Accidental Hero: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Sighing, I turn over the truck's keys and thank him. After Juan drives away, I search the inside of my car for a receipt showing the work done.

  Of course, there isn’t one.

  When Brent canceled my Uber last night, he’d also punched his phone number into my phone, but I’m not about to call him.

  Or text him.

  It takes willpower, but I refrain.

  By next week's art night, I’ve gotten three estimates for replacing a starter and have the average amount of cash needed for the job in my purse.

  Whenever he comes to pick up Nat, it's his. And I have my entire speech laid out. All about how he doesn't need to attend Megan’s wedding this weekend.

  I’m also a nervous wreck.

  Truly can’t believe the mess I’m in.

  Between mother and Clara and their endless phone calls and texts – nine out of ten mentioning him – I’m praying for an onslaught of the flu. Or appendicitis.

  Whatever helps prevent me from having to go anywhere this weekend.

  Not having a date when everyone thinks I do is guaranteed hell.

  The students are painting with oils tonight, the most difficult medium we’ve used. Because of that, their assignment is abstract, which leaves me too much time to once again watch the clock.

  I haven’t seen or heard from him in a week, and somewhat expected to, considering I’ve talked to people about Natalie. I've had her schedule changed slightly. For her own good.

  She needs to be around kids her age. I want to encourage it as softly as I can, but the time has come.

  That, right there, probably pissed him off, too.

  Fuck, the door!

  I keep my cool. Don’t turn around. Just keep meandering from student to student, commenting on their work. Pretending the devil himself isn't at my back.

  My peripheral vision checks to see if he’s walking toward the front of the room. So far, no.

  Small favors.

  “Five more minutes,” I say, heading for my desk.

  He’s still in the back of the room. Lingers there even after I dismiss class.

  Natalie packs up her stuff and heads for my desk, rather than her father. “Dad says we’ll pick you up right after school on Thursday.” Her smile is murder.

  I cringe inwardly. The thought of telling her no, it's too much, and I level a glare at him.

  After digging out the envelope with the car repair money, I flip the bag over my shoulder. “You should have your dad carry your sketchpad tonight. Oil paints take a long time to dry.”

  “Oh, you're right! I’m being super-duper careful, Ms. Derby,” she says proudly.

  “I can see that. Here, let me take your bag. I’ll give it to your father.”

  She hands over the bag and we both walk to the back of the room. I hand him her bag and the envelope.

  He takes both, frowning at the offering.

  I say nothing as I walk out the door. Not verbally. Silently, I tell myself I'm not lost in his scent.

  It’s a lie.

  His cologne is faint. Subtle. It goes to my head. How can a simple smell make this harder?

  Once outside, I take a deep breath, hoping another scent will override his. Of course, it doesn’t.

  “Four-thirty okay?” he asks.

  It takes me a moment to catch my bearings and know what he’s referring to.

  He shrugs. “I’d like to get to Flagstaff before dark, Blue.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not leaving until Friday morning, and really, you don’t need to...” I pinch my lips together as Nat spins around and looks up at me.

  One look. I'm gutted.

  “Already told your ma you’re riding up Thursday evening with us.”

  Once again, I cringe, lowering my voice. “Well, my hotel room's locked in for Friday and Saturday night.”

  “You don’t have a hotel room.” His eyes narrow.

  “I'm sharing one with mom,” I lie softly.

  Actually, George is sharing her room, but mother wants everyone to think they're just friends. It always amazes me how hard she tries to keep her own drama under wraps.

  “No, Blue. Your mom, plus Clara, are staying with your aunt. Janice, I think. Clara and Megan’s mom.”

  My chin drops. “How –”

  “Cleo. You’re the only one who doesn’t call or text.”

  Frustrated. Mortified.

  Enraged.

  Right now, they're the same emotion, sending a dull pain to my temples. I rub them swiftly. Now I know why mom and Clara stopped asking about him the last couple days.

  They don’t have to. They’re talking to Brent privately.

  Can it get any worse?

  Oh, yes.

  Riding two and half hours next to him sounds heavenly hellish.

  So much for backing out. Or saving face. Or pretending I haven't totally lost my mind to this smirking man-beast, who reads me so well my blood boils.

  He picks me up Thursday at four-thirty sharp, and soon we're heading north out of town. Along the way, Nat describes, in full vivid detail, the dress Brent bought her to wear to the wedding, and then the old ranch that was once his grandfather’s.

  We arrive near dusk and settle in. I’ve never been so worried in my life.

  This is crazy. I'm crazy.

  “Isn’t it awesome?” Natalie asks, standing on the front porch of an old farmhouse with both arms spread wide. “Finally here! My favorite place in the whole wide world.”

  “I can see why.” The peeling white paint gives the single-story house a rustic look. So do the old fashioned Bermuda shutters that have saved the windows from intense wear and tear by the wind and odd dust storm. Several full-grown trees have also protected it from the elements.

  It's easy to see a kid running wild around here.

  “Come on!” she says, waving a hand. “I’ll show you where you'll sleep.”

  Sleep. Very funny.

  As if I’ll ever be able to sleep in this strange little place with Brent freaking Eden one room over.

  Speaking of, he's already unlocked the door and stepped inside ahead of us. Lights flicker on in every window.

  “I'm ready for the grand tour. Lead the way,” I tell Nat.

  The inside isn’t as rustic as the exterior. The old oak floors creak, but every room seems neat and clean. The kitchen hangs off the back of the living room A good-sized bathroom and two bedrooms round out the other side of the place. One with bunk beds, and another with a double bed.

  “You can sleep in this one!” Natalie says as we enter the room with the double bed. She grabs my hand. “That's not the best part, though. Let me show you my favorite.”

  I follow her back through the living room and around the kitchen. She takes me out the backdoor and onto a screened-in porch.

  She points towards a play kitchen set. “I’ve always loved it here. Let’s open the windows and it’ll cool right off.”

  Together, we open all the windows. By the time we walk back into the kitchen, Brent is busy unloading a cooler, putting the contents in an old, but sturdy refrigerator.

  His grin makes my stomach flutter. “Taking it in?”

  “Yes,” I answer, bending down to hand him the last couple items from the cooler. “Nat showed me her favorite place.”

  “The old porch.” Nodding, he takes a bottle of mayo and package of lunch meat from me. “It was mine, too, when I was a boy.”

  Our hands touch. Our eyes meet. I've been here no more than ten or twenty minutes, and I already feel beguiled by some sorcery.

  A tingle zips up my arm. Air lingers somewhere in my chest. Not quite caught, but not flowing freely, either. My whole body feels the same way.

  Snagged.

  Trapped in emerald green.

  Searching for a way to break the spell, I ask, “What about now? I see why you like this place.”

  “He and Uncle Davey used to dream about moving out here and having all kinds of animals like their grandpa did,” Na
t cuts in, digging into a grocery bag on the table. “But then Dad went in the army and Uncle Davey died.”

  It's the strangest thing. Almost like watching a shield, a barrier, slide across his eyes, taking the shimmer with it, the second those words are out of her mouth.

  He takes a couple last cans from me and puts them in the fridge. He never answers my question.

  “Yippie! The stuff for s'mores!” Natalie’s squeal echoes off the walls. “Can we make some tonight, Daddy?”

  “Yeah, sweets. Hold up a few. Let me get a fire going first.” He closes the cooler's lid. “Which can’t happen till we get everything put away and organized.”

  “We’ll help,” Natalie chirps. “Won’t we, Ms. Derby?”

  The formality seems completely out of place here. “Of course,” I say, “And while we're here, you can call me Izzy.”

  “Izzy?”

  “My nickname. What everyone in my family calls me.”

  “I have lots of nicknames, too! All from Daddy. Nat. Baby girl. Sweets. Kiddo.”

  I glance at him. He nods once.

  There's something so flipping handsome about a man who treats his daughter like a princess and tries to hide it.

  Still, a weird dread I can't quite put my finger on wells inside me at this entire pretense.

  Handsome or not, he's not my boyfriend. Never my fiancé.

  It’s not just duping my family, it's deceiving myself.

  I don’t want a pretend relationship. I don't want anything.

  Because with him, even one more kiss might leave a smoking ruin.

  Half an hour later, everything's put away and we're outside under a canopy of stars, roasting marshmallows over a fire crackling in a big ring of red stones.

  “Dad says s'mores are too sweet.” Natalie licks the remnants of her fourth s'more off her fingers. “Can you believe that?”

  “No.” I only had a single big one, but enjoyed it immensely. “No such thing as too sweet in my book.”

  “Right?!” Natalie says. “That’s what I say, too.”

  We sit back in old metal chairs. Mine creaks as I lean closer to her. “I think that’s just a guy thing. Being too hung up on sweet.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, a crooked smile crossing her face.

  Across from us, Brent sits quietly, listening to our chatter. The flames cast shadows across his face, making his eyes brighter. “You two are ganging up on me,” he growls jokingly.

  Before either of us can respond, a loud meow rings out.

  “Shadow?” Natalie freezes for a second, then jumps from her chair. “Dad, it’s Shadow!”

  She shoots around behind me. “Here kitty, kitty!”

  I do a slow turn. We're in the middle of nowhere. I haven't seen another house in the last ten miles. I turn to Brent. “You leave a cat up here? Alone?”

  He takes a drink off his metal cup. “You really like thinking the worst of me, don’t you, Blue?” Setting down his cup, he nods towards Nat, who sits on the gravel driveway petting a cat. “Shadow belongs to the neighbors down the road. Always prowls around at night. Usually takes him a day to figure out we're here.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean –” I cut it there, changing the subject. “How often do you come up, anyway?”

  “Try to make it once every month or two. Been more like three or four lately. Too busy. Nat loves this place, though.” His eyes are on his daughter. The adoration in his eyes is breathtaking.

  That was the first thing I’d noticed about him and it's still the same as the first day he walked into my class. How much he cares.

  “Daddy, I’m taking Shadow inside to feed him!” Natalie arrives with a huge gray cat in her arms. “Want to pet him first, Izzy? He's so sweet.”

  I run a hand along his back, recognizing the thick, short blue-gray hair and golden eyes. “Wow, a Chartreux. Kind of a rare breed.” I smile softly, memories flooding back.

  “The neighbors breed them. Good mousers,” Brent says.

  “I know. My mother had one years ago.”

  “Really? What happened?” Natalie asks.

  As gently as possible, I say, “Life. She just got old and died.”

  “That’s sad.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head while the animal paws at her face. “I’m going to feed him now.”

  Nuzzling him the whole way, she walks into the house. “Daddy bought treats just for you, Shadow. You're gonna be a happy, happy boy.”

  I smile. One more confirmation Brent’s badass persona is just that.

  A façade he tries to hide behind. Only a kind soul buys treats for an animal that isn’t even his.

  It also returns the same question that's been nagging me for weeks.

  Why does he try to hide? Pretend he's something he isn't?

  Why do I keep going along with the sham?

  He’s looking at me as I pull my gaze off the house as the door closes behind Natalie. “Tell me something, Brent. Why are you doing this?”

  He stretches over the side of his chair, grabs a log, and throws it on the fire. “What?”

  A thousand tiny, bright sparks fly into the air, falling back into the pit as the flames spread upward, consuming the new log.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “Buy treats for a cat that’s not yours. Pretend to be my boyfriend. Let my mother and cousin text and call you. Act like it doesn't annoy you.” That last part should win him an acting award.

  He glances at the house. “For her.”

  Heavy.

  I nod. “Okay, the cat treats, I get. But not the rest.”

  His gaze goes to the fire and he keeps it there. “Nat likes you. Simple.”

  Not quite. I’m not buying it. “I’m sure she likes all her teachers, but I bet you didn't kiss them and go to their cousin's weddings.”

  Shrugging, he takes another drink. “Felt sorry for you after Preston, Izzy. That's the long and short of it.”

  Way to strike a nerve. Sympathy? Please.

  I might be thankful he helped me out of a jam, but it doesn't explain anything. “Preston hasn’t contacted me since.” I stand. “And I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

  He grabs my wrist, before I can stomp away. “Wait. I started the whole thing by telling Preston we’re dating. Guess I feel obligated –”

  Obligated? Jesus.

  He's too good at torpedoing my heart in one word.

  I rip my arm away. “Wow. Sorry I asked. I don’t want anyone feeling obligated. Ever.”

  He doesn't chase after as I storm off toward the house. None of this should be my fault, yet the burden is there, pressing me down. Leaving me so fucking confused. I feel like I’m caught in a maze that doesn’t have an exit, or a map, or an end.

  “Isn’t he pretty?” Natalie asks as I walk into the kitchen.

  She’s sitting on the floor petting the cat as he wolfs down treats.

  I kneel. “Yes, he is.”

  “I wish I could live here all the time. Shadow could practically be my cat.”

  “Maybe you'll get a cat like him? Keep him at your house in Phoenix.”

  She shakes her head, a frown appearing. “Dad’s allergic at home.”

  “At home?”

  “Yeah. Shadow doesn’t bother him here because there’s enough fresh air.”

  That makes about as much sense as everything else that’s been happening. I suppress the urge to let out a snort. “Does Shadow come visit every day while you’re here?”

  “He never goes home. He'll hang around every day until we leave.” She scoops the cat who's finally had his fill into her arms. “He even sleeps with me.”

  Happiness shines on her face. “Every night. It's comforting.”

  No lie. Within fifteen minutes, she and Shadow are snuggled up in bed, both fast asleep by the time I shut off the light. I enter the other bedroom and stare at the double bed, trying not to wish things were different.

  Until the idea of him sleeping in the short and narrow bed a
bove Natalie hits.

  I have to apologize for getting pissed so easy.

  He’s still by the fire, and glances over his shoulder as I walk down the steps.

  I sit down in the metal chair beside him. “She's asleep.”

  “With Shadow?”

  “Yep.” I pick up a small stick and throw it in the fire. “I’ll sleep in that room with her. You can have the guest room.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s your house, Brent. You should have the bigger bed.”

  He leans back in his chair. “No.”

  “I have to.” I level a knowing look his way while saying, “Heard you’re allergic to cats.”

  He wipes a hand over his lips but can’t fully hide his smile.

  I grin, letting him know the truth is out.

  “Blue, you tell my daughter that and I’ll –”

  I laugh. “You’ll end up with a cat, is what you'll do. Here and in Phoenix.”

  “I might at that.” He takes a swig of his drink and hands it to me. “Cheers.”

  It’s a peace offering, I realize, so I take it.

  There’s a challenge, a quiet smirk in his eyes, as I lift the cup to my lips, without even asking what's in it.

  Big mistake. The whiskey straight up burns my throat. It's like napalm going down.

  I barely have a chance to swallow before a coughing fit explodes in my lungs.

  My eyes are watering by the time it’s over and I catch my breath.

  Laughter lines his voice. “Shit, are you all right? Didn't mean –”

  I nod. Furiously. “I...I'm more of a tequila girl, I guess. My dad liked bourbon.”

  He flips open the lid of the small cooler beside his chair and yanks out a can. I catch it as he tosses it my way, needing something to cool the fire in my throat. Twisting the can to see the label, I ask, “What’s this?”

  “Margarita in a can.”

  My lips twist. I blink, surprised. “You drink canned margarita?”

  “Wrong. Had a feeling you would.”

  My face heats. Oh, God. Every look he gives me might be divine. Or divine punishment.

  “Never tried it, but hey, there's a first time for everything.” I pop the tab and take a drink. Strawberry. Surprised, I take a second taste, confirming it’s good. “Pretty decent! Thanks.”