by Snow, Nicole
“Were there any pictures of those men on the cameras?”
“A few. I sent them to Shelia. There’s a good shot of the license plate. It’s from South Dakota.” While putting the cheese and tortillas back in the fridge, I ask, “You need ice for that leg?”
“No. You’ve already done enough.”
Nodding, I head out of the kitchen, wondering which way she means those words.
No denying it, I’ve done plenty where Bella Reed’s concerned.
In less than forty hours, I’ve been her bodyguard, her medic, her shoulder to cry on, her chef, her 'helper,' and the goddamn husband she never wanted.
How’s that for introductions?
I’m getting a second wind, eager to get this shit over with so there’s no bad blood. It’s time she knew more. The red folder is still on Jonah’s desk. I grab it from his office and carry it back to the kitchen.
She looks up the second I step into the room, and her eyes narrow when she sees what I’m holding.
“Drake–”
“Hold up and listen. Please.”
With a heavy sigh, she crosses her arms, cautious eyes becoming a what-the-hell-ever glare.
“First off, Jonah’s been planning this for a couple years. It wasn’t some harebrained scheme he cooked up at the last second. And no, he didn’t go senile, either.” I hand her the folder. “It wasn’t till his first heart attack that he knew his time was running out. Then he started implementing it.”
She looks down, cracks the folder open, and shakes her head. “I still don’t get it. Why do this? Why something so extreme?”
“Because he knew the moment he died, the vultures would come.” I try to say it in a way that doesn’t scare her, but damn if my voice doesn’t have an edge to it.
“My parents?” She looks up, blinking at me.
I fucking wish.
I turn the chair around and straddle it backward before I sit to face her. Still need a barrier after my thighs were singed the last time we got this close, having her leg draped across mine. “Honestly, Bella, your folks are only half the problem. Jonah knew there’d be others.”
“Like what? That Jupiter place?” She sounds so innocent.
Christ. I fight the urge to rub at my face. Whoever said ignorance is bliss wasn’t lying, and maybe I’m not ready to tell her every single dirty detail tonight after all.
Slowly, she sets the folder on the table and flips it open. “I guess I see the point, be on guard or whatever, but...marriage? Really? How’s that supposed to protect me from anything?”
I know what she’s staring at. The prenup, clipped to the will, just like when Sheridan gave me the papers.
I reach over the back of the chair, lift it out, unclip the pages, and hand her the prenup. “It’s temporary. Six months. Maybe sooner, if we’re lucky. Once we’ve got all this settled, then we’ll get a divorce. It’s right there in the prenup. A no-contest divorce. Easy. That’ll leave me with no more than what I brought into this and acquired up till the day Jonah died.”
She’s listening. Thank God for small favors.
“Look, darlin’, you’re a pretty lady, but believe me – I’ve got no intention of hanging around married to you or ferreting away anything that isn’t rightfully mine. I want the pay and the severance Jonah promised, and not a penny more. I wish you’d trust that.”
Bella doesn’t say anything, just quickly reads through it and nods as every line states exactly what I told her. “Hmm, well, maybe you’re telling me the truth. Maybe. But then, what about the will?”
“Wills. Plural.” I reach in and separate two stapled wills. “Yours and mine. If you die, everything goes to me and Sheriff Wallace, the rightful caretakers of Jonah’s foundation in that scenario. If we both die, it all goes to the town of Dallas, North Dakota, and Wallace alone gets to oversee the distribution. He’s a good man, and I know he’ll do right by this town.”
She frowns. “What if you die, and I don’t?”
“We’ll be divorced by then, so it’ll go to whoever you direct it to, other than your parents. I don’t plan on keeling over in the next six months.”
“Divorced,” she repeats dryly, grabbing at my will and scanning it over. “And if we aren’t yet divorced? If things aren’t settled and by some freak accident you just...you know?”
I can tell the moment she reads the answer to her question.
“Oh. Then it goes to the town, the Reed Foundation, with Sheriff Wallace overseeing it. Just like you said.” She sniffs, putting the paper down. “Jesus. Gramps really thought of everything, didn’t he?”
“Bingo.” I nod. “Jonah didn’t want any loose ends.”
She huffs out a breath. “Loose ends? You mean he didn’t want my parents to get anything? I knew there was no love lost, but this...” She sets down the will, running a hand through one side of her hair. “I never imagined he hated them quite this much.”
“He didn’t hate them. Not totally, I mean. But he knew damn well where their greatest love was, and still is. If there was any loophole where they could walk away with a good chunk of his fortune, he knew you and Dallas would be left out in the cold.” I don’t want to hurt her, but she needs the truth. “Their shallow love of money scared him. Jonah worried their desire to upgrade, to live it up like ultra-rich people instead of just pretty well-off ones, would be stronger than their love for you. And he told me they’d do anything, however nasty, to keep the cash flowing.”
The color drains from her face. “Wait. He thought they’d kill me?”
I don’t know if Jonah truly thought that or not.
“He never said that. Don’t think he thought it’d go that far, and neither did I.” I don’t have the heart to mention others perfectly willing to kill for that fortune. Not the hell tonight.
Not while she’s looking at me with her big green eyes gone bright and wide and receptive. She trusts me, at least to a point, and I can’t flush that away, scaring her half out of her wits.
So I lay a hand on the wills and lean in, catching her eyes with mine. “But if Jonah hadn’t put all this in place, and you did die, your parents would be your rightful heirs. Everything you’d inherited from him would go straight to them. That’s what Jonah couldn’t stand. And that’s why he had to give you cover by getting us hitched.”
“Damn. They really could sell everything, too, if they wanted...” The fingers she presses against her lips are trembling.
The urge just hits me then.
Laying a hand on her bare knee, her good one, I squeeze very gingerly. Ignoring how my palm blazes with the simplest touch, I say, “You, your safety, was always Jonah’s biggest concern. Whatever the hell you want to believe, or don’t from me tonight, I hope you’ll trust that. He loved you, Bella. Loved you hard like some people never, ever do.”
She shakes her head, fighting the mist in her eyes. “Then why give it to me at all? Gramps had to know I wouldn’t want this burden. Why not just give it all to the town and a little piece for me and be done?”
I’d asked Jonah the exact same thing, and use the answer he gave me, “He said...a man doesn’t get wealth for himself. He gets it to share with others. His community, his home, and his family.”
The gentle smile on her face tells me it’s not the first time she’s heard something like it.
“Your grandpa wanted you to have what he’d gotten in life, and he wanted you to be able to decide what you want and don’t. You, woman, not others. His will says that six months from now, you can do whatever you want with North Earhart Oil and the ranch. Right now, we’re just playing scarecrow...or whatever the hell runs off vultures. You get the point.”
She giggles at my babbling and then lets out a sigh, glancing at the papers on the table. “And without this, without this elaborate insanity, Gramps knew my parents would snatch it away from me before I could decide.” She bows her head. “Or that I’d give into them. Give them what they wanted, whether it’s what I want or not.”
I nod, glad she’s coming around, slowly but surely. “This proxy marriage is just a shield. Same as me, only here legally so you have time to figure out what you want.”
I’m here for her physically and mentally, too. I told Jonah a hundred times I’d stop anything in her path, whether gunshots from Jupiter or emotional ambushes from Gary and Molly.
Shaking her head, she grins slightly. “Now I see why others always called him sly. I never saw him much that way, he was just Gramps growing up. It’s fitting.”
“He could’ve been called worse.”
“Trust me, he was. Especially by Mom.”
Believing that, I give her knee a pat and then stand up. “Gotta check those enchiladas. I hope you’re hungry.”
“They smell delicious. My appetite’s coming back.”
I hadn’t noticed. All I could smell was her shampoo, her clothes, her.
I’m not a damn monk. I haven’t been entirely celibate the past few years, but a woman hasn’t stirred need this hard in a long fucking time.
After a quick glimpse in the oven, I say, “Almost done. I’ll grab us some plates.”
“I’ll help!”
She has her hands on the seat of her chair to push herself upright, and the thin material of her shirt leaves no doubt those ample tits are confined by a bra. Barely.
My cock strains, pulling at my belt. Thank fuck I’m turned around where she can’t see, busy serving up our supper.
“No, darlin’, stay seated. You don’t want to move around too much yet. Let those strips adhere.”
She looks at her knee and then moves her hands off the chair. “Well, maybe you’re right.”
I let the breath out of my lungs. “I am. We used a higher-grade version of these in the Army and the docs always raised pure hell if people didn’t go easy on them the first twenty-four hours. Come tomorrow, you’ll be able to move around more freely.”
And I’ll need a cold damn shower.
9
The Thing About Shields (Bella)
I rub Edison’s furry black neck as he bites off a chunk of the candy cane in my other hand and chews it.
“It’s good to see neither of us are worse for the wear.” Glancing over my shoulder to make sure Drake isn’t in hearing distance, I whisper, “If you think that candy cane tastes good, you should’ve tasted the enchiladas I had last night. Oh my God, amazing. Full of shredded beef and cheese, and the sauce was just perfect.” After another glance, I lean in closer. “The scrambled eggs this morning were hella good, too.”
Edison flashes his teeth before he takes another bite off the candy cane. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was smiling.
I laugh anyway. “You’re such a character. Never change, bud.”
The happiness he instills in me fades slightly.
I love him, but I still can’t fathom why those men tried to steal him. Something doesn’t add up.
Even though Drake filled me in on the proxy marriage and the will, and why Gramps did it all, I still don’t know what to do. My parents won’t give up easily.
Six months won’t make any difference. They’ve waited years for Gramps to die.
Drake walks out of the tack room. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, just like yesterday. His brawn and size makes him a good shield, but that also concerns me.
Being married to a man like him.
How do I ever explain this away to some future boyfriend? Do I just pretend it never happened?
And if anybody saw pictures, somehow, someway...I’d be screwed.
Drake, with his smirky, ink-scrawled mountain of a body sets the bar brutally high for every other man I’ll ever encounter on freer terms.
“I thought Jonah had me buy those candy canes for you,” he says. “Not Edison.”
“I’ve never liked candy canes much, but I didn’t want to hurt Grandpa’s feelings, so for awhile, I pretended I did. Every winter when I showed up for Christmas break, he’d have boxes of them for me. So I hid them out here, in the barn, just to make him think I was eating them down. Then one day, Edison here found my stash. He gobbled them up, wrappers and all. Problem solved.”
“He’s a weird horse. Wouldn’t take one bite from me last night. I left it in his trough.”
I pat Edison’s nose. “He ate it after you left. The trough’s empty.”
My phone pings with a text. Alexa, no doubt. She’d sent a text earlier asking if her boyfriend can move in for a couple of months while I’m away.
Considering they hadn’t been that serious, I’d sent a text asking if she wants me to say yes or no.
I pull the phone out of my back pocket and cringe.
Damn, it’s not Alexa at all.
I don’t really want to, but I click on the icon to open the message from Dad.
“Something wrong?” Drake asks, sensing the sudden quiet.
I turn my phone around for him to see the message stating my parents want me to meet them at the sheriff’s office. Immediately.
He reads it and looks at me.
I shake my head. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Look at me like it’s my decision.”
“Because it is,” he says, sinking down on one knee. “You’re in charge, Bella. You don’t feel like going, don’t bother.”
“In charge?” I shove the phone back in my pocket. “I don’t feel like I’m in charge of my own two shoes.”
“Then change it.”
I give Edison one last pat and walk toward the door. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”
“I’m dead serious. Look at me, darlin’.”
He takes my arm, a hold so firm it commands attention.
I stop and look up at him. Over six feet of muscle and so handsome, it’s almost intimidating.
Great reminder.
Nope, I’m not in charge of anything. Not even my own body. It grows jittery and hot and too dang tight just looking at him. I stare so long it’s hard to peel my eyes off him.
“The only way people ever have any power over you is if you let them.” He nods at Edison. “Take him, for instance. I can’t make him obey worth shit. Jonah, only half the time. But you, Bella, tell him to go to the barn, and he goes. It’s because he lets you have power. Because he loves you, respects you, and he wants to make you happy so you’ll love him in return.”
Wow. Sage advice, and not the kind I ever expected from Drake Larkin.
Something fierce grips my spine. What he just said describes more than me and Edison, it fits me and my parents to a toxic T.
Except I’m the one in Edison’s shoes with them, aren’t I?
Letting them squat on me because I want them to love me. All I’ve ever wanted since I was a child. Deep down, I’ve always known that but never admitted it. Or had it pointed out so neatly without the usual Freudian crap.
I nod, swallowing the lump welling in my throat, then say, “Fine, my choice. Let’s go to the sheriff’s office.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“Yeah. We need to find out what happened.”
Drake’s hand comes out and rests gently on the small of my back, guiding me forward. By the time I’m pulling open his truck’s passenger door, I realize his hand isn’t even there anymore, but it’s the ghostly imprint that keeps me going.
It’s my own inertia, and knowing he has my back, that’s moving us forward.
Way to underscore a point.
While he drives, I use the time it takes us to get to town to make a plan. Which isn’t really much of a plan, other than vowing I’ll be standing my ground, whatever happens next.
A shield is only as good as the person holding it. That’s the thing about them.
My eyes shift over to Drake. Gramps willed me a pretty good shield, no question. It’s up to me to use it properly.
“How’s the leg today?” Drake asks, not long before we’re into town.
“Better. At least I’m not hobbling around
like I’m eighty.” I pull down the sun visor and flip up the little flap that covers the mirror.
Now for the bad news: the bruise on my cheek is growing.
Mom will notice it for sure. I should’ve put some makeup on.
“You look fine,” he says. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to kick some ass.”
I flip the visor back up, smiling because it’s way too generous.
He turns the corner then, and I see a familiar BMW with rental plates in the small parking lot next to the sheriff’s office, which sits off to the side of the courthouse. It’s an old, brick building that’s been there since the first drop of oil was sprung way back in the thirties.
The town was named after Dallas, Texas, in hopes that the oil reserves would prove just as plentiful in the north as it had in the south.
It didn’t quite pan out that way for the first seventy years. But the founders of the town weren’t deterred.
They’d turned to cattle, wheat, whatever they could in order for Dallas, North Dakota, to keep from becoming nothing but a mysterious ghost town on the map. A forgotten speck of history.
The town didn’t become a popping metropolis, but it didn’t disappear either.
Then years and years later, when Gramps took over, North Earhart Oil brought the small town the success it always sought. The American Dream fulfilled.
North Earhart was here from the beginning, providing jobs, but it never thrived, never flourished, never seemed more real than the nonexistent South Earhart until Gramps.
When the oil field boom hit North Dakota, North Earhart was smack dab in the center, and already light years ahead of the other companies that came flooding in.
The boom has fizzled in more recent years, taking plenty of casualties.
All except for North Earhart, still thriving. Roger Jones showed me just how much yesterday.
The town’s been thriving, too, no thanks to Gramps’ generous cash flow.
No, there’s no doubt why I’m here. It’s up to me to keep this going. To be the hero Dallas needs.
Until now, it never really hit me, the position I’m in.