by Meg Maxwell
So that was that. He’d keep his distance—physically and emotionally. In three, six, twelve months—however long it took for him to learn how to be a father to the point that he could do it on his own—Annabel would leave, start her own life. She deserved that. Not some faux husband who’d take advantage of their sharing a bedroom while she was around.
Jerk.
West glanced at the wall of windows, no idea what time it was. The Vegas hotel blackout curtains did a good job of keeping the room dark for revelers and gamblers to sleep late after a night on the Strip. He picked up his jeans from the floor and reached for his phone in his back pocket. It was barely six in the morning. Their flight was at ten.
He glanced at Annabel. It took everything in him not to get back into bed, to drag his gaze away from her curvy figure under the blanket, from her beautiful face. She’s not your wife, he reminded himself. Not really.
But today was the first full day of their marriage, and he was going to do this right. Which meant getting the hell out of the room before he couldn’t control himself.
Chapter Seven
The first thing Annabel saw when she opened her eyes in the morning was her wedding ring, the beautiful diamond band glittering on her finger, her hand lying over West’s pillow. The second thing was the note where West’s head should be.
Annabel sat up and snatched the note, written on hotel stationery. A—Loading up the car. I’ll be back with breakfast.—W
Loading up the car with two garment bags and two overnight bags? She could have carried those down herself with one hand. Well, two, but still. There was only one reason why a man would leave a hotel room where a naked woman was sleeping. To get away.
She dropped the note and pulled her knees up under her chin, staring out the window at what she could see through the filmy white curtains, the heavy dark drapes pulled to the sides. The sky was overcast, perfect for her mood. No sunshine here.
Then again, maybe she was misreading things. Maybe West had woken up, didn’t want to wake her and was being thoughtful by bringing down the bags and picking up breakfast. But not even very deep down she knew that wasn’t the case. First of all, he’d meant to wake her, because he’d opened the drapes. Second, had she woken up before West, she would have watched him sleep, sighing inwardly in contentment, and waited for his eyes to open so she could feel those lips on her again. West woke up and left.
As Yogi Berra once said, “It was déjà vu all over again.” Well, sort of. It wasn’t as if this time he could run into the arms of another woman; they were married, and as West had brilliantly put it, their marriage had a job to do. In fact, keeping the relationship “professional” was key. They’d gotten married yesterday, legally married, had some champagne and gotten carried away. The bright light of day and reality must have had its way with West when he woke up. Nothing to get all up in arms about, Annabel. This isn’t a real marriage. She chanted it three times, feeling as though she could click her heels three times too and she’d end up back in Hurley’s in the kitchen.
She heard the card key click open the door and she pulled the blanket up higher on her chest. West appeared, a white paper bag in his hand. “Oh, you’re...not dressed. I’ll go set up breakfast and give you a chance to take a quick shower. Our flight’s at just before ten, so we have about an hour and a half before we need to leave.”
He’d moved to the suite area, so she couldn’t see him; she could only hear him going on, his voice a bit strained and too bright, as if he was fighting with himself to be...lighthearted.
She pulled out the sheet and wrapped it around herself and darted past him into the bathroom, turning on the shower fast in case she burst into tears. Sex complicated things. Hadn’t he said that? She knew what this marriage was about. He wasn’t her husband. She was his temporary wife. She was temporary stepmother to his daughter.
By the time she came out of the shower and was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, flip-flops and her favorite thick cardigan, Annabel’s head was on straight.
Except when she left the bathroom and found West sitting at the little round table on the balcony, two coffees, two breakfast sandwiches and two oranges in front of him, her heart pinged in her chest with how much she really did love him. You’d better be careful, she warned herself as she pasted a smile on her face. You think you got hurt seven years ago? You ain’t seen nothing yet.
He was watching her, she realized, taking stock of what she thought about his leaving her alone in bed.
Cut him a break, she ordered herself. Give him what he needs and remember why he married you in the first place. “I’m really excited to sit down with some of the business initiatives I’ve been working on for Hurley’s and get those into place,” she said, adding cream and sugar to her coffee. “Team Hurley’s,” she added, holding up a palm for a high five like a total moron.
He glanced at her, nodded and high-fived her. “Team Hurley’s.” He gave her a tight smile and picked up his bacon and egg on an English muffin and glanced down at the Strip. He said something about the weather, then talked about how much he missed Lucy, that he hated nights away from her, even when she was just a few miles away in town at her grandparents’. For a couple of minutes he was silent and seemed lost in thought.
“So I’ve been thinking,” he said, taking another slug of his coffee. “Last night, the champagne clearly got the better of me. It’s probably best if we...don’t complicate things. Do you agree?”
“Of course,” she said, taking a bite of her breakfast sandwich to show how completely okay she was with the conversation. She could barely choke down the bite, her stomach twisting. “I completely agree. Like you said last night, our marriage has a job to do. Let’s let it do that job.” That was her new motto. As long as she kept saying it over and over in her head, she’d stay sane.
* * *
Suddenly they were doing this weird “polite” thing with each other, West thought as they exited the plane and followed the crowds to Baggage Claim and the exit in the Austin Airport. All through the almost-three-hour flight, it was No, you take the window seat. They both sat ramrod straight, not letting their thighs touch, neither taking their shared arm rest. Good Lord, it was exhausting.
And he couldn’t stop staring at their rings. He’d taken his first wedding ring off a few weeks after Lorna died, and the look her mother had given him when she noticed could have frozen lava. He’d overheard Raina telling her husband that it was the ultimate sign of disrespect, that West would probably be out carousing with God knew what trampy women who would mistreat Lucy. Normally West would have seethed inwardly and moved on, but he’d sat the Dunkins down right then and there and had told them that taking off the ring wasn’t about his feelings for Lorna or letting single women know he was free. It was about accepting that Lucy’s mother was gone, that his life and Lucy’s had irrevocably changed and he was trying to adjust to their lives without her. Raina had burst into tears, her husband comforting her and waving West away.
Even when he thought he said the right things, they turned out to be wrong. So a man who was never much for expressing how he felt clammed up even tighter. Except when it came to Lucy. No matter how hard it was sometimes, he wanted her to talk about everything, including her mother, and not feel she couldn’t talk about her loss with him. Especially because for some reason, whenever Lucy brought up her mother with Raina, the woman would change the subject. Maybe it was too painful for Raina. Hell, it was painful for West. But Lucy had to be able to talk about her mother, no matter what.
Annabel was quiet the hour’s drive from the airport to Blue Gulch. If he were honest, he’d admit that he didn’t really want to know what she was thinking. Because it probably had to do with his loss of control last night, mucking things up between them by being unable to resist her. Or maybe she was thinking about giving up a chunk of her life to marry him. Our marriage has
a job to do. He liked chanting it in his head as a reminder of the truth, that Annabel wasn’t his, that she hadn’t married him for any other reason than to save her family’s business.
As they headed into the center of town, West turned off Blue Gulch Street toward the ranch, hoping that Lottie remembered to feed Daisy this morning as she’d promised.
Annabel sat up straight in her seat and glanced back toward the main road. “Aren’t you going to drop me off at my house?”
He glanced at her. “Your house is now my house, remember?”
She looked at the dashboard clock. “But I could help with the dinner prep. My Creole sauce for the po’boys got raves the past few days and I want to keep customers—”
West pulled over. “When you said earlier that you were glad you’d be home in time for dinner prep, I thought you meant at my house—our house. For Lucy.”
“Well, of course I’ll make a healthy dinner for you and Lucy—at dinnertime. But Hurley’s—”
“I told you I’d take care of Hurley’s. Your main concern right now is keeping the Dunkins satisfied that Lucy is being raised ‘right,’ aka their way.”
She glared at him. “I’m not saying a restaurant is more important than a child, West. Or a family. But Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen is my family. And therefore it is equally important to me. I’m not going to shirk my responsibilities to the restaurant, to my gram, just because you’re throwing money at the place.”
A muscle worked overtime in his temple. “I guess there are a few things we didn’t iron out before we got married.”
Like sex. They should have talked about that, not left it “for later discussion.” Now every time he looked at Annabel he saw her naked and breathless and wanting more of him. He closed his eyes for a moment to get the image out of his head. As if that were possible.
Keep your head in this conversation, he ordered himself.
He turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, hell, Annabel, it’s not like you can be in Hurley’s kitchen for the dinner rush anymore. I need you at my house, making grilled chicken and asparagus and combing the tangles out of Lucy’s hair after her bath. That’s your main job now.”
The glare was back. “Yes, I know. But as you have made perfectly clear, West, this is a temporary marriage. The point is to get your house up to snuff for the Dunkins, right? You’re going to have to learn to do this yourself so that when I leave, they’re not hauling you into court. Rely on me, yes. But not to the exclusion of you learning what needs to be done—even if it’s just for the Dunkins’ sake.”
She had a point. “But look at where trying got me. I still can’t cook. I can’t get the knots out of Lucy’s hair or make it look like Lorna used to. And I always think she looks adorable, especially with green tights and bright shirts and orange skirts. I need you, Annabel.”
Her expression softened. “You need me to help you learn some aspects of fatherhood that don’t come easily to you. But you’ll learn, West. And you’ll be great at it. Don’t you know the key to any success is motivation? You’ve got that by the truckload.”
He stared at the steering wheel, the conversation having gotten away from him somehow. “So you’re not going to be home at dinnertime? You’re not going to help Lucy with her bath?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I guess we forgot to sit down and talk about our expectations for the marriage. We have a few hours before Lucy gets home from school. Let’s go to the ranch and set the ground rules.”
He sighed. Loudly.
* * *
This was home now, Annabel thought, watching West give Daisy the beagle a vigorous petting and then check in with his two hands who were working in the open barn. He waved Annabel over and introduced her to Jonas and PJ, both in their early twenties. Jonas reported that one of the calves’ legs was better this morning, and after a bit of talking about what needed tending to today, the cowboys nodded at her and headed farther into the barn.
“Was it strange, introducing me as your wife?” Annabel asked as they walked toward the pickup to get their bags. Then she wished she could take it back. Of course it was strange. Stop saying everything in your head, she ordered herself. Bad habit.
“It’ll take some getting used to,” he said, grabbing the bags and leading the way into the house.
Tell me about it, she thought. You know West, my husband, she imagined saying to the librarian as they’d go into the children’s section with Lucy. Let me just tell my husband I’ll be a minute. My husband thinks... My husband said... My husband and I... A long-ago dream that had become a reality. Temporarily.
“I’ll bring these up to our room,” he said, and she watched him head up the stairs. Our room.
Needing to orient herself in her own world, she said, “I’ll call Clementine and see how things are at the restaurant.”
She walked through the living room, taking in the furnishings, Lucy’s easel and toy chest by the window. The place was comfortable and warm and a real home. There were “feminine” touches everywhere, so either West had left things as Lorna had decorated or he’d done a good job on that front himself. There were lots of photos of Lucy on tables and the mantel. She picked one up, of West with Lucy on his shoulders at a parade. Judging by the little American flag in Lucy’s hand, waved high over her head, Annabel figured it had been taken at last year’s Fourth of July parade. West was smiling, and the look on Lucy’s face was priceless, a big sneaky grin.
“I’ll make sure you two are never separated,” she said to the photo.
She heard West’s feet on the steps, so she walked into the kitchen and out the back door with her phone. The fresh country air, the scent of hay and horses mingling, was refreshing. She was pretty sure she’d like farm life just fine. She stood against a wooden fence, watching a herd of cattle graze in the pasture, as she waited for Clementine to pick up.
“Annabel, don’t even think about coming in today,” her sister said. “You had what—a one-night honeymoon? Take the weekend off, at least. And besides, now that Gram’s hired Martha full-time and word’s spread that she’s in charge of the ribs, we actually got five reservations for tonight. The last time someone made reservations for a Saturday night was months ago.”
Martha Perkins, beloved in town, used to work for Gram as her full-time assistant cook, but then the woman had moved to Austin to help her daughter with her new triplets. Apparently Martha was so happy to be able to come back home to Blue Gulch that she accepted Gram’s offer.
“But how could Gram have afforded to hire—” Duh, Annabel thought. West.
“Apparently, when Gram had her little chat with West on Friday, he said that his money was our money now that we were going to be a family, and therefore, he’d stocked the business account with enough money to take care of whatever needed taking care of. He told Gram and me to do whatever we felt was necessary to turn Hurley’s around. Gram got on the phone and now Martha’s starting at Hurley’s tonight. So we’d better not see your face yet,” Clementine added. “Between Hattie, Harold and Martha working tonight and brunch and dinner tomorrow, and then with us closed Monday, I’d say we’ll see you Tuesday at the earliest. So go enjoy your new husband.”
If only I could, Annabel thought, saying goodbye to Clementine and pocketing her phone.
She went back inside and found West in the kitchen, adding water to the coffee maker.
“So you’ve already funded Gram’s business account,” she said. “That was fast.”
“Necessary on several counts,” he said. “The sooner you all can focus on improvements versus just staying afloat, the sooner you’ll be back in the black.”
“And this way I can focus my attention on my part of the bargain,” she said, her back getting up about his steamroller ways. But he’d kept his part of the deal and then some. Okay, she got it. She still wa
nted to be part of Hurley’s day to day, but she didn’t have to be in the kitchen to do that; she needed to manage the restaurant, even if that wasn’t her forte, and by having the best cooks besides her gram in the kitchen, Annabel could focus on running the restaurant.
He nodded. “Look, I know Hurley’s is important to you. And everything’s in place to build it back up. Right now everything with the Dunkins is urgent. We need to show them Lucy will be taken care of to their liking. Or they’ll drag me into court and they could very well win.”
“So let’s talk about my schedule,” she said, sitting down at the table. “And exactly what my responsibilities will be.” How could she not have thought about what would be required day to day? She’d been so focused on West that she’d forgotten to think about how her days and nights would be structured. For the most part, she knew, West had hired her to be a very good stepmother.
He brewed a pot of coffee. “As far as Hurley’s goes, I understand that you don’t want to take a passive role even if there’s money in the account now. So how about if you work the lunch shift—whether cooking or taking on more of a managerial role?”
Just what she’d been thinking. “I’d been hoping my sister Georgia would come home and take that on,” she said. “But something’s keeping her in Houston. So I guess I’d better accept that I need to run Hurley’s.” She got up to pour the coffee and bring out the mugs, cream and sugar. She might as well start also accepting that she lived here now; she wasn’t a guest. She’d bring her favorite purple mug. That would help. And the chocolatey coffee they served at Hurley’s. West either liked his coffee bitter or had just gotten used to it.