The third requirement is that I can be a family man. And being a father to Grace isn’t enough. No, I have to be a husband. After the messy business between me and Amanda… dad’s got no confidence in me, and I’m not all that confident in myself either.
Kate had it much easier. She had to finish college. And she’s well on her way to graduate early with an impressive degree in engineering. I love her dearly, but she’s always been too brainy for me. But she loves what she does, and it shows every time she opens her mouth. When someone asks her about school, her face lights up.
But I don’t blame dad for his lack of confidence in my ability to be a family man. The messy fall out of what happened between Amanda and I is proof he was right to be nervous.
Again, an idea nags, and I latch onto it.
What if… I asked May to marry me? Not for real, of course, just a sham to get dad to let me in, let me be a part of what I’m owed anyway?
Still, something whispers in me that I’m not being totally honest. There’s something about May. I want to be near her. I want her to keep looking up at me like she’s begging me to show her how a man like me would touch her.
And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to.
May
I stand before the girl, my mouth hanging open like I’m some special kind of idiot. She stares up at me, her eyes lit with a fire I can’t even begin to describe. It’s like she knows who I am, why I’m here, and how to destroy me.
“Your dad wanted me to watch you,” I say, and she blinks, as if this answer is a total surprise. She tilts her head to the side and her thick, dark hair shifts, revealing a length down her back with some curls near the end, like her heavy hair can’t quite hold the curls but clings to the few it can near the bottom.
I watch her little face scrunch up as if she’s internally poking holes in my story. “Where’s Gertie?” she asks, and I find myself at a loss.
“I’m not sure,” I say, deciding honesty is the best idea. She continues to stare me down, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I don’t like Gertie. She always smacks my bottom when I’m not ladylike,” she says, her honesty melting my heart.
“That’s not very ladylike of her.”
Instantly the girl smiles and it feels like the sun is shining down on me. While I’m doing well, I decide to keep things rolling. “So, what do you usually do when you get home?” I ask, but she pushes toward me, thrusting her hand toward me.
“I’m Grace.”
I take her hand and shake it, surprised that her little fingers feel strong. “I’m May.”
“May flowers,” she giggles, and I smile at her sweet little face. She’s too stinkin’ cute. I want to pinch her chubby little pink cheek, but I’m not going to put hands on her. I know better. Besides, I remember how demoralizing that felt to have people touch me without my permission when I was little.
“Are you hungry, Grace?” I ask, and she nods. With quick hands, I find some foods that’ll go over well. Comfort food that I choose because she’s adjusting to something new; me. Mac and cheese and hot dogs. The kind of stuff I have fond memories of as a child.
“Want to help me?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at her. Her little face lights up and I pull a chair into the kitchen for her to stand on. Shoulder to shoulder we stand before the stove, opening a box of Mac and Cheese, dumping noodles into a pot of water, busy work. Simple work. Things that’ll help her feel independent while she’s safe from harm.
Things I wish I could have had when I was little.
“Do you have kids?” She asks me, her little face full of curiosity.
“I don’t.” I say, my tone bright as I tackle the hard question. I wanted kids. But that bastard… I clamp down and shut out the painful memories. I’m not ready to face them. Besides, little Grace doesn’t need to see me lose it.
“Are you married?” she asks, and I can’t help but be in awe of her. She’s so very mature. She speaks like an adult. Her mind is bright, curious, and she’s very quick to just talk rather than hang on propriety. It’s refreshing.
“I’m not.” I say, then turn her game on her. “How about you? Kids? A hubby I need to know about?”
Her face scrunches up and she laughs. “No!” We laugh together and I realize that this is the first real laugh I’ve had in longer than I can remember.
In bed, I listen to the house. It’s totally quiet. No traffic noises, no loud, party loving neighbors, nothing. Every once in a while the house settles on a sigh, like it too is winding down from the day.
Grace had fallen asleep on the couch, but I’d wandered quickly and found her room. One I knew where to take her, I’d carried her into her room and settled her in her pretty bedroom. The whole place had been decorated with horses right down to the blanket on her bed.
It had been a good night. I felt confident that she would make being here easy. And if this was the work Clint wanted from me, I’d be more than happy to stay on and work as long as he’d have me.
Outside, I hear what sounds like the slam of a car door and I bolt upright. My heart settles into my gut and I feel like throwing up as I sit straight, straining my ears to listen for anything that might be a sound.
He couldn’t be here.
There’s no way he followed me. I was so careful…
I creep out of bed and toward the living room. The curtains give me a view into the front of the place where my car sits, dejected and alone. The slam happens again and I realize the barn door is ajar. When it catches the wind, it bangs on itself. I can see a chain locking it closed, but the noise still makes my hands tremble like I’m going to barf.
I’d thought it was him.
I sink onto the couch, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth as if I can keep back the bile backing up my throat. Tears stream down my cheeks as I think about the fear, the absolute helplessness I feel. He has power over me and he’s not even fucking here! I got away from him and he’s still controlling me across a distance so great I can’t even imagine it.
My throat aches and I keep my volume to little sniffs as tears stream down my face. It’s just not fair. Life isn’t fair.
“Why are you crying?”
I jolt, startled and look into the worried brown eyes of Grace.
Clint
At twilight, I pull the guys in for another talk. They form a ring around me and I sense the discord. I want to smooth it over, but I know some things are simply broken and are not meant to be fixed. If they want to walk, they know where the door is. If they want to stay, they’ve got paychecks waiting.
“Okay,” I say as they settle in and listen to me. “We can camp or we can keep going. If we slow down and head out, we’ll be heading home toward dawn. Or we can camp and head out at dawn.”
Beside me, Carson takes on this role and offers a good suggestion. “If you want to keep going, we can stop for a meal, drink, and piss break. If you don’t we’ll have that break anyway.”
I nod, agreeing with him. The men mumble, and I tell them they can think it over, but the resounding responses are that we should break for chow and get back out.
“What about Bram and Scott?” It’s Shane’s voice ringing out.
I answer with my usual calculated wariness. “They’ll be happy to get home to their beds earlier rather than later, I’m sure,” I say, and there’s a ripple of agreement. Shane’s glare leaves me and he nods.
“Chow and then we ride!” He brings his horse around and I want to sock him right in the mouth. It’s not his god damned call. It’s mine. He’s hired help, not the boss. Not on my ranch.
But I let it go. This isn’t an argument I want. As men step out of saddles and stretch, the sounds of bones cracking and men groaning becomes louder than the chorus of crickets. It’s a welcome sound, but I maneuver Thunder around to do a quick parameter check.
We’re not safe from cougars and bears here, and I want to make sure they know we’re here and armed. The predators out
here are smart, and a gun on your hip is often enough to keep all but the starving critters out of sight.
I circle, giving another thought to my plan. I’m not proud of it. Tricking dad isn’t my favorite idea, but maybe it’s time to fight dirty. After all, he is. The fortune my great grandfather passed down isn’t really his to guard like this. He’s a rotten bastard, and it pisses me off.
But it’s not about the money. It’s about getting the recognition I deserve. I’ve fucking worked hard to build myself for the ground up and all he did was impose more rules, more bars for me to meet before I’m good enough to call myself his son.
Once I’m sure the perimeter is safe, I head back to where the guys have lit up a fire and are cooking and setting coffee to percolate. Carson offers me a mug of coffee and I crack open the can of beans I’d brought and set it in the fire.
Within minutes it’s hot and I nudge it out and hold it with a leather glove I keep on hand for working. Carson is taking bites of some franks that are being passed around and cooked on skewers. I take one that’s offered to me and dip the molten dog into my beans.
As we all dig in, the night sky turns from twilight to billions of stars and a chilly night breeze that cuts to the bone.
Dawn brings sight of the herd we’re here to drive home and the collective sigh is much quieter than last night’s gusto. I’m just excited at the thought of getting home. Getting home.
I’ve got some explaining to do with Grace. And I’m curious to see how May is doing.
“Not much longer, Boss,” Carson says as we slow down and watch the guys heading into formation. As we begin to drive the horses back toward home, I sigh with relief. Not much longer.
As the last horse files into the pasture, I let loose a sigh of relief. We did it. No major calamities. Carsen and I head toward the barn, and he offers to take my horse so I can head into the house. I thank him and feel better the second my boots hit solid ground. I head to the house, looking toward May’s bedroom window.
I’m not certain why.
The front door is locked and I grab the key and let myself in. I catch her in the living room with a book in hand and suspiciously red eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, and I shrug. I don’t care. She can lock the doors if she chooses. I make a mental note to make sure she knows where the twelve gauge is and how to use it. I doubt anything will ever happen, but I’d be more comfortable knowing that if something did happen she’d be okay.
“How was it?” I ask. It’s not the question I want to ask her.
“Fine. You look tired,” she says, rising to her feet. “Would you like to get some rest? I could make you something to eat.” Her genuine concern warms my heart as she heads to my side. I stare into her pretty blue eyes wondering why she was crying. But as I watch, the misery leaves her expression and there’s a sweet joy there that I want to enjoy.
“I’m fine,” I say, needing to set her mind at ease. “Are you okay?”
She seems startled by my question, but her eyes dart to my lips. I stiffen as she sucks her lower lip between her teeth and nibbles it before letting it slide free so she can respond.
“Um… yeah.” She sounds hesitant, as if she wants to open up but knows better. But I don’t care anymore. All I want now is to touch her again, to feel her surprised intake of breath, her sweet shiver of pleasure…
But there are other things to think about. Like the fact that she hasn’t said a word about Grace. “How is Grace?” I ask, forcing my mind to stop all these crazy thoughts.
“She was fine when I sent her off to school,” May says, her expression softening. “She’s such a sweetheart.” Suddenly she takes on a more troubled expression. She bites down on that distracting lower lip and I sense she’s doing that to keep from speaking her mind.
“What are you keeping from me?” Anger surges up in me. This is my daughter. May better not be hiding something.
Her blue eyes meet mine as the words burst out of her. “Gertie hits her.”
May
I see the fury in his eyes and back off a step. Before he’d come home, I hadn’t really considered telling him. It’s not like spankings are a big deal. Or at least, I hadn’t thought so until Grace told me her father’s stance on capital punishment.
We’d had many deep talks and I found her a refreshing girl with a perspective on life that was much too old for her age.
“How do you know?” he says, his eyes so tired they’re fever bright. But the rage in them is unmistakable and I know I did the right thing by telling him.
“She told me that Gertie smacks her bottom when she’s not ladylike.” I sense he’s nearly shaking with anger, but it’s not terrifying. It’s not aimed at me, nor could I ever imagine him being upset at me. And even if he was, I realize, I can’t imagine being afraid of him. He’s not the kind of guy who’d hurt me.
And I realize something startling; I feel safe with him.
He stands up straight and I know he’s wrestling with his anger. “Thank you for telling me,” he says stiffly, and I nod.
“Go to bed,” I say gently as he stands before me, still internally fighting something I can only sense. “I’ve got things here.”
Finally, he nods and heads back toward the hall. I watch him go, hoping he didn’t notice the tears in my eyes when he’d come in. Despite the talks I’d shared with Grace and all the calming influence she’d had on me this morning while getting ready to go, I’d still found myself sinking back into that scary pit of despair once I was alone.
And even when I’d tried to distract myself, he’d still come creeping back to burrow under my skin and haunt the darkness in every blink.
Still, Clint is every bit as intense as he’d been from that first moment. And every bit as able to make my heart stumble in my chest. And able to make a curious warmth pool deep in my belly.
Then I hear him call my name from his room. With a sense of trepidation, I head back, hoping this isn’t about to get uncomfortable. At his door, I lift my knuckles to knock and he tells me to come in.
I do so and find him under the blankets. My cheeks sting red and I look toward the floor as he speaks. “Before I forget,” he says, sounding a bit drunk with exhaustion. “I need to ask you a huge favor.”
“Anything,” I say, my face flaming red hot. Please don’t ask me for something I can’t do. Please. Still, I can’t imagine anything I wouldn’t want to do with this man. Even the thought of him asking me to bed sends a warm tingling feeling through my pelvis.
“Can you pretend to be my fiancée?”
Jerking my head up, I meet his stare, shocked to my very toes. Never in a million years would I have expected anything like that. I feel my mouth drop open, but no words come out.
He stares at me like he’s expecting an answer now, but I can’t quite formulate anything.
“Why?” I ask, the word popping out like a cork from a bottle of bubbly.
“It’s a long story,” He says, “We’ll talk more when I get up.”
I nod and turn toward the door, but he stops me once more. “Thank you,” he says, and I look back at him, one hand on the door. He already looks like he’s sleeping, and there’s a peace to him that’s unexpected.
He’s so handsome. In sleep, there’s a boyishness to him that is gone in the harsh light of his wakeful self. I study him, thinking about his proposal.
I’d be safe if we went with a farce like this. But I’d be at his mercy. More at his mercy. And I don’t think I want to put myself in the mercy of any man, ever again. Not in a romantic sense. What would he expect of me with this farce? Nothing good, I’m sure. The kind of man who asks a woman to pretend to be in love with him is the kind that might do other evil, underhanded things.
Still, as I leave his room, I find myself curious. Everything I know of him says he’s not a cruel, underhanded man. But I also won’t lie to myself by pretending I know him.
It’s not like he can possibly be w
ithout prospects. He’s handsome. He’s successful. He’s got a kind heart, even if it might not look like it from the outside. He has to, or he wouldn’t have let me stay.
Then again, was it all just to get me in a position where I’d have to accept some hair brained plan to be his fake fiancée? Is he really not the man I’d thought him to be? Is my judge of character that messed up?
Then again, what kind of man asks something like that? And why?
Why does he need me to pretend to be his fiancée? And if it’s a good reason, will that be enough to sway my mind on it? Because there’s no reason I can think of that I’d be okay with it or willing to even play along. I’m not a liar. And it’s not fair of him to ask me to be.
With all these questions going through my mind, I head toward my room. My heart thunders in my chest as I think about what it would feel like to be Mrs. Quentin. Clearly, he doesn’t recognize me, but this is more than I’d ever dreamed of.
I watch the hustle and bustle of the men as they lock up horses, clean up the yard, and head into a building that I’m fairly certain the farm hand house.
As I stand, I see someone glance my way and I duck back to the side. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I don’t want anyone to figure out who I am.
That would be very, very bad.
Clint
I wake and hear the sweet sound of laughter from the living room. It’s such a good sound, I slip out the door quietly and peek into the kitchen. Grace is on a chair and May is behind her with her hands over Grace’s guiding them with a sharp knife right through an onion.
“I’m crying!” Grace says, her voice filled with amusement.
May laughs. “It’s so sad we’re torturing this onion.” She places her chin on Grace’s shoulder and I’m struck by how normal this looks, and how incredible it feels. They slice through the onion and I hear Grace sniff.
Fake Fiancé Next Door_A Small Town Romance Page 49