Mr. So Wrong

by R. C. Stephens

  Now it’s my turn to groan. “Fine,” I concede, my tone terse, but he knows I’m just playing with him.

  “I’ll warm up the chicken soup while you talk,” he says, and I talk because he’s been sweet and caring, and I find it harder and harder to resist his charms.

  “I’ve always loved to sing. My mama used to make me sing every day. She would watch me with warm eyes filled with love and make all kinds of requests. Once I learned to read, I would go on YouTube and find songs with lyrics and just sing my heart out. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a singer one day. Then mama passed and I don’t know … life happened.” I shrug my shoulders and watch him in the kitchen. “I thought I’d take singing courses in college, but then I didn’t go to college. I was offered a job singing at Moe’s when they have live music, but it wasn’t my thing.”

  “You wanted all or nothing,” Al cuts in.

  I nod. “Something like that. Singing was something I did that made my mom proud. After she died, I kind of lost the urge. But it felt like a betrayal to my mother because she always thought my voice would get me out of Holston.”

  “You should try out.” He tips his chin to the television.

  My brows draw together as I look at the screen. It’s hard to admit that I’ve had that same thought over a thousand times. “I wanted to. It was never the right time,” I finally say, and those words are hard to admit, but Al … well, he gets things. He’s made mistakes of his own. He gets me.

  He gives me a knowing look. “That’s going on your bucket list.”

  I snicker. “Sure.”

  “I’m serious.” He gives me a pointed glare.

  “Oh! I know you are,” I answer. He walks over with a bowl of Kell’s chicken soup on a tray and places it gently on my lap.

  “Mmm, it’s good. You should try some,” I say, and he leans over for me to feed him. I give him a spoonful.

  “Kell is a good cook.”

  “Most of the women in this town are good cooks,” I retort and it’s true. They’ve been dropping off cooked meals ever since I got home from the hospital. Everything from meatloaf to fried chicken.

  “They are something special,” Al says. He’s been here nightly to sample the food with me. “What happened to you?” he asks with a mischievous smile.

  I shove him. “Hey, you jerk. I’m special. That’s what happened.”

  His blue eyes turn liquid. “You sure are, Sam Belmont.” And he leans forward and presses a kiss to my mouth, and I melt into him.

  “You planning on taking a shower?” It’s me who breaks the kiss.

  He gives me a crooked grin. “Do I smell that bad?”

  I lift my sweatshirt to my nose. It’s freshly washed so the smell of fabric softener is strong and dilutes the cow shit smell. “Um …”

  He stands from the couch. “Okay. I better head over to Izzy’s and shower,” he says.

  “I don’t want you to leave.” I pout. “I still have some of your clothes in my room. Why don’t you shower here and head back to Izzy’s later?” I ask. He got his Porsche back, and he parked it in the garage at his family cabin. He’s been using one of the SUV’s from the Walsh garage. It’s some fancy truck. A BMW or something. When Papa saw it, he scoffed and said it wasn’t a Ford.

  “Yeah, okay.” He stands and heads to the back of the house, and I eat my bowl of chicken soup. I think to myself how much I like having him here. He awakens feelings inside of me I never knew could exist. He makes me want to conquer my dreams. Dreams I placed on the back burner a long time ago. I finish my bowl of soup and place it on the side table. I pick up my cell and start searching The Voice and when the next audition is. I find the information and realize that my bucket list is a lot longer than I thought. There are a few things ahead of a singing career that I want to accomplish.

  About twenty minutes later he is freshly showered and wearing a pair of gray lounge pants and a fitted long-sleeve black shirt. He’s also bare foot. Papa walks through the door.

  “Fuck, City, I thought we got rid of you. Are you back already?” His lips twist in a wry smile. Papa has actually come to like Al—as much as Papa shows he likes anyone at all.

  “You can’t get rid of me that fast,” Al retorts. He’s learned how to deal with my father’s dry humor.

  Papa nods his head and takes a beer out of the fridge and cracks it open. “You kids have a good night.” He nods and walks up the stairs.

  Al takes a seat beside me. He kisses me on the lips. “Better?” he asks, referring to the smell.

  “Much.” I kiss him back. Our lips remain pressed together.

  “It’s late. Let me take you to bed,” he offers.

  I frown. “I thought you could stay.”

  “Are you asking me to sleep over, Sam Belmont?” His voice is playful and childlike. It’s one of the reasons I like him so much because he has the ability to make me smile with the odd things he says and does.

  I bat my lashes. “Take me to bed.”

  “You’re trying to give me the worst case of blue balls known to man.” He leans down and scoops me up into his arms.

  “You know, I’m capable of walking,” I answer. I may be injured, but I can walk.

  “Not on my dime, Princess.” He smiles and it hits me in the belly.

  “I’m no princess, but from what I read online, you are a prince. A prince with a lot of scandal under his belt.” I give him a devious glare. I can’t help it. Once I left the hospital and remembered he was the governor of Illinois’ right-hand man, I had to Google him. The list of exploits was long.

  “You are a princess, baby. You deserve to be treated like a princess. And I can’t believe you Googled me.” He scoffs as we enter my room. He lays me on the bed gently and leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead, and I feel cherished.

  “Do I need to worry about the long list of broken hearts you left behind?” I ask, and he climbs into bed next to me.

  “You don’t need to worry at all. Part of the reason I wanted to get away from the city was to clear my head of all that. I’d had enough of just about everything. I was looking for something different, and I found her. Right here.” His glare bores into me, his eyes saying a million words that his mouth doesn’t speak.

  “Why hasn’t someone snatched you up already?” I ask and he stiffens.

  “There isn’t someone else is there because…” my voice trails off.

  “Nothing like that Sam. When I was younger there was a girl.” He begins and now it’s my turn to hold my breath.

  “A girl?” I ask.

  “We were young, teenagers but in order for you to understand the story I need to go back further.” He gulps hard. It makes me nervous even though a part of me knew deep down that a guy like him isn’t single for no reason.

  “When I was fourteen I caught my dad having sex with one of my mom’s best friends.” He begins. “I called my father on it. He kind of threatened me from telling my mom. Over the years there were many more woman I knew about.”

  “And you didn’t tell your mom?” I ask.

  “No, he told me not to burst her happy bubble then he shipped me off to boarding school. I didn’t know he was my stepfather. They told me he was my biological father although when I look back on things now I should’ve known something was off.” He says.

  “And there was a girl?” I ask.

  “Her name was Brie. We became fast friends. It developed into more. Her dad was a big movie star who cheated on her mother and had a secret family.”

  “Shit.” My eyes widen. My dad was an asshole but you don’t hear stories like that in Holston.

  “Yeah, Brie and I were kindred spirits cast off by our families. We were the underdog children.” He says and my heart aches. “We wanted to be different than our parents. No cheating, no drugs for Brie since her dad was an addict.” He explains. “Things spiraled out of control when Brie found out her dad had a secret family. She cheated on me.” He swallows and I can see how har
d it is for him to talk about her. I don’t mean to feel jealous but I do. The way he talks about her shows how much he cared.

  “I’m sorry. That sounds hard.”

  “It was she was my high school sweetheart and I couldn’t really do anything to help her.” He says.

  My hand comes up, and I caress his cheek.

  “Now will you tell me what has gone on between you and Blake and the other younger guy?” he says.

  “You mean Austin?” He doesn’t look happy when I say his name.

  “Yeah.” He nods, and I know I have a lot of explaining to do, so I start with the basics.

  “I began hooking up with Blake freshman year. He was two years older, and he had mischief practically written on his forehead. I got into all kinds of trouble hanging out with him. Cutting school, smoking pot, stuff like that …” I explain and Al watches me so intently. “Mack wanted me to hang around kids that would be a good influence. She mentioned Austin one day. He came from a good family, and Mack hoped he would be a good influence. We were friends for years before we started hooking up. Austin always had my back,” I explain.

  “And both of them knew you were hooking up with the other?” he asks.

  I bite down hard on my lip. The story is complicated. “Not exactly.”

  “I’m listening,” he persists, and I don’t blame him. He’s put himself on the line. He shows me how much he cares for me, and I care for him too. He has a right to know.

  “Things blew up with Blake at one point, and Austin was there to help me. We didn’t hook up at first. That came much later. Blake and I were apart awhile. He went away to college on a football scholarship, but he got injured and found himself back in Holston. We started hooking up again. Austin went off to college, and when he came home for visits, we continued hooking up too,” I say, aware of how awful this story makes me sound. I cringe. “We weren’t in committed relationships. Austin cares about me, he always has, and Blake is … Blake.” I try to explain even though it isn’t much of an explanation.

  Al leans over in bed and hangs his arm around my shoulder and presses a kiss to my temple. I don’t sense judgment from him. “I can’t be a douche and judge you because of some idiotic double standard. You’ve seen the gossip columns. I’ve made some bad choices.”

  “A married woman.” I cock a brow.

  He blows out a whoosh of air. “I did not know she was married.” He sounds exasperated like he has had to defend that action a lot.

  I laugh. “Hey! No judgment here.”

  “Seriously though. One of the reasons I stayed single is because I don’t like cheaters,” he says and I sense it has something to do with his stepfather.

  He pulls me in close. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  “You could say that.” I nod. I look up to him. “Will you stay the night?”

  He wags his brows. “Sam, I’m not that kind of man.”

  I punch him lightly in the chest. He makes an oomph sound. Then his face turns somber, and he goes from playful to serious. “I’d love to, baby.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, and then he gets under the covers with me and holds me like I belong to him, and in my heart I feel like I do.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Al

  I appreciate the life lesson manual labor gave me the first few weeks I worked on the ranch. When Sam was working out here with me, I thrived on just being close to her. Now I’ve worked out here for three weeks, and Farmer Joe is the only face I see. Even though he’s eased up on being an asshole, he still isn’t the person I want to see all day.

  I’m out in the heifer barn, preparing the bales of hay, when my phone rings. Colton’s name lights up the screen. I drop the bale of hay and answer the call. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  His deep chuckle comes through the phone. “You’re sounding a lot better. Last time we spoke, you sounded like hell.” He reminds me of the night of the snow storm.

  I scoff. “I’d never seen such a bad snow storm. What did you expect?”

  “I thought I would have heard from you by now,” he says, and I can tell he’s wondering where I’ve disappeared to. I sent him a text message before Christmas, wishing his family a happy holiday, but we are used to talking a lot more than that.

  “Yeah, man, sorry. I’ve been staying out here in Holston, Colorado,” I say.

  “Nice. Never heard of Holston. Is that close to Aspen?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I answer.

  “Vague much?” He snickers.

  “Sorry, man.” My hands are dirty, and if they weren’t, I’d be nervously raking my fingers through my hair. “I … uh … met someone,” I begin.

  “Fuck yeah,” he cheers and then blows out a breath. “You fell off the face of the planet. I didn’t think you found a woman, so I feared you were dead. Hence the phone call. Your sister wasn’t answering.”

  “Thanks for the concern, but fuck you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He pauses. “Who is she? Talk …” he urges.

  “She lives here in Holston. She’s uh … a rancher. I’ve been hanging out here with her and her family.” My words are stilted. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say about Sam.

  “What’s her name?” he asks, and he sounds like a little gossip. I want to laugh at him, but I don’t because I know this is him being happy for me.

  “Her name is Samantha Belmont. She’s twenty-three years old,” I say and then regret it.

  “Fuck, that’s young,” he reminds me.

  “Age isn’t everything, asshole.”

  “Whoa,” he says like he’s digesting my words. “Sorry, man. I really am happy for you.” He pauses. “Maybe I shouldn’t mention the real reason for my call.” His voice trails off.

  “You mean you actually weren’t worried about me?” I feign insult.

  His deep laugh booms through the phone. “That’s not it. Ainsley Stapleton just gave me a call. He wants to manage a campaign for you. He thinks you’ve got what it takes to be governor,” he says, surprising the hell out of me. I feel dizzy and excited. Ainsley Stapleton doesn’t offer to run a campaign. He’s made presidents. He doesn’t play games.

  “What’s really going on here, Colt?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady because Ainsley is the cream of the crop.

  I hear his exhale through the phone. “Don’t you think I knew when I cut out, I was leaving you high and dry?” he says, throwing me off, but it doesn’t surprise me that he’s mentioning it because Colton Mathis is the most unselfish man out there. I don’t say a word. “Look, Al, I had a lot of shit happen in my life. I know my decisions have affected you. I called Ainsley out to Pine Island. He thinks you have a good chance to make it to the top. With your family name and your resume, you can do this,” he says, and his voice is so sincere. The fact that he believes in me means the world to me, even though I hate any mention of my family name.

  “Fuck, Colt. This is a lot. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “And suddenly there is a woman in your life and you don’t know what to do,” he continues my sentence before the words even formulate in my brain.

  “Fuck. Yeah.” I let out a sigh.

  “I hear you, man. Don’t sweat this. Take a few days. Let it marinate and see what you think. We both know that politics is your game. You’ve wanted this a long time,” he says, and it shocks me a little because I don’t think I ever showed him that I wanted his position.

  “Colt … I’m sorry if I—”

  He cuts me off. “It’s not like that, man. I know you would have been happy to get me to the White House, but it wasn’t for me. All I’m saying is I don’t want you to give up on what you wanted because of me.”

  Whoa. “Thanks, man. I mean, I appreciate you thinking of me. Let me think on it, and I’ll get back to you,” I say.

  “Sure. You take care.”

  “Yeah. You too.” The phone clicks, and I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. I have to stop and replay the conversation over and
over again in my head. Ainsley Stapleton … holy fucking shit. I try to focus on the ranching, but my adrenaline is pumping hard. I finish the work I need to do and walk into the house. Sam is watching The Voice again. She isn’t singing, but her eyes sparkle when she watches that show, just like I think my eyes sparkle now at the mention of politics.

  “Hey there.” I pull her from the show.

  “Oh, hey.” She smiles to me from her spot on the couch. “Leslie brought by some meatloaf. It’s in the tray on the counter. It’s really good.” She smiles, and it hits me in the chest. That smile of hers melts me.

  “You got up and warmed it yourself?” I inquire. When she first got home, she was having dizzy spells, so she didn’t like to get up for anything other than bathroom runs, which I helped her with—just to the door.

  “Yeah.” She rubs her temple. “The headache feels like a light thud now, but I don’t feel the dizziness. At least, today was a good day,” she explains.

  “Good, I’m glad. We’re scheduled to go into Dr. Yang’s tomorrow for a checkup,” I remind her.

  “I know. I may have bumped my head, but my marbles are still in check.” She points to her head and winks at me.

  “Oh! I know they are,” I assure her, and I scoop up some meatloaf in a separate tray and pop it in the oven. “I’m going to go take a shower so I don’t have to listen to you complaining about how bad I smell. I wouldn’t want to torture you.” I wink and head back to the bathroom.

  “Withholding sex is considered torture in some countries,” she yells at my back, and I just laugh and shake my head because life is never boring with her around. I do the five-minute scrub down I’ve become accustomed to. It helps that I don’t have much hair on my head; I went into town and got my hair buzzed at the barber shop.

  I throw on a pair of my lounge pants and a hooded sweatshirt I bought at a shop in town. I’m looking more and more like a mountain man and less and less like a politician each day, and yet I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

  “Hey there, sexy.” Sam winks.