But now, what seemed best for Sophie were the things Justine could pass on to her through life's experiences, seedy though they might have been. Sometimes the best advice comes from those who've fallen and picked themselves up and gone on, all the wiser for it.
He realized he was becoming sickeningly philosophical, and would sound like a complete ass if he verbalized any of this to Sam, so he settled on saying, "If she came driving in right now in her Jag I might..." he started to say ask her to marry me, and said instead, "reconsider things."
"Like marrying her?" Sam asked, completing his original sentence.
"I don't know," Brad replied, in all honesty. The idea had been steadily growing, like an obnoxious weed, and no matter how he tried to kill it, it just kept growing. In his head he also had a kind of mental equivalent of an old world pharmacist's scale, with one side of the scale weighing the reasons not to marry Justine: she had a past that could come back to haunt them. And the other side weighing the reasons to marry her: he loved her, Sophie loved her, she loved Sophie, she knew how to handle Sophie, she knew how to handle him when the mind terrors came, though that wasn't happening much anymore, and when it did, he thought about how she'd been with him at the cabin, which tipped the scale heavily on the reasons to side.
"I don't know," he repeated, though he was beginning to think he did know, if she happened to come driving in. "What about you and Susan?" he asked.
Sam had said nothing about their marital problems since Brad and Sophie arrived three days before, and Brad had been afraid to ask. The male bonding had pretty much come to an end earlier. But now it was coming back.
"I hired a PI like you suggested," Sam said, "and it's like I thought. He saw them from a window in the stairwell of the building next door. They were going at it in the workout room with the bed in it."
"Sorry to hear that," Brad said. "What's your plan now?"
Sam sucked in a long breath, let it out slowly, and said, in a weary voice, "Start divorce proceedings. I just wish there was some way to protect Ricky from it, send him away somewhere until after the shit hits the fan."
"Yeah, kids complicate things," Brad said, "but it'll all work out. Hang in there."
Excusing himself, Brad went to the cabin to whack away on his latest novel. He'd started writing shortly after he returned to San Francisco with Sophie, which surprised him. He hadn't expected to get much done while she settled in, but she'd been withdrawn, so he filled his days by writing, while Sophie talked to Buffy. But after three weeks, he'd become increasingly concerned that Sophie could slip into some imaginative world she'd created and not come out.
Thus his impulsive decision to pack the car with his laptop, and Buffy, and Sophie's blanket, and enough clothes for a week, and give the Hansens double rent to open the cabin again. But once there, Sophie started communicating with everyone at the ranch, except him. It was damn frustrating, especially since things had been going well between them there at the ranch earlier, just before Mommy left. Then Justine took off with that bastard, Sean Elliot, and everything went to hell in a hand basket.
An hour later, Brad returned to the lodge to wait for Jack to come back from the spring with the kids. With any luck, Sophie would be excited about the voices in the mountain and the horseback ride and the whole adventure and want to tell Daddy all about it. Without luck, she'd ignore him and tell Buffy. Sam was still at the check-in desk doing paperwork, and he acknowledged Brad with a nod when Brad came in.
Brad went over to the bookcase and noted that there were a few more of his books on the shelf and wondered if they'd just come in with a box of books from the local secondhand book stores, or if Jack or Grace specifically picked up his books. Not caring either way, he stepped to the front window of the great room and peered out to find a tan SUV making its way up the driveway, its top rack piled with what looked like boxes covered with a blue tarp.
"You expecting guests?" he asked Sam.
Sam looked up from what he was doing. "No," he replied. "It's probably someone who saw our sign on the road and thought we were still open. I've talked to Jack about taking the sign down during the off months, but he's been busy and so have I."
The driver of the SUV pulled to a halt out front. "You want me to go send them off?" he asked Sam.
"No," Sam replied. "We always hand out a brochure hoping they'll come back."
Brad turned from the window, and a few moments later, the front door to the lodge opened, and a woman stepped inside. It was some moments before it registered in Brad's brain who the woman was, but when it did, all he could do was stand and stare. And Justine stared back, evidently as shocked to see him there, as he was to see her. She was wearing jeans and a white cable-knit sweater, with a white and brown wool scarf around her neck, and he was certain she was the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth.
Justine was first to speak. "Hello Brad. I didn't expect to see you here," she said, setting her handbag down. "Will you be staying long?"
Her words were cordial. Incidental. One guest greeting another. Not a woman who'd stripped naked and shared the most intimate moments possible with a man.
"A few days," Brad replied. "And you?"
"It's undecided."
"Days. Weeks. Months?" What in hell does undecided mean?
"Maybe permanently," Justine said, then gave him a faltering smile. "How is Sophie?"
"She's fine. Fine. Really fine." Brilliant. And Justine no doubt got the underlying message. Things were hell.
"Does she, well, ever ask about me?" Justine asked.
"You said permanently?" Brad's brain was now engaged.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I... it... wasn't what I expected," Justine said.
"Elliot wanted you back in his bed." Shit! It was none of his damn business, and she was here permanently, and he was blathering like an idiot.
"No, as a matter of fact, he asked me to marry him." Justine shrugged. "It was strange. I guess I accomplished my goal because he treated me differently. Nice."
"That's good. Really good. Good." But she didn't accept, Brad suddenly realized.
"Why are you here?" Justine asked.
"Because, well, things weren't exactly a piece of cake back in Frisco," Brad replied.
Justine moved a couple of steps closer, and Brad realized, if she took another step, he'd reach out and grab her wrist and pull her to him and to hell with Sam standing at the check-in desk. He'd kiss her like there was no tomorrow, and if he got kneed in the balls, then so be it...
"Mommy!" Sophie's voice came from the direction of the back door to the lodge, though Brad hadn't heard anyone enter. Sophie raced across the room and threw herself into Justine's arms. "I knew you'd come, Mommy. I prayed hard and asked God to bring you back and He did."
"It's so good to see you, honey," Justine said, her arms wrapped around Sophie, tears filling her eyes. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, Mommy," Sophie said in an excited voice. "Today we rode horses and Ricky and I sat in the hot water and we heard spirits talking and tomorrow Ricky's daddy's gonna take us to see where Indians buried things and I want you to come too. Will you, Mommy?"
"Well, honey, you'll have to ask your daddy."
Sophie glared at Brad, and waited, daring him to say no.
Brad looked at Justine, who was peering over Sophie's head, and said, "Can I come too?"
Justine released Sophie and stood facing him. "Yes."
Sophie let out a yelp, and said, "I have to go tell Ricky," then rushed to the back door, where Sam was leaving with Ricky.
"I'll watch her," Sam called back to them. "I think you two have things to sort out." He closed the door behind him, leaving Brad and Justine alone and staring at each other.
Feeling emboldened by the fact that Justine hadn't given him any flak, Brad walked up to her, straightened the collar to her turtleneck, even though it didn't need straightening, rested his hands on her shoulders, and said, "So you tu
rned Sean Elliot down. Did the glass ceiling come only by marrying him?"
"No," Justine replied. "The glass ceiling was mine if I wanted it."
"The why did you turn it down?"
Justine held his gaze, as she said, "I guess what it boils down to is that Sean offered me the world, but the problem was, you weren't in it, so I decided I'd rather be here with Grace and Jack and watch my nephews grow up then be at the pinnacle of success with a man I didn't love."
"Would you consider switching places and marrying a man at the pinnacle of his success?" Brad asked. "I might not be able to offer you the world, but I can offer you my love, and the love of a little girl who calls you Mommy."
"Honey, that's the best offer I've had yet," Justine said, "but, I still have a past that could come back to haunt us."
"All of us have pasts that could come back," Brad said, "but you're the only woman I know who could stay one step ahead of Sophie, and you're the only woman I want in my life, and the only way I can be guaranteed both is if you marry me." He smiled then, because Justine was smiling that million-dollar smile of hers that said it all...
Yes, I want to be in your life... Yes, I want to be called Mommy...
And then her tongue came out to lick her lips, and he saw a pulse beating in her throat, and her nostrils flared, and he knew what she was thinking. There was still a little of the old Justine Page left, enough to keep life interesting. He kissed her lightly, and said, "So when can we start playing mommies and daddies, this time for real?"
That million-dollar smile curved into a mischievous grin, as she replied, "That depends on you. I'm a respectable woman now, so how soon can you put a ring on my finger?"
Brad curved his arms around her. "Are you going to hold me to that standard?"
Justine's eyes sharpened with a glint of the old bravado he loved, and she replied, "That's entirely up to you. It's either a ring on my finger, or a knee to your crotch."
"Honey, you drive a hard bargain."
"I've been told that before."
"You want to turn that new SUV around right now and go to the jeweler and get a ring, then to the courthouse and get the license?"
Justine curved her arms around Brad's neck, kissed him soundly, and said, "Yes, Mr. Meecham. The sooner the better."
Brad gave Justine a long, lingering kiss, then took her hand and led her out the lodge to her car, and they headed down the road to begin the rest of their lives...
###
FALSE PRETENSES
Book 3: DANCING MOON RANCH SERIES
.
CHAPTER 1
Dancing Moon Ranch; Sheridan, Oregon
Sam Hansen always thought his twin was the one with the ability to read people, but as he listened to the woman sitting on the couch opposite him in the great room of the lodge, while she recounted her qualifications for assuming the job of guest ranch manager, he got the uneasy feeling that this time Jack had been dead wrong. If it had been any man but Jack, he would have figured he offered the woman the job because of her looks, but that wasn't Jack's way. So all Sam could conclude was that Jack messed up this time. But Jack also told the woman she'd need to get his brother's approval. Sam wasn't sure he could give it. Things just didn't add up.
"Did you finish high school, Miss Hamilton?" he asked, "There seems to be a gap in your resume."
"Probably an oversight," Rebecca Hamilton said. "I have my masters in hotel management so I'm well qualified for the position. My past jobs include working the front desk, checking in guests, taking reservations, assigning rooms, dealing with complaints, being patient, understanding, and quick thinking, along with ordering supplies and being in charge of the housekeeping staff to make sure the rooms are properly cleaned and maintained."
At least she knew that much, Sam thought. "Do you have experience in restaurant management?" he asked. Maybe it was her looks that had him questioning her ability. She was just too damn beautiful to be brainy as well.
"Yes. At my last job, along with managing the guest ranch, I was also in charge of event planning, setting standards for the quality of the food, amenities, and table décor."
"We don't worry about table décor here," Sam said, glancing at her resume again, wondering which of the family-run operations listed might have bothered with that. Wondering if the places she'd listed even existed. He'd never heard of any of them.
"If you want me to set prices and handle publicity, I've done that too," the woman said. "I can also plan and supervise activities for the guests."
"That's mostly trail rides and cookouts, so you'd have to get with my brother on that," Sam said, finding her looking at him as if sizing him up, which he found odd.
Continuing to hold his gaze, she said, "There are other activities besides trail rides and cookouts that guests would enjoy. I understand there's an Indian mound on the property."
Sam eyed her, guardedly. Few people knew about the mound because they didn't want amateur archeologists roaming around digging up the place or authorities coming in and roping it off. "How did you hear about that?" he asked, curious.
The woman's eyes shifted nervously, like she was searching for an answer, then she gave a little shrug, and replied, "I don't remember. Maybe from someone at the Chamber of Commerce. I stopped in to get some brochures on the area."
Sam wasn't so sure about that. He made a mental note to check at the Chamber the next time he was in town and see who was working there. "Do you consider this a long-term position or a stopover on the way up?" he asked, still trying to size up the woman. If her resume wasn't made-up, he figured she was looking for short-term work while waiting for her big break—managing a Hilton in Hawaii, or maybe running a convention center in Las Vegas.
"Which will get me the job?" she asked.
Sam gave a short guffaw. "At least you're honest," he conceded, and felt a little better about the woman. "We're looking long term. My brother handles the horses, runs the cattle, and takes care of maintenance of the ranch, and I'm involved in managing the vineyards and promoting the winery, and neither of us have time for running the guest ranch. That would be your job. But this isn't a bad place for the long haul," he added, making a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate the great room with its golden-brown log walls and massive stone fireplace and cross-work of timbers overhead. As big as the place was, the guest lodge his parents built over forty years ago still had the feel of a large, cozy home.
"I have no plan to move on, and you'll be well satisfied with my work," the woman said, with an air of confidence that made Sam uneasy. Either she figured the job was hers, or she was good at misleading people. She sure held his interest. Not just her looks, but her whole approach. He returned to her employment history. "I haven't heard of any of the places you've listed," he said, scanning the unfamiliar names of several guest ranches.
"They're small, family owned. Some have gone out of business," the woman said.
"After you left or while you were there?" Not subtle, Sam thought, as he looked at her and waited. This time he might have overstepped the line. She looked miffed.
"Would you ask that question of a man?" she fired back.
"Your point is well taken," Sam replied. He studied her more closely. He hadn't at first. Scrutinizing a beautiful woman during an interview could peg him as a womanizer. She was an interesting mix though. Long black hair a tangle of waves around her shoulders. Features that hinted of African descent, yet skin as pale as ivory. Catlike eyes in their intensity and with an Asian slant, bronze in shade but with a greenish cast, and fringed with long black lashes. Full lips that also hinted of African, but which turned up at the corners, seeming more British in shape. The outfit she was wearing suited her. Khaki. Safari style. But a kimono would have suited equally as well.
"To answer your unasked question, Sam," the woman said, shocking the hell out of him by using his first name, "my great-great grandfather, Winston Hamilton III, a Brit who emigrated to Louisiana from England, took for his mistress
a woman who'd descended from slaves. She was my great-great grandmother. They had a son, who my great-great-grandfather sent to England to be educated. He went to India and married an Indian woman, who was my great grandmother. They had a son, who married the daughter of Irish emigrants. Their son, my father, married my mother, who is from the Philippines. I'm a mongrel."
An exceptionally beautiful mongrel, Sam gave her that, one who'd put him in his place. Obviously, her unusual and exotic looks had demanded an explanation throughout her life, and she was prepared for it. But he couldn't decide if she was overconfident about getting the job, which could explain why she addressed a potential boss by his first name, or if she was simply playing a role. She looked uneasy with his questioning, and some of her answers didn't make too damn much sense, but he wasn't pressing her to expand either. Why? He hadn't a clue. Or maybe he wanted her there because she didn't give him all the answers. She was an enigma, and those little missing pieces of the puzzle were the bait and lure that hooked him.
"Have you ever lived in a semi-isolated place like this?" he asked. She was too beautiful to do the jungle thing, even though she looked at home in the safari outfit… more than at home. She was a knockout. And he was having trouble staying focused on what he was supposed to be doing, which was sizing her up for the job, not for his bed. But he was having trouble along those lines too. It had been a long dry spell. Almost three years.
The woman shrugged. "In pursuing a career in hospitality management, with a focus on guest ranches, I expect to live away from the city. This ranch is perfect for me."
Everything said in present tense, Sam noted, as if the job was already hers. And maybe it was. With his mother retiring for good this time, and the ranch opening for the season in two weeks, they needed someone now. "Come on then," he said. "I'll show you around. And you can call me Sam."
She smiled. "I just did."
"Officially now," he added.
When she stood, Sam was surprised at how tall she was. When he'd walked into the room she was sitting on the couch. He, being six-four, liked the idea of a woman whose mouth wasn't chest high like Susan's had been, making him have to crane his neck to kiss her, though he hadn't kissed a woman since his divorce. On the other hand, Susan had been getting what she wanted from her fitness instructor for months before the divorce, when the PI he hired blew the whistle on the two of them and the shit hit the fan. She was still getting what she wanted from the guy.
Living With Lies Trilogy (Books 1, 2, and 3 of The Dancing Moon Ranch Series) Page 41