padded to the door and yanked it open just as the obnoxious offender on the other side had lifted their hand to knock again.
“Sparky?” She yawned and scratched the head of hair she was certain had twisted into a giant rat’s nest overnight… as always. “What the hell are you doing here this early?”
As soon as she said the word she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into her room. She stuck her head out of the doorway long enough to glance up and down the hall before shutting the door and her eyes in unison and sagging against it.
Dean chuckled in response to her momentary panic and she rewarded it with a glare. “You certainly have developed quite the potty mouth there, Ms. Monroe.”
She shoved him as she walked past to bury herself beneath her covers again. “It’s all thanks to your horrendous influence on my vocabulary, Mr. Carlisle. Now you can feel free to tell me why you’re bothering me early on a Saturday morning, how you got in here, and then you can leave.”
“Frieda loves me. Your mother is at a garden party. It’s nearly eleven. And I have plans for you. So stop whining and get yourself out of bed.” He tugged at the covers and grinned at her grimace as the light hit her face again. “It would be preferable for you to shower and dress, but I’m not opposed to dragging you out of here in your pajamas.”
She pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, begrudgingly sitting up once more. “As if you’re strong enough.”
Dean lifted the short sleeves of his t-shirt and flexed his lanky arms into surprising baby muscles. “Wanna try it?”
“Ugh.” She stood beside the bed and stretched for a minute before crossing the room to her walk-in closet and rummaging around for clothes. “I don’t have the energy to fight you. You’re lucky this time. Casual, I presume, since that’s all your wardrobe consists of.”
He stopped playing with the bottles lining her vanity and whipped his head toward her. “Hey, I resemble that remark.”
Jillian grabbed her clothes and headed to the en suite. “Give me fifteen. You can feel free to give yourself a makeover if you’re that interested in my makeup.”
She closed the door with a soft click…and flicked the lock. Their easy friendship sometimes didn’t feel quite as easy as it used to before they became teenagers. She raced through her shower, sprayed unhealthy amounts of detangler in her hair and wrangled her wavy locks into something resembling a ponytail, though not the sleek one she wished she could pull off, and managed to emerge from the bathroom with thirty seconds to spare.
“I’m kinda disappointed you aren’t rocking that cotton candy lip gloss.”
Dean rolled his eyes and stood from the small stool that sat in front of her vanity. “If her highness is ready, our chariot is waiting. And by chariot, I mean truck. Driven by Wyatt, so there is a high likelihood that the smell of horses and hay and I don’t even want to imagine what else could very well become imbedded in your clothes.”
She looked down at her romper and sandals then back at him and shrugged. “Risk I’m willing to take, I guess. Lead on, Sir Sparky.”
The ride was exactly how Jillian knew it would be. She sat on the bench seat, scrunched between Dean and Wyatt, not only physically but verbally as the two sparred the entire drive. Lost in the headache-inducing bickering that was so common to the brothers, she paid zero attention to their destination until Dean pulled her out of the car, barking at his brother over his shoulder to come back in a few hours.
“Dean…” Even she could hear all the caution that was twining her stomach into knots pour into her tone.
He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You aren’t her. You have more compassion and empathy in your little finger than she has in her whole body.”
A small jolt ran through her. “Wow, Dean…that’s deep. Especially for you.”
He dipped his head, crimson staining his cheeks. “I heard Mom say something like that to my aunt once and it seemed to really make her happy.”
Naturally, Dean hadn’t thought of that himself. Her gaze found its way back to the weathered sign on the front of the building showing minor signs of aging, Harrold Memorial Homeless Shelter. But he had thought of this, thought of her, and that meant the world.
In a rare moment of foresight she would have never believed Dean capable of, he had apparently called ahead and spoken with someone about their arrival because two staff members greeted them as soon as they pushed through the glass front door. They both spent the next several hours working side-by-side to fill backpacks with water bottles, crackers, beef jerky, tissues, and hygiene supplies.
The statistics the workers easily rattled off about the number of men, women, and most heartbreaking to her, children that lived on the streets gnawed a hole in her gut at the same time as it reaffirmed her desire to work to make even a tiny difference in the world. Even if that meant only one person.
Dean hadn’t said much as they worked together, but as they sat beside each other on the cement steps that led into the building waiting for Wyatt’s return, he tilted his head a little and looked at her. “She would never have done anything even remotely like that.”
Jillian laid her head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Sparky. For…for everything.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dean
Present Day
Dean slid his hand in the one the younger man had stuck out at the end of their session and gave it a firm shake as well as offering an encouraging smile. “You’re doing great, Chase. Even before Mat shared your progress with me, I could tell you were making a positive change. You should be proud of yourself.”
His cousin appeared on his left and leaned against the railing that kept the horses corralled in the paddock. “Me too,” his cousin agreed with a nod.
Chase dropped his head and released his grip, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I…feel better. Clearer. I have a focus that I don’t remember ever having before.” He looked off into the cloudless crystal sky for a moment then turned his gaze on Mat. “It still isn’t easy though.”
“And it may never be. It should get easier as time goes on and you develop new skills and techniques, but it may never be easy.” Mat shook his head. “But you’re gaining ways to cope with cravings or triggers to get through the harder spots.”
Chase turned back to the chestnut horse he’d been working with that day who was trotting along the far perimeter of the enclosure and a grin spread across his face. “Yeah, I am.” A burgundy sedan slowly appeared on the crest of the driveway, headed toward where the three men stood. “That’s my ride. Gotta go. See you guys in a couple of days.”
With that, the younger man ducked between two of the wooden rails and jogged off to meet the vehicle just as it pulled to a stop.
Dean stared at Chase’s retreating back for several moments before facing his cousin again. “Witnessing that kind of turnaround never gets old.”
Mat pressed his lips together in a thin line, the five years and copious amounts of additional experience he had on Dean deepening the fine lines around his eyes. “Not every story is a success story.”
Just as Dean opened his mouth to respond, Wyatt emerged from the barn, an obnoxious swagger to his step that he’d always possessed, but somehow seemed to worsen with each passing day. Either that or Dean was just annoyed at being confronted with it so often.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my two favorite ranch hands in one place.” A familiar barb, but one that never failed to incite Dean to roll his eyes in respo
nse.
Correcting Wyatt was futile and would likely only make his brother continue the prodding. He knew that deep down, Wyatt loved the unique dynamic that Mat and Dean’s project, their baby, brought to the ranch. He proved that when he let the two take the chance of starting it at RA Ranch, the dream Wyatt had long held that he finally brought to fruition a few years earlier.
Of course, having Georgia strongly on their side and more than happy to push her husband to agree to the plan didn’t hurt either.
But his older brother could still be useful. And, dammit all to hell he hated to admit it, but he needed Wyatt’s advice. “Hey Wy, got a second?”
Wyatt turned down the corners of his mouth and drew his brows together. “Everything okay?”
Mat pulled a slightly dusty baseball cap from his back pocket and adjusted the brim before plopping it on his head. He gestured to the horse Chase had been working with and took a few steps in that direction. “I’m gonna take Ginger back in and give her a few apples for being so good today.”
As soon as their cousin was on the other side of the pen and had the horse’s reins in his hands, Wyatt rested a booted foot on the bottom rail and his forearms on the top one. He stared at Dean for several long moments in silence, the shadow from the brim of his cowboy hat doing nothing to lessen the intensity of his gaze.
“I need…” the word lodged in Dean’s throat and he swallowed several times before saying it out loud, “…advice.” Well used to all three of his older brothers dispensing unwanted opinions on everything from his career to his love life and even his wardrobe, Dean was fairly certain this was the first time he’d actually requested input.
In nearly any other circumstance he’d be turning to Connor. The two youngest members of the Carlisle clan had a unique bond that was forged from battling against their two older brothers as kids. But Wyatt was here and he had certainly screwed up enough in his own relationship to be experienced enough to offer the insight Dean needed.
Wyatt snorted lightly. “That isn’t very reassuring there, little brother. You basically never give a shit what anyone thinks. This has to be big.”
Pulling the baseball cap off his head, Dean carded his fingers through his hair before putting the hat firmly back in place. “I’m just gonna rip the Band-Aid off here.” He pointed at his brother with a firm note in his voice. “And this is top secret information here, Wy. Mom and Dad don’t know. Tanner and Connor don’t know. Hell, no one other than Jillian, her parents, myself, and probably some lawyer somewhere know this little tidbit and I want to keep it that way, got it?”
“Listen, whatever the hell it is isn’t going anywhere beyond you and me, but you need to spill the beans after that disclaimer.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are Jillian’s parents pushing some kind of prenup or something?”
Dean gave a half huff, half laugh. “A prenup would be a gift compared to reality.” He squared his shoulders and sucked in a deep lungful of air, hoping he chose the right brother to be his ally in what was possibly the most ridiculous scenario he could ever imagine. “Jillian and I, the engagement, the wedding, the whole damn thing it’s…it’s not real.”
Wyatt squinted his blue eyes, identical to Dean’s, disbelief etched on his face. “It looks pretty damn real to me. I’ve had lots of scans on damn near every part of my body including my head thanks to more throws from bulls than I care to remember and they’ve yet to find any brain trauma so unless this is some weird voodoo bullshit, this is most definitely real.”
Dean kicked his boots in the dusty ground. “I mean the actual relationship. Me and Jillian, being in love…the whole thing is fake.” He swallowed down the boulder in his throat. “For her at least.”
“You’re gonna have to back up about a thousand paces and fill in the blanks. How the hell is this not real?”
Dean ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. “Jillian’s in a tough spot. Hell, she hasn’t really even told me why, which is pretty damn annoying, but she needed my help and that help happened to come in the form of an inheritance her grandfather left her.” He took a deep breath. “And it can only be accessed after she gets married and stays married for eighteen months.”
“But Jillian’s family is loaded, why the hell would she need money?” Wyatt kicked a chunk of mud off his boot, shaking his head. “And is that kind of a requirement even legal? I mean, I could see that happening a few hundred years ago, but today?”
“Listen, I have no idea.” Dean held both hands up, palms out toward his brother. “All I know is what she’s willing to tell me and that hasn’t been a hell of a lot. I’m the only person she says she could trust with this, which should make me feel as good as I can, given the circumstances.”
“But?”
Dean quirked his lips to the side and glared at his brother. “But you assholes are right. Somehow I wound up falling in love with my best friend and pretending to be okay with this being some fake bullshit when…” He trailed off into a string of curses as Wyatt chuckled beside him. “It isn’t funny.”
His obnoxious older brother wiped a probably fictitious tear from his eye. “No, you’re right. It isn’t funny, it’s frickin’ hysterical.”
He delivered a punch to Wyatt’s bicep that was slightly more than playful. “Shut up. I need,” the word burned his tongue even just thinking of it, “help.”
A wide grin curled his brother’s lips. “You’ve come to the right place, brother.”
***
Jillian
Present Day
The seamstress made a final tuck near her feet and Jillian gratefully stepped from the elevated platform. The silence in the shop at her final fitting was like a gift and she reveled in changing back into her white capris and paisley top in peace. Her mother was far too consumed with floral arrangements, place settings, and a dozen other things Jillian couldn’t care less about.
If this were her real wedding, her mother would be as far removed from it as Jillian could get her. But it wasn’t. It was a legal contract only occurring to fulfill the requirements of another legal contract.
When her mother even so much as breathed the suggestion of implementing a prenup, Jillian had firmly and decisively planted her size six in the ground and refused to bring it up to Dean. She was already sinking beneath the weight of the guilt not only from simply asking him for this monumental favor, but for keeping the actual reason why it was so important from him as well.
She didn’t doubt for a moment that he would follow through with this, but an unusual measure of embarrassment at admitting the truth kept her mouth sealed shut.
The conflicting and confusing emotions she’d found herself mired in since her mother’s first frantic phone call two months ago only deepened with the reminder that she’d dragged Dean into this and he’d been a freaking saint about the entire thing.
That was a title she never thought she’d bestow on him.
Her phone dinged and his name flashed across the screen along with a ridiculously goofy picture of the two of them that was taken just before she left for her most recent trip.
Dean: If my blushing bride is finished, I’ll be there to pick her up in 15 minutes.
She rolled her eyes at the “blushing bride” bit, but couldn’t stop the grin from taking over her face as she hastily typed out a reply. She’d just finished going over final details with the seamstress when a roaring engine came to a stop outside the glass door of the bridal shop. Seconds later Dean strolled in all swagger and bullshit, just like always.
“There’s my beautiful wife-to-be.” He smiled broadly, tossing a wink at the older woman behind the counter. “Ready to hit the road, sweet cheeks?”
Jillian kept her face as jovial as she knew it should be and allowed him to tuck her under his arm until they were on the sidewalk, the door softly swishing shut behind them. Then she smacked the back of her hand on his t-shirt clad chest and turned to him. “Sweet cheeks? Seriously, Sparky, that’s what you came up with, sweet cheek
s?”
Dean merely laughed in response and handed her a black full face helmet with a tinted sun shield. “How about you just put this on or I’ll figure out something less adorable to call you, my darling wife?”
Her eyes bounced from the sleek motorcycle parked beside the curb to the helmet and then up to Dean several times in that order. “I am not getting on that thing with you.”
“Aw, come on, Jillybean.” He turned his mouth down into a pout that shouldn’t be as adorable as it was. “I’ve even gotten Mom to ride with me. I promise I’ll be extra safe. I wouldn’t want anything to keep you from walking down the aisle with full use of all appendages.”
She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and rolled the helmet between her palms. “Nothing over forty.” At the immediate brightening of his face, she held up one finger. “Make that thirty-five.”
Dean threw one leg over the bike and patted the seat behind him before sliding his own, identical helmet in place. “You won’t regret this. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure you’re gonna love it. How many times did I take you on a ride when we were kids?”
With a snort she pulled the heavy hunk of plastic over her head, not fully convinced it could actually save her life in the event of a massive crash. She flipped up the visor so she could see well enough to take her place behind Dean and immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, not trusting her balance. “We weren’t on major roads and we sure as hell weren’t going at a speed that could get us maimed or worse.”
Meant to be More (Meant to Be Series Book 4) Page 10