“Mom?”
The tray rattled as Shay set her spoon in her bowl.
“What happened, Mom? It’s not storming . . .” Her daughter’s voice sounded younger than her years.
Maybe it was a breaker. Or someone hitting a pole. “I’m not sure.” Shay pushed her tray back. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t a breaker, and there was no accident. “We’re a little behind on the electric bill.”
And the mortgage. And the phone. And the credit card. Did she really think they wouldn’t follow through on their threat to shut it off?
“What are we gonna do?”
Shay had exactly $72.54 in the bank. She was saving that for groceries, but she wondered if it was enough to get the electricity back.
“Let me make a phone call.” She pulled out her cell, dialed the number.
Ten minutes later she turned off her phone and set it on the TV tray. Now she had to pay a turn-on fee in addition to her bill. If she’d had the cash for that, wouldn’t she have paid it already?
And what about the other bills? What about the mortgage? This was only electricity. What was going to happen when she lost the house too? When the bank came and collected everything they owned to pay back what she owed?
“They shut it off?”
She tried for calm. “ ’Fraid so.” She’d tried so hard to shelter Olivia from their financial problems. Intercepting creditor calls, taking them in the other room or just not picking up the phone. But there was no hiding it this time. And there would be no hiding it when they showed up to take the house.
“What’re we gonna do?” Olivia asked again.
Shay hated the anxiety that had crept into her daughter’s voice, the worry that puckered her brows. “We’ll figure something out. God’s always taken care of us, hasn’t He? We’ve never gone a day without.”
“But what about—”
“Shush. That’s Mom’s problem. Go on outside and find something to do while I figure this out.”
Olivia cleared the plates and then went outside, hopefully forgetting about the fact that her mom couldn’t manage things on her own.
Things had never been easy, but she’d spoken the truth. God had always provided. This time, though, Shay wondered if His provision would turn out to be the biggest mistake of her life.
Travis was brushing down Buck when his cell vibrated in his pocket.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“All right.”
It was Shay, and she didn’t sound happy.
“It’s a deal.”
He lowered the brush as he realized what she was saying. He didn’t question it, knew he’d better accept her consent before she took it back.
“I’ll be right over.”
“Wait!” Her voice shook on the command. “Some rules first . . .”
“Shoot.” Terms didn’t matter a lick. He’d agree to anything.
“There’ll be no . . . funny business.”
His lips twitched. “Not unless you—”
“I don’t. Another thing . . . when this arrangement ends—”
“If this arrangement ends.”
“Fine. If. It needs to be clear it was my doing, my choice. If everyone thinks our marriage is real—”
“It is real.”
“You know what I mean. If they think we’re splitting, it was my decision. Understand?”
“I’ll take out an ad in the Moose Creek Chronicle if you want.”
“And I’m keeping my name.”
If she wanted to keep that mouthful-of-a-last-name, more power to her.
“I’m only doing this because I’m desperate, you know,” she said.
That was a hard kick to the solar plexus. “Now, Shay, don’t go flattering.”
“This is business. That’s all.”
Full disclosure, McCoy. “It’s business for you, I get that. But you need to understand it’s personal for me. As long as we understand each other, I don’t see a problem.”
The quiet on the other end of the line unsettled him. Maybe full disclosure wasn’t such a bright idea.
“Fine.”
He couldn’t stop the smile. “I’ll be right over.”
“Hold on. I haven’t told Olivia. I’ll tell her tonight—and I’m telling her the whole shebang. It’s only fair she knows this is temporary. You can come in the morning—and you’re sleeping on the sofa.”
He’d sleep in the barn if he had to. “Anything else?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“See you in the morning, then.”
“Wait. What are you going to tell your parents?”
“Talked to them this afternoon. I’ll keep tabs on the ranch for them. They know about our marriage—said to tell you congrats.”
Something like a growl snarled across the line. “Good-bye, McCoy.”
“Get used to it, darlin’.”
Her answer was a click followed by a dial tone.
15
Travis pulled his truck to Shay’s barn and turned off the ignition. It was predawn, and the house lights were off, the property quiet. Home sweet home. At least for the next five months.
He exited the cab and made his way toward the barn on buoyant legs. He loved mornings. The crisp air, the smell of dew. But that wasn’t why he could scarcely keep his feet on the ground.
He didn’t take this second chance for granted. He’d winged a thousand prayers of gratitude skyward since Shay’s call, in between packing his bags and tossing in bed until his alarm sounded.
He entered the barn and flipped the light switch. Nothing. Strange. He felt his way to the tack room and flipped that one. Same thing.
Faulty fuse? Electricity out? It hadn’t stormed. There could’ve been an accident, but he’d had electricity at the Barr M.
Probably just a breaker. He fetched the flashlight in his truck and found the breaker box in the barn. Nothing wrong there. He needed light to work, and the sun wasn’t going to hasten its arrival. He wondered where Shay kept her generator.
Travis scanned the barn but didn’t see one. He hated to wake her, but chores were waiting.
Making up his mind, he lit out for the house. The darkened structure took on a new meaning. Electricity probably went out in the middle of the night. Shay’s alarm wouldn’t have gone off.
He turned off the flashlight as he reached for the doorknob. No sense spooking them. The door was unlocked, just as he expected. If he’d thought the barn was dark, the house was a cave. He closed the door quietly. The air was cool. The girls must be freezing.
Two steps in, a phone pealed loudly. Shay’s cell lit up across the room. Maybe it was the electric company. No, not this early.
Between rings, he heard the bedding rustle in Shay’s room.
Better answer before Olivia woke too. He started for the phone, bumped his leg on a table, and hobbled the last few steps, biting his tongue.
He grabbed the phone on what felt like the twentieth ring. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
No response.
“Hello?” he said, louder.
Across the room, there was an awkward thump-thump in the vicinity of Shay’s bedroom. He pictured her standing in the doorway, crutched, rumpled, and most likely glaring. No wonder, after the ruckus he’d made.
“Who is this?” a voice demanded. Beau Meyers: the riled version.
Travis walked the phone toward Shay’s shadow. “For you.” What was he doing here, in her house, answering her phone? There was no hiding the lack of electricity now. Of course he had to find out. But she didn’t have to like it. And she didn’t have to like his waltzing into her place like he owned it and answering her personal phone.
Shay snatched the lit-up cell from his hand. “This is Shay.” It came out like a croak.
“Was that McCoy?”
Beau. Perfect. She cleared her throat. “ ’Morning, Beau.”
“Don’t good morning me, Shay. What’s he doing there?”
She shouldered the phone, shut the door
firmly, adding a glare she knew Travis couldn’t see, and hobbled toward her bed. This was not the way she’d planned to tell Beau. Why hadn’t she just broken things off at the picnic? It was all Travis’s fault. Blast the man.
“Shay?”
“It’s a long story. I was going to tell you.”
“By all means, go right ahead.”
She couldn’t blame him for being sore. She was a lowlife, letting him think there was more to their relationship. Her foot had begun throbbing. She propped it on the bed.
“Shay.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” She had to collect her thoughts, ease into this. “Thing is, I broke my foot day before yesterday—”
“Why do you think I called? I had to hear it from Hollis this morning.”
Hollis was one of his hands—a real blabbermouth. “I’m sorry.”
“I was gonna offer to come feed your animals, but I see you got that covered.”
Shay ran a hand over her face. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“What’s going on, Shay?”
She should just say it. There was no way to make it easy. “Beau . . . Travis and I are . . . married.”
She closed her eyes, trying to block the image that popped into her mind. The hurt she knew was on Beau’s face.
“This some kind of joke?” She’d never heard that tone in his voice.
“I’m so sorry, Beau.”
“What about us, Shay? I thought . . .”
“I should’ve told you how I felt. I was wrong.” You are such a heel, Shay.
“Married.”
“The ceremony on Founders Day . . . it was real.”
“That was . . . but we . . . what the heck, Shay?”
“I know. I know. We were planning to announce it today.” Sort of true. It was going to get out anyhow. Especially now. “I’m really sorry, Beau. You don’t deserve this. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The door to her room clicked open. Travis. She reached out and pushed it shut.
“This is like a nightmare.”
She knew the feeling. “I’m sorry.”
“You love him, then?”
Shay bit hard on the inside of her lip. What to say? She didn’t love Travis, would not love Travis, but she couldn’t admit that.
“You never got over him, did you?”
She wished she could lie about that one. “No.” She hated to admit it, even to Beau, though it made the marriage seem authentic.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
She knew he was probably pinching the bridge of his nose.
Moments later he gave a resigned sigh. “What can I say? Deep down, I hope you’re happy, Shay.”
Of course he’d be a gentleman. It only made her feel worse. “Thanks.”
A minute later she hung up, her throbbing foot the least of her worries. She deserved her throbbing foot. She deserved to be thumped over the head. She dropped back onto her pillows and threw her arm over her face.
A knock sounded on her door. “Shay?”
“Go away.”
The door clicked open anyway, creaking on its hinges. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
She had a broken foot, was accidentally married to a man who’d broken her heart, and she was stuck with him for months. She’d just hurt a perfectly nice man, and now Travis was going to find out just how destitute they really were.
“It occurs to me we’ll need wedding bands,” he said.
She hated to admit it, but he was right. It would seem odd if they didn’t. “I’ll wear my old one.”
“I’ll buy new ones.”
“No, Travis.” Last thing she wanted was his thinking this meant anything. “I’ll wear my old one. Can’t you borrow one from someplace?”
His long pause exposed his disappointment. “I think my dad has an old one.”
“Fine.” She wished he’d leave. Why was he still standing there?
“Electricity’s out,” he said.
Could her day get any worse? “You noticed.”
“Tried the breakers in the barn, but they’re fine.”
“The power company shut it off for lack of payment.”
There. She’d said it. She reminded herself that the heat flooding her face wasn’t fatal. It only felt like it. At least he couldn’t see. Wait till he found out about all the back mortgage payments she owed.
“Oh well, no sweat. I’ll take care of that when they open.”
Why did he have to be so calm? So darned understanding? It would be easier if he dressed her down. Then she could get mad and slam a door or something.
“In the meantime, I’ll get your generator running if you could point the way.”
Because every ranch worth its salt has a generator. She exhaled loudly. “Don’t have one.”
“All right. No problem. I’ll run home and get ours.”
She was a worm. A worthless, fat, slimy, lowly worm. Wanted to close her eyes and sleep away the next five months.
“You okay? Need your meds?”
“I’m fine. Go get the generator,” she said, then realized she sounded like a shrew. “Please.”
“Be back soon.”
She listened to the sound of his footsteps, the sound of the front door clicking shut. That’s exactly what she was afraid of.
16
What are you doing?”
Shay turned from the kitchen sink where she was washing tomatoes for their dinner salad.
Frowning in the doorway, Travis removed his hat and set down a guitar case. His demanding tone of voice set her on edge.
“Not exactly the ‘Honey, I’m home’ I expected. What’s that thing?”
“I picked up guitar.”
Of course he did. She wondered if he’d sit around picking the thing when there was work to be done, the way Garrett had. Wondered if he’d someday lose everyone he loved to music and illusions of stardom.
“You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Shay adjusted her balance on her new knee walker. “He said to stay off the foot, and I’m off.”
Abigail had brought the walker over along with a Crock-Pot full of chicken. Bless the woman.
“Shay, you need your rest.”
“We may be stuck together, McCoy, but it’s my foot, and I’ll do as I please.” She resumed chopping the tomato. “Where’s Olivia?”
“Washing up. Speaking of which . . .” He held out his hands. A layer of dirt caked his knees, and his hair needed a good washing.
Olivia had only a small bathtub. The only shower in the house was in her master bath. Perfect.
If her sigh sounded put-upon, so be it. “Use mine.”
“Don’t want to be a bother.”
“Olivia has a tub, so unless you want to soak in your own filth every night, my shower it is.”
He grabbed his duffel and left the room. Moments later she heard her shower kick on. He was even now dropping his clothes onto her tile, stepping under the spray of her shower. This was not good. So not good. How was she going to get through 149 more nights like this?
It would be easier when she could get around again. At least then she wouldn’t be trapped. She could go out at night, go over to Abigail’s or Aunt Lucy’s. Join the bridge club. Play Bingo on Thursdays. She banged her head against the cabinet.
“Where’s Travis?”
Shay turned. “You mean Mr. McCoy?”
Olivia ran her fingers through her wet hair. “He said I could call him Travis.”
Fine. She supposed there was no reason for formality when they were living together like this. “Can you set the table?”
“Sure.”
Her daughter went to work. It had been ages since that table was set for three. When she’d told Olivia the night before about the accidental wedding and their plan, her daughter had surprised her. She’d expected her to be put out. Instead, the girl thought the whole thing was very romantic. Romantic!
Shay couldn’t think of a le
ss fitting word. She quickly set Olivia straight, but that hadn’t dimmed the girl’s enthusiasm. Travis had made quite an impression on her daughter, and Shay didn’t like it one bit.
What if Olivia became dependent on him? Started thinking of him as a father figure? It wasn’t healthy, that’s all there was to it. Yet what choice did she have? It was this or lose the ranch.
She was setting out the ketchup when Travis emerged, damp and musky smelling from his shower, looking too broad and masculine in their little house.
She pulled her eyes away. “Supper’s ready.”
They sat at the square pine table, Travis taking the seat Garrett used to occupy as if he somehow knew it was the head of household’s rightful place. If it bothered Olivia, Shay couldn’t tell.
“Travis can pray,” Olivia said, linking her hand with Shay’s automatically.
Travis extended his hand to her. “Glad to.”
She gave him a look—this means nothing—as she put her hand in his. His hand engulfed hers. It was warm and slightly damp from his shower. The calluses of his palm were softened from the water, and she was suddenly conscious of her own rough palms. Not the silky smooth skin he was undoubtedly used to on the women he courted.
He’s not courting you, Shay.
No, he was only married to her, for pity’s sake.
“Dear Lord in heaven,” he began, “we thank You for this day and for Your bountiful blessings. We thank You for this fine meal and for the opportunity to renew old friendships.”
Old friendships? Shay clenched her teeth.
“Please be with us now and direct our steps, that all we do will bring glory to Your name. We ask this in Your name. Amen.”
Shay pulled her hand, and Travis caught her rubbing it down her leg. Let him make of that what he liked. She wanted him under no illusions that they were picking up where they’d left off. Old friendships. Regardless of his intentions, she had a high, thick wall in place, and he wasn’t welcome on her side.
Her foot was screaming now. She’d been upright for too long and had forgotten her last dose of meds. And she still needed to address her dire financial situation with Travis. It was shaping up to be a lovely evening.
She poured ketchup on her plate and stabbed a piece of Abigail’s chicken.
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