Fortune's Cinderella

by Templeton, Karen

  Gumbo leapt out and waggled over to her mother, who jumped up with her hands in the air, screeching. “Call your dog, Christina—oh, for heaven’s sake, get down!”

  “I can handle my mother, Scott. And besides…”

  “You want me to leave.”

  Once again, their eyes met. And, oh, dear God in heaven, did she want to believe what she saw in them. But how could she when she doubted he truly believed it, either? “I need you to leave. Red Rock, if at all possible.”

  For the first time, she saw something like doubt flicker in his eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Does it matter? Scott,” she said quickly when he looked away, “I’m not deliberately trying to piss you off. I’m more grateful than I can say for everything you’ve done for me, but I have to be realistic. Why can’t you understand that?”

  Several strained seconds passed before Scott walked around to the driver’s side, got in and drove off. If the universe had a shred of decency, that would be the last time she saw him.

  Never mind that the thought of never experiencing another kiss like that made facing her mother sound delightful in comparison.

  Speaking of whom…

  “I wondered where you’d gotten off to,” Sandra said, patting down her thighs where Gumbo had left dusty footprints.

  At her door, Christina dug her keys out of her jeans’ pocket. “Sorry. Were you waiting long?”

  “Almost a half hour.”

  The door opened, Christina let her mother inside first, then stomped in after her and shut the door, immediately feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “You should’ve called. If I’d known you were coming I would’ve made sure I was here.”

  “It wasn’t planned. I had to go into San Antonio and thought I may as well drop in, since it was on the way. Especially since I had to use the toilet and you now how I hate public restrooms.” Of course. And with that, Sandra vanished into Christina’s bathroom, emerging a scant two minutes later, glancing around the apartment without really looking at Christina. “So I guess you’re getting on okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks for asking.”

  Her mother’s lips pursed. “That the same young man who was at the hospital? The Fortune fella?”

  “Scott. Yes. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Sweet tea, if you have it. And I cannot believe you’re going down this path again.”

  Ditching the crutches long enough to pull the tea pitcher out of the fridge, Christina felt her jaw clench. “I’m not going down any path, Mama. Scott’s been very kind to me, is all.” She poured her mother her tea, setting the tumbler on the tiny dining table.

  “Kind enough to buy you that car?”

  “Yes, if you must know.”

  “Oh, Christina…”

  “It wasn’t like I asked him. In fact, I told him not to. He insisted.”

  “Because he’s trying to get into your pants, no doubt.”

  “No, because he’s a kind, decent, generous man,” she said, turning so her mother wouldn’t see her blush. Not that she thought for a minute Scott’s motives were solely…that. But she’d be a fool to believe the subject hadn’t been hovering between them, especially after that kiss. What would frost her mother, though, was how little Christina would mind the prospect. Even knowing it would be—or would have been—strictly one of those for-the-moment things.

  “And I can’t believe you didn’t learn your lesson the first time—”

  “Mama! Stop. Now.”

  “I’m only saying—”

  “I learned, okay?” Christina said, refusing to listen to her stinging eyes. Because while Enid’s lectures stemmed, she knew, from genuine concern, her mother’s hailed from that bottomless pit of self-interest that had motivated her every comment, her every action, for as long as Christina could remember. “Oh, boy, did I learn. So nothing’s happening between Scott and me. And it’s not going to. And you know, you’ve got some nerve coming here and butting into my personal life when you couldn’t even be bothered to drive me home when I got out of the hospital.”

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Sandra said, pushing herself up from the table. “After everything I’ve done for you, raising you all alone—”

  “Done for me? Are you serious? Here’s a newsflash, Mama—you don’t get to be a mother only when it’s convenient. Or when it suits your purpose.” On a roll now, Christina pointed to the door. “That man, who you’re so all-fired convinced is only after one thing? He’s paid more attention to me in the last two weeks than you have in the past five years. Frankly, if he did want to get in my pants? I’d let him, gladly. Because he’s earned it, dammit!”

  Her mother looked like her hair was going to catch fire. Which would only be an improvement. “You don’t mean that.”

  Christina blew out a long, rough sigh. “Fine, even if he were sticking around, I’m not going to jump the man’s bones. But everything else? Every single word.”

  “He’s not staying?”

  So much for making her point. “Of course not. His work, his whole life, is in Atlanta. So, see? The whole thing’s moot.”

  Her mother looked at her for a long, hard moment. “I never realized how much you hated me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Mama,” Christina said, wearily. “But I don’t understand you. Why you are the way you are. Why you’ve always treated me like I was an afterthought. That makes me sad, and more than a little angry, but it is what it is.”

  After another long look, her mother traipsed to the door and let herself out. Exhausted, Christina collapsed into the sofa, Gumbo immediately hopping up to smush up against her side and lay his head on her knee.

  “Guess it’s just you and me, boy,” she said. “Like always.”

  Then, much to her disgust, she burst into tears.

  On hearing Wendy’s laugh from the living room when Scott walked into the house, Scott hesitated, not wanting to interrupt a private conversation. Until he realized she was talking to his youngest brother. He found her stretched out on the black leather couch with her phone pressed to her ear while playing remote roulette with her other hand.

  “I’m fine, I promise…and speak of the devil.” Angling the phone, she said, “Blake’s asking if you know when you’re coming home yet.”

  Sighing, Scott reached for the phone, carrying it into the kitchen so Wendy could watch her fashion-makeover show in peace, wiggling her bare, unpainted toes as she nibbled on a bowl of trail mix.

  Scott slid onto a barstool at the counter dividing the kitchen from the small dining room, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. You told Dad a week. It’s been two. And from everything Wendy said, it sounds as though things are under control as far as Javier’s concerned. As much as they can be, at least. You do remember you have a job here, right?”

  Letting his hand drop to the laminate surface, Scott stared across the serviceable but woefully outdated room, listening to the benign hum of the white refrigerator. A job. Funny to think that he’d poured ten years’ worth of time and energy into something that, when all was said and done, was just that: a job. Not a career or a calling, but…a job, his shares of the business as a family member notwithstanding.

  No time like the present, he supposed, to come clean.

  “I’m not coming back, Blake.”

  Stunned silence vibrated in his ear, followed by, “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life. Mike can continue to handle whatever’s on my desk—since most of it came from him, anyway—or it can be divvied up among the others. That guy who filled in for me last year when I was in Europe? He’s ripe for promotion, anyway, hand some of it to him—”

 
“Whoa, dude—what have you been smoking? You can’t simply…walk away.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Holy crap. Does Dad know?”

  “Not yet. And not a word. I’ll deal with him soon enough.”

  Blake snorted. “Not to worry. You can drop that little bombshell yourself. But…why?”

  “Because when I was lying underneath half an airport’s worth of rubble, it occurred to me life’s too damn short to spend it doing something simply because it’s what’s expected of you. That I’ve worked my ass off for ten years pursuing somebody else’s dream. Not going to do that anymore.”

  “I don’t understand. You’ve always been so gung-ho about the business, working harder than any of us, except maybe Mike. Are you saying it was all a lie?”

  “No,” Scott said on a breath. “I wasn’t faking it. Then again, I was also too busy to realize there were other options. Options that might actually make me smile when I get up in the morning.”

  Blake released a nervous laugh. “This is crazy, Scott.”

  “No guts, no glory.” Or peace, he silently added.

  “So…what’s the plan?”

  “You know me, never talk about a work in progress until it’s a done deal.”

  “Ah. This…wouldn’t have anything to do with that girl, would it? Christine?”

  “Christina,” Scott said softly. “And since I can only imagine what Wendy’s already told you, there’s not much point in denying it.”

  Blake let out a long, low whistle. “Ho-lee crap, Scott. You’re in love?”

  Scott abandoned the stool to pace in front of the dining table, one hand clamped around the back of his neck. There was that question again, demanding he quit sidestepping the issue and answer it, already, once and for all. Still, remnants of the old Scott, the cautious Scott, the man whose life had been predicated on obligation and a hyper work ethic that left little room for sentiment, kept him from giving his brother a straight answer.

  He lowered his hand to hook it on his hip. “All I know is, I want Christina in my life in a way I’ve never even imagined wanting any woman before. And that if I let this opportunity slip through my fingers before I’ve explored every angle on how I could make it work, I’ll regret it for the rest of my days. And I can’t exactly explore those options in Atlanta.” After several more beats passed, Scott asked, “You still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here. And you know what? You’re right, we only get one shot at this. So if this is what you want, go for it. But, for all our sakes, don’t wait much longer to tell the others.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He disconnected the call, then turned to find Wendy standing in her kitchen doorway, her eyebrows about to fly off her head.

  “You’re staying?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “For good?”

  “Sure hope so.”

  His baby sister gawked at him for several seconds, then, on a squeal of delight, waddled over to give him a huge hug.

  After a rotten night’s sleep, constantly interrupted by disturbing dreams involving Scott and her mother and being all tangled up in tornado debris that turned into a giant cobweb she couldn’t break out of because her feet were encased in cement, Christina awoke with a start, scaring poor Gumbo half to death.

  Then she remembered she had a checkup with the orthopedist that day and whimpered. Because how, exactly, was she supposed to pull that one off?

  However, being an intrepid soul, she decided that since her broken foot actually felt more or less okay, and she drove with her other one, and here was this perfectly good car sitting right outside her front door, she’d drive her own dang self into San Antonio. What was the worst that could happen? The doctor would yell at her?

  Except when, an hour later, Scott landed on her doorstep, she realized, no, this was the worst that could happen.

  “Hey, boy,” he said, squatting to roughhouse with the ecstatic dog, and Christina didn’t know whether to scream or cry or laugh or what. “I didn’t…I thought…after yesterday…” She stopped, grabbed a breath. And hopefully a coherent sentence. “Why are you here?”

  “You have a doctor’s appointment today, right?”

  “Um, yeah. But I was going to drive myself there.”

  Scott looked up at her as if she’d said she’d just had breakfast with Elvis. “I don’t think so.” Then he rose, and before she could blink took her face in his hands and kissed her. Sweetly. Gently. But still like a man used to going after what he wanted. And getting it. And once again her spirit did that roller-coaster thing, soaring to what felt like the top of the world, only to drop right back down, leaving her dizzy and slightly woozy and unable to get her bearings.

  “You don’t play fair,” she whispered, dropping her head to his chest.

  “I never do.” Then he tucked his fingers under her chin, lifting her face so their eyes met, and whispered, “Trust me.”

  Her eyes flooded. “Why would you even say that?”

  “Because you need to know you can. Now let’s get moving or you’re going to be late.”

  Yeah, didn’t take a brainiac to interpret that dream, did it?

  “How was your visit with your mother?” Scott asked once they were on the road.

  He would bring that up. “Short. And not exactly sweet.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So’m I.” Then, because she was feeling ambushed and off balance and still light-headed from the kiss, she said, “She’s convinced you’re only interested in me for sex.”

  She could practically feel him flinch, followed by a short, startled laugh. “Excuse me?” When Christina shrugged, he tossed a frown her way. “Don’t tell me you agree with her?”

  “I don’t know,” she lied. “Are you?”

  “No! Not to put too fine a point on it, but if that’s what I was after, I would have hardly chosen a woman nursing a broken foot, now would I?”

  “So…you don’t have the hots for me?”

  He got very quiet. “In case you missed it, I didn’t exactly kiss you yesterday like I would have kissed my grandmother. But the implication that I—” He stopped, his jaw so tight she could’ve sharpened a knife on it. “I care about you. A great deal. But I know you’re skittish, for reasons known only to you—”

  “And what difference does it make, what those reasons are? Eventually, you’ll go back home, and I’ll fade into a vague memory—”

  “Except I’m not.”

  “Not, what?”

  “Going back.”

  Now it was her turn. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” His eyes glanced off hers before he returned them to the road. “I’ve been scouting out ranch properties with a Realtor the past couple of days. And I think I’ve found the perfect place, right next to your field where the old barn was—”

  “Wait, wait, wait…you’re buying a ranch?”

  “Yep.”

  “Here. In Red Rock.”

  “Since that’s where you are, it seemed like a logical choice.”

  Silence stretched between them like the interminable country highway before Scott blew out a breath.

  “And did that sound like stalker-speak as much to you as it did to me?” he asked.

  “From anybody else it sure would.”

  He coughed into his hand, then said, “I meant what I said, about not giving up easily. Call me stubborn, or an idiot, but…I’d still like to see where this goes. Between us, I mean. And I can’t do that from four states away. Besides, I always wanted to raise horses—remember my telling you how much I loved to ride when I was a kid?—but once I started working for my father I shoved that dream aside, thinking maybe after I retired…”


  And on he went, like the world wasn’t imploding around them. Or maybe his world wasn’t, maybe his world really was finally landing right side up. Well, whoop-de-do for him—hers sure as heck wasn’t. Her world had gone kaplooey, like a hot dog cooked too long in the microwave.

  Because how could she deny that, given her druthers, part of her wanted to see where this was going, too. Even if that part—which would be that tiny remnant still clinging to the fantasy—was at odds with the much larger part that knew exactly where this was going: nowhere. That no matter how many detours they took along the way, or how pleasant those detours might be, they’d still end up at the same place, wouldn’t they?

  Christina turned her face to the passenger-side window so he wouldn’t see how hard she was fighting tears. Damn the man—her only safety net had been that he’d go home someday. But if he was staying…

  Kaplooey.

  “Does knowing how well your foot’s healing make it feel better?”

  Hanging on to Christina’s crutches in case she needed them at some point, Scott leaned against the far wall of the hospital elevator, giving her the space she so obviously needed. Talk about feeling like a first-class dolt—she’d barely looked at or talked to him since his announcement. And here he’d prided himself on being an expert at finessing the client, knowing exactly when to take the next step in negotiations.

  “Yes, actually,” she said, giving him a meager smile.

  Except Christina wasn’t a client. Or a convenient, willing distraction from his work. He’d do well to remember that. Apologizing wasn’t something that came naturally to him—he was his father’s son, after all—but even he knew he’d blundered, big-time, by springing his news on her before she was ready.

  He waited until they’d gotten out to his car in the parking lot before saying, “I’m sorry—”

  “You threw me a curveball, Scott,” she said quietly, then finally looked at him. “I honestly thought…” Shaking her head, she looked away.