Make that two lucky bastards.
…
“So, what’s our plan?”
Mitch sounded so matter-of-fact and businesslike, it triggered something sadistic in Sabrina. She pulled out a chair at her homey kitchen table and gestured for him to sit, though for a moment, she considered yanking it back so he’d fall on his butt.
He frowned, then did so, folding his tall frame as if he feared it wouldn’t fit.
“Well,” she began, “first of all, we need to get our stories straight. People will have questions.”
“Like what? It’s none of their business.”
“Mitch, don’t be naive. Lutherton is a small town, and Granger gossip is the best entertainment since cable. They’re going to make it their business. And if you want this to work, you’ll play along.”
Sabrina turned her back to him, fiddling with the kettle as she formulated her strategy. His transactional attitude helped, she told herself. This was just business.
But the fact that it bugged her…bugged her.
She dropped the box of tea bags and bent, grumbling, to pick them up.
Of course it bugged her! They’d gone through an intense experience together at an impressionable age. Some residual feelings were to be expected. She was only human, after all.
Unlike Mitch, who’d grown some kind of granite over his tender heart. If he even had a heart.
Grow up, Sabrina! Get over it already!
This was what she wanted: a chance to finally put all that ugliness behind her. She had to protect herself from further damage by Mitch while pretending she still had feelings, at least in public. And making him want her again. So she could walk away at the end, leaving him bleeding.
Layers upon layers.
Oh, this was going to be messy.
“Messy?” Mitch said.
“What?” Sabrina asked. Hot water sloshed in the teapot, splashing onto her hand. Before she knew it, Mitch was holding her palm beneath the cold water faucet.
“You okay? What happened?”
“I…slipped.” Sabrina let herself enjoy the sensation of her hand between both of his. She loved the contact, craved it the way some people craved caffeine. That was all. It had nothing to do with it being Mitch’s contact. Though his hands were so nice. And she’d always liked his forearms. They weren’t beefy but strong, with elegant lines. A bit more rugged these days. And still just the right amount of hair. He had some ink now, too, she noticed.
“Is that your company?” She touched the stylized Granger-Ellis logo with her other hand, prolonging the contact.
He glanced down. “A show-off move for sure. What can I say, I was pretty full of myself.”
“I like it. It’s good to mark significant life events.”
Then he turned her palm up, sliding his big, rough fingers over her wet skin that, beneath the icy numbness, throbbed with heat.
“Will your hand be okay?”
He touched her so tenderly. Then she snapped back into the real world.
Tender? The liar!
“Clumsy. I’m okay now.” She forced herself to pull away. “Here.”
He caught the dish towel she tossed at him. “You should put some cream on that. You don’t want to scar.”
“This is nothing.” She laughed off the suggestion, though his concern warmed her through and through. Even if it was just an act. “So, what do we tell people? How are we going to sell this?”
“Maybe you ought to catch me up on the latest news first, make it seem like we’ve been in contact.”
His expression indicated that there was nothing out of order here and all the warmth she’d been feeling fizzled, a wildfire spark wafting into a ditch of icy runoff—and preventing a natural disaster. “This whole lying thing really doesn’t bother you?”
“Unless you’re dating someone else.” He paused and her silence was confirmation enough. “Then I don’t see the problem. It’s totally plausible.”
“Except that ten years is a long time, Mitch. You can’t get all the latest news of everyone we know over a cup of tea.”
He frowned. “All I need is enough to do a bit of glad-handing.”
“Like you did last winter?” she snapped, stung. “Sitting in the corner, glowering? I felt sorry for you, though I can’t remember why. You didn’t exactly invite contact. You’ve got some ground to make up, if there’s going to be any hope of this scheme succeeding.”
“I bet nobody talked to Carson like this when he came back.” His face was closed and sullen now, like a schoolboy after a scolding.
“Oh they did. Trust me,” Sabrina replied. “Rory put him through the ringer. Bliss and Blythe, too. And he needed every bit of it.”
“We can’t help it. You ought to know as well as anyone. Granger men aren’t good with women. It’s a curse.”
“It’s an excuse.” He’d been a wonderful boyfriend, at least until the end. And she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Your emotional intelligence is practically nonexistent and you figure that’s normal. Now that I think of it, your buddy Zach Gamble was the same way until Desiree walloped him into adulthood. Did you all sniff glue together as kids or something?”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” He put his hands in the air, as if surrendering. “I was a moron, thoughtless and selfish. I’ve been a bad brother and a bad friend. So what now? You’re my way back in. They all know you. They trust you.”
“I’m the town midwife. That doesn’t mean they know me.” She paused. He made it seem as if anyone would know her as long as they spent a bit of time with her. “When I’m not catching babies, I play in the softball league. I shop at the farmers’ market and buy only Twinridge beef. I’m local. That doesn’t mean they know me.”
There was an unexpected bitterness to her words. Damn you, Mitchell Granger! She was happy with her life here. Or at least, she had been. Now, with a vivid reminder of how much she’d kept secret, how much she’d lost, standing so close she could almost touch him—
“And who does know you, Sabrina?”
The intensity of his question brought her back to focus. She leaped to her feet and slapped her hands together. “I’m a girl who knows a good deal when she sees one. I do you this favor, you get what you want. I get what I want. Win-win.”
He’d known her once, been closer to her than any single human being in her life. Then he got scared and took off, leaving her with loneliness and a sense of betrayal that nothing and no one could wipe away, not her work, not her family, not her friends, not other lovers. What she wanted was to not feel that emptiness anymore. What she wanted was to be able to trust again, maybe even love again.
She shook her head. What she wanted was to exorcise him once and for all.
And take enough money from him to upgrade the center properly.
It was the least he could do.
“Let’s be specific.” He took out his iPad, pulled up a file. “I’m sure we can agree on some design options for your expansion project. Looks to me like you’ve got a laundry list of stuff you need, like bigger rooms, better lighting, and whatever equipment it takes to have babies. Just for starters. We’ll put it in writing, notarized, the whole works. So tell me, what else do you want, Bree?”
“Don’t call me that.” She stood up, the legs of her chair screeching against the floor. “This is a bad idea.”
“What?” He frowned, confusion blossoming on his handsome face, followed by alarm. “Sabrina. Whoa, don’t do this. Come on, you want to add on to your facility, don’t you? Modernize it all, get some new bells and whistles? I can do that for you. Build you the clinic of your dreams. Isn’t that what you want?”
No, she thought. I want you to be sorry.
He looked so sincere.
Stupid Y chromosome.
Men, as she knew only too well, were simple creatures when it came to communication. What women intended as subtlety, men interpreted as passive-aggressive. Women recognized the slightest twitch of a lip but a man d
idn’t notice something was wrong until a girl sprouted horns and a tail.
Which is when they accuse us of overreacting.
But damn it, sometimes a woman needed a man to understand her, without her having to spell it out with neon skywriting.
But there was no guile in his expression now, no appearance of guilt or pretense. He was certainly clear about his vulnerability to Della Fontaine’s unpredictable tugs on his strings.
Sabrina forced her mind back to the work that fed her soul, bringing the dreams of other women to life. That’s what was important. Mitch didn’t matter anymore.
Her current facility could be so much more than it was. There were so many improvements that would allow them to provide better care, more efficiently, while better utilizing her support staff. But more important was improving the physical structure so as to reduce anything that might cause psychological distress to anxious new parents.
In crisp, clear words, she outlined the top items on her wish list: bigger windows and skylights for natural light, a centralized nursing station, plumbing updates so every birthing room had its own oversize jetted tub and rainfall shower, neonatal crash carts within arm’s reach of all birthing beds.
Every time she paused for breath, something else leaped to mind. She’d long been hoping to replace the yellowed vinyl tile with natural cork, a resilient surface that was forgiving to tired feet and produced less off-gassing to tax tiny lungs, plus it was a renewable resource at the top of the environmentally friendly options.
All of it was expensive. Too expensive. But that wasn’t her problem now, was it?
“We’re a private clinic, of course, so I have some resources, but unfortunately there’s a never-ending supply of women with nowhere else to go and I won’t turn them away.” Mostly because they were young girls, underinsured and desperate but determined to have their babies, as naturally as possible. Sabrina refused to deny them care. But those cases came out of her own pocket, which didn’t leave a lot left over. “Every woman deserves access to the best care, and I want to provide that in an environment that’s authentically beautiful and nurturing. That’s what Birth on Earth is about.”
“Let’s go take a look at what you have in mind tomorrow, okay? If I can swing it, I’ll do it pro bono, as a donation. You must have a fund I can put it toward, yes?”
She smiled, at ease for the first time since she’d felt his hands against hers.
She’d allowed him to get too close once, and it had nearly destroyed her when he left.
This time, she was only his fake fiancée.
And they had to tell everyone. And make them believe it.
Chapter Four
A rigorous thumping came from somewhere on the other side of the house. Mitch kicked his boots off and followed the sound, admiring again how Carson had transformed the falling-down wreck. As Rory said, his brother had left the original bones intact wherever possible. The front sitting room that their mother had so loved was still there, with what looked like a portion of the original hardwood floor refinished and replaced beneath the picture window overlooking the mountains. He could almost imagine his mother standing there.
He turned down the wide hallway until it opened onto the kitchen. Earlier, he’d given it a quick glance—he’d been thinking like a son, not a builder—but this time, he recognized that Carson had some pretty decent design chops. The room had been reoriented to improve the flow and enlarged to capture the light, while keeping its homey feel. Mitch wouldn’t change a thing.
At the granite-topped work surface in front of yet another oversize window stood Bliss, smacking a lump of dough as if teaching it a lesson.
“I hope you still like my oatmeal bread because I don’t have time to start a new batch,” she said. “And I don’t care what kind of crazy schedule you’ve gotten onto out there in your fancy city life. Here, we eat at six sharp. After that, you’re on your own.”
There was anger in her voice but under it, tears. He’d been dreading this. Bliss and Blythe had been pinch hitters in that dark time after his mother’s death. Without speaking, he walked up behind Bliss and put his hands on her shoulders. He felt the muscles tense beneath their soft overlay. Then she elbowed him gently out of the way, reached for a towel, and wiped her hands.
“Bliss,” he said, opening his arms. “I’m sorry.”
She looked at him then and her eyes were shiny. “That’s it? You leave us, forget about us, send us a reminder once a year at Christmas that you’re still alive, and that’s it? You’re sorry?”
She picked up the wooden spoon lying on the floured surface and brandished it at him. “Time was, I’d have tanned your backside for that kind of behavior. You’ve got a lot of makin’ up to do.”
Mitch pulled a chair in front of him, biting back a smile. “I’ve got a big hug with your name on it, but you’ve got to put down the weapon. Besides, you know you’d never actually use it.”
At that, she winged it at him, sending bits of dough and flour flying through the air. He ducked and the next thing he knew, she had him in a rib-cracking hug. “Welcome home, you thoughtless, cowardly, selfish, conniving—”
He picked her up and swung her around. “Thanks, you bossy, manipulative worrywart.”
“Mitchell Granger!” Bliss shrieked. “You put me down right now!”
“Only if you promise to catch me up on all the local gossip.”
She put her worn hands on his chest and pushed him away. “I will. But first you tell me about these women you’re foisting on us and why they’re so important to you. You fixing to snag one of them?”
“God, no.” Mitch shuddered. “You’ll understand when you meet them.”
He gave Bliss the broad strokes about Della Fontaine and her stepdaughter.
“And she thinks she’ll find an eligible mate for a poor little rich gal out here in the rough country?” Bliss snorted. “Ah well, I guess stranger things have happened. If Desiree Burke can get her hands dirty, I suppose it can happen to anyone. You heard about Zach and Des, didn’t you?”
He had. Zach had fallen for Rory’s best friend and had turned her into a righteous rancher, against all odds and everyone’s predictions.
“Yeah. Good for Zach.”
“It is good for Zach. You know, he could have used a friend last winter.”
The jab hit home. Mitch was still the outsider. Of course he knew next to nothing about the people who lived in what had once been his home. He’d made that decision when he left. He’d reinforced it every year he sent a card instead of showing up in person. He’d only come to the Valentine’s Day party Rory threw last winter because she’d threatened his life.
And thank you very much, Rory, she had thought it best to keep his arrival a surprise from Carson. It hadn’t gone well.
Given that he hadn’t even seen Carson yet, he suspected Rory was manipulating things again. Well, he was here. That was all he could do. Next move was up to Carson.
Of course, Mitch had walked into this mess himself, and nothing said Carson had to help him out. No one owed him anything. He’d gotten so used to money paving the way, he’d forgotten that rancher currency worked differently.
“I’m sorry, Bliss,” he said, chastened. “But Della’s dangling the biggest deal of my career over my head. She caught me off guard and now I’m in a tight spot. She wants to visit cowboy country with her stepdaughter, wants to be squired around by me, given the dude experience, I guess. So that’s what I’m doing. I really need this visit to go well. “
“And you’re sure she’s not expecting you to end up at the altar with her gal? You certain of that?”
Mitch nodded, bracing himself for what was coming. “I’m certain.”
Bliss’s eyes narrowed again. She crossed her arms. “How’s that, then? You tell her you’re already married?”
“No.” Good job, Mitch. You had to pick the toughest audience first. “Don’t be mad.”
“Why would I be mad?” Bliss sucked air in
through her teeth and shook her head. “What have you done?”
“No, it’s good news, I promise!” He smiled but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to fool Bliss.
“And that’s why you look like you’re expecting a cattle prod in a delicate area?” She crossed her arms, her face a thundercloud. “Spit it out.”
“We’ve been keeping it quiet,” he began. “You know this town, the second you start dating someone, they’ve got your wedding planned, your kids named, and your plot picked out.”
“You don’t live here anymore. Stick to the point.”
He took a deep breath. “But she does. The woman I’m dating. The woman I’m…engaged to.”
Bliss’s eyes went saucer-wide. “You’re…what? But…we’ve never seen… You’re never here… How…” Then she gasped. “You son of a horse’s hind end, you’re lying to me! Forget the spoon, where’s my rolling pin? You need some sense knocked into you, pronto!”
“I’m not lying!” But he stepped back behind the chair. “Bliss, listen!”
“Oh, don’t think you can pull one over on me, my boy. I know your lying face, always have.” She advanced on him, triumph and fury in every line of her body. “You haven’t gotten any better at it, either. You could have at least made up a name. The devil’s in the details, Mitch.”
“It’s Sabrina.”
Bliss froze.
“Sabrina Becker. The midwife?”
“I know who she is, you dang fool.” Bliss felt for the back of a chair and lowered herself into it. “She’d never keep something like this from us. Don’t tell me she’s in on this story?”
Mitch closed his eyes. “It’s not a story. We’re engaged.”
“Well then.” Bliss’s voice was full of confusion. And pain. “I guess I’m happy for you.”
“We weren’t trying to hurt anyone.” But he hadn’t exactly considered anyone beside himself. “It surprised us, too. We didn’t know how to handle it so we kept it quiet until we knew and then, well, it just happened.”
“That I believe. But whatever this is—and don’t deny it, I know there’s more to this story—for now I’ll just say this: you broke her heart once, Mitchell Granger, and I stayed out of the whole mess. Young people need to learn their own lessons sometimes. But I will not make the same mistake twice. If I see that girl shed one single tear because of you, a plague of biblical proportions will descend upon your head.”
Fake Fiance, Real Revenge: A Three River Ranch Novel (Entangled Bliss) Page 4