by Kristi Rose
Pleasantly surprised that regret isn't as painful as it seems, Cori thought. She was about ready to spill other snarky retorts, but was startled from her thoughts by Sabrina who clapped her hands in excitement.
“Oh my, I have an idea,” Sabrina said. “Wow, you weren't kidding, Ronna, because I have an opportunity for you, Cori.”
Cori swung her attention to Sabrina who stood next to her, hands clasped prayer-like, the tips of her fingers touching her lips.
With her dark hair and creamy skin, Sabrina looked like an angel that could work for either side. Innocent and bewitching.
“So it's safe to say you're currently between jobs. Do you have a plan?” Sabrina asked.
Cori was glad for the subject change, such as it was. “You know me, thinking of playing it fast and loose with my free time. Maybe I'll go to school full-time or something. Good ol' Babs is still trying to get on some reality TV show about housewives of convicts. If that happens, I'd like to not be around Brewster, surrounded by people who dislike my folks. Know what I mean?” Cori smiled at the group, but her lips felt stiff and she was uncertain how to make them curve. It was the same faux smile from all those beauty pageants she'd been in as a child where she'd been forced to fake-smile for hours, feeling as if her face would crack and her flippers, those stupid-ass fake teeth she had to wear, would fall out.
“Your mom's been doing that for a while, right?” Deb asked. Even though they all stood around the well-stocked and beautifully decorated table, no one was eating. For a group of women who liked angst in their books, they loved it when Cori talked about her personal life, which was rare. It never ceased to provide the drama they craved.
Cori nodded. The group knew her story. But who didn't since it had been in the state papers, even making national news? It had been huge news in Texas. It wasn't every day that a small-town mayor was convicted of embezzling, fraud with check kiting, and cattle rustling. What Charlie Walters managed to get away with was being a shitty father and an overall disappointment as a human being. After Charlie was sentenced to a decade in prison, her mom, Barbie, had shifted her one life goal. She ceased being the wife of a rich tycoon and mother to a beauty pageant winner and embraced being the victim. Now, she was the wife to a crafty tycoon, who himself was the victim of jealous people. Good ol' mom had conveniently dropped off any aspirations she might have had for her daughter. Barbie played martyr well, wearing her stiletto and tears into the prison weekly to visit her husband. Filming it for all her Facebook friends to see and sympathize. Funny how her father had been court ordered to pay back what he stole, which he professed unable to do and filed bankruptcy, yet Barbie lived comfortably in a McMansion on the outskirts of Dallas, Charlie's internment not even a blip on Barbie's radar. Cori, saddled with the moral fortitude that had escaped both her parents, knew it was her responsibility to pay back what she could. She'd gone years without luxuries most took for granted: haircuts, meals out, and underwear without holes in them. Her one luxury had been used camera equipment, and most of that she'd been given for work she'd done.
“I have a job proposition for you,” Sabrina said. “But it's a weird one.”
Cori moved to the drink station and decided she would need something stronger than water. Knowing what Sabrina did, Cori couldn't imagine what this job could be. Trying to make Cori a mail-order bride was such a ridiculous notion Cori almost laughed at the thought. “Hit me,” she said and pulled a beer from the silver ice chest.
“Okay, keep an open mind.” Sabrina raised her brows, waiting for Cori to acknowledge the request.
Again, Cori nodded.
“There's this... ah...lawman, I suppose you could say, a county deputy who is looking to run for sheriff, but the town is small and folks are old-fashioned and they want a married man as their sheriff. He needs to be moving toward the altar for the townsfolk to consider him.” Sabrina picked up a bottle of San Pellegrino and toyed with the screw top.
“What's that about?” Deb asked. “Sounds like it's the old west.”
“Right,” Cori said. She lived in a backward town already. Did she want to trade one in for the other? Even temporarily?
“Well, it's all about trust and showing the town you're there to stay. That you're part of their community.” Sabrina gave Cori a purposeful look. “You and I both know that's still no guarantee. But this man, this lawman, he's a good one with the right intentions, and he's asked for my help.”
“So I'm supposed to go marry this man to get him elected?” Cori asked and then gulped down several swallows of beer. Liquid courage don't fail her now! Because as asinine as this pitch sounded, Cori found she was intrigued. Not enough to get married, but curious enough to hear more.
Sabrina's laugh was brief. “No, you won't have to actually marry him. Only pretend that you're going to marry him.”
Encouraging Sabrina to continue, Cori asked, “How does it end?” She took another gulp of beer.
“You'll leave him at the altar,” Sabrina said, then bit her lip.
Cori choked and spewed her last sip. But, more importantly, she retained control of her plate. Dropping her profiteroles were not an option. She was going to need their comfort. Once she gained control, her throat spasms subsiding, she said in a raspy voice, “So, I'm to be a pariah in two towns. Awesome. Kinda unprecedented.”
Sabrina's smile could pass for a grimace. “You're not a pariah in Brewster. Your parents are.”
Cori raised her bottle in the air. “Guilt by association.” She finished off the brew while sadly acknowledging there was no more courage within her, only gas and the urge to expel it.
“Maybe we can come up with something less awful than leaving him at the altar,” Sabrina mused.
“You think?” Cori rubbed her stomach.
“He needs the town's sympathy, but maybe a dramatic breakup before the wedding would work.”
“Either way, whoever the fake fiancé, she'll be taking it on the chin.” Cori stared at the tiny, cream-stuffed puffy balls and decided something more substantial was needed. Like a pint of ice cream, or a gallon.
“I know, it’s not the best situation, but you'll be helping out an entire town because the other guy running is bad.” Sabrina's pointed gaze spoke volumes. “The kinda guy we are familiar with and dislike immensely. Did I mention it was also a paid position?”
Ah, yes. That got her attention for sure. Money she needed, and the opponent being a grifter like her own dear daddy had appeal, too. “So, it would be like I'm fighting crime. Kinda a superhero in disguise,” Cori said.
“Sure,” Sabrina said. “Stopping shysters one at a time. It's respectable, if you think about it. Going up against these sorts of people.”
Cori waved her hand in the air, rejecting Sabrina's words. “Don't try to spin it. There's nothing respectable about coning a con.” She would not be like her father. Nope. No way.
But the money would give her a do-over. A fresh start she longed for.
Sabrina sighed. “We both know that the only way to deal with people like this is to play their way. A pretend con is not the same as a real one. There are no rules when dealing with greed.”
Sabrina was right. Hustlers were shortsighted. They rarely saw past their objective.
Sabrina continued. “It's in Wyoming. Beautiful. Imagine the pictures you could take there.”
Cori pressed her lips together. Now Sabrina was just being mean, going straight for Cori's passion for photography. Just last night, Cori had been looking at the rules for the Smithsonian's Photo Contest. Not that she felt she had anything worthy to submit at this point, but crap on a cracker, she really wanted to enter. Validation she could take a good picture would do her self-esteem good. Maybe then her well of positive experiences would start to fill and balance out, and dare she hope, exceed the well of negative ones.
“How much money?” She'd be a fool not to ask, and she'd spent enough time being a fool.
“Enough to start over somewhere. Might even
have some extra for college.”
Cori narrowed her gaze, trying to read Sabrina's mind. It all seemed too good to be true. “This guy? He's the good sort? I'm not going to have any problems with him?” Cori couldn't believe she was asking.
Sabrina bit her lip before answering. “Well, you might get off to a rocky start, to be honest. You're both similar in personalities, but if you keep focused on the goal, then you should make it work. There's little chance you'll fall for each other so that will make leaving easier.”
“That's counterintuitive for you. Must feel weird.” Cori watched Sabrina closely. It was strange that a matchmaker was setting her up to fail at the match.
“You're helping a friend. I'm only involved in this because I have connections. Don't think of it as me making a match.”
8
Waiting was not Fort's forte. Waiting out a crook was light years easier than waiting to meet the woman he was to pretend to love and possibly want to marry. He knew little about her except Sabrina said he'd know her when he saw her. Which he found foreboding. He'd spent one sleepless night trying to recall the mutual friends he and Sabrina shared, but his memory from those days back at the Texas ranch were foggy, likely muddled from the exhaustion he'd experienced trying to keep the ranch afloat and Dad from sinking it faster than he already was.
Fort paced in front of the escalators. He walked the width of them, paused on the other side, sighed heavily, shifted, turned, and crossed in front of them again, treading back over his footsteps. The crowd was thinning, and a quick glance at the board showed her flight status had changed from DELAYED to ARRIVED.
Any moment now.
Sweat broke out across his brow. Crap, this whole plan was suddenly real. Sabrina's warning clicked for the first time. What if this did backfire? What if the town felt played? Yeah, she’d said it all before, only now, he was listening.
Think of Deke.
That's all he had to do in order to push his reservations aside. He would take one for the team if it meant the team—in this case the town and its people—would not be at the whims of a narcissistic, greedy megalomaniac.
Waiting at the bottom of the escalators near baggage claim, Fort stopped pacing when passengers began to spill onto the escalators. He scanned all the faces of the passengers and wondered who'd been sent. Apprehension caused his stomach to clench. Hell, he'd seen some nasty stuff in the sandbox, and each nightly patrol was a tense experience. He was sure he'd come away from his stint with some PTSD, or an ulcer at the very least. But this...this waiting for a stranger was maddening. How was he supposed to convince the good people of Wolf Creek that he loved and adored this stranger when he was all jittery like a virgin on his wedding night?
Fort swiped off his Stetson, brushed his hair back, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and let a curse roll out under his breath. With more force than necessary, he stuffed his hat back on and went to stand at the bottom of the escalators, feeling sweaty all over. This was his idea, and by God he was going to stick to it.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared down at the tips of his boots, hoping he wasn't about to make things worse. Dark red dots were splattered across them. He'd helped birth a breech calf earlier today, and luckily both mom and baby were doing fine. If an animal can come into the world feet first, blinded, and still make his way, Fort Besingame could shut the hell up and do basically the same. Jump in feet first and do the right thing. Save the town. Maybe they'd see his commitment to the town then....
Lips pressed together, Fort looked up at the incoming passengers and began scanning the faces. Man, man, man, woman and child, man, man, woman, woman, woman, man... Whoa, back it up. He reversed his trail to the second to last person he'd seen. Something about her was familiar. She was tiny, probably could fit into the crown of his hat, but the look on her face was fierce. When their eyes met, hers widened. The man in front of her shifted, covering half her face. His mind raced to place her. The little, pert nose, dark hair cut short in that girly Disney-fairy way. Behind round, vintage, dark-framed glasses, her big eyes widened. His gut told him they were blue. When he narrowed his gaze, she rolled her eyes in response. He'd leaned in, an ineffective tactic to get a closer look when his mind finally placed her. It struck him with such a force he leaned back on his heels and sucked in a breath.
“Oh, hell no,” he said, pointing his index finger right at her. The man in front of her gave him a scowl but stepped away, and Fort had his first full-length view of Corinne Walters. A large bag hung from one shoulder, a backpack off the other. She looked just like she had all those years ago, like a menace to society. Some people had a resting bitch face; Corinne's was always a challenge face. As if “I dare you” would roll off her tongue at any moment. Everything, and he meant every single stinking thing, got her dander up. He'd never met a woman so contrary. So much that she was exhausting to be around.
“You can just go back to the desk and ask for a return flight home,” he said. She continued to hold his gaze, never once wavering. She dug through the bag on her side and pulled out a large camera, one of the fancy professional ones photographer's use, and lifted it. The lens already off, she pointed it at his face, and he heard the soft repeated click as the camera was set in action.
“What are you doing?” he snapped.
“Capturing this moment for posterity. Or proof.” She cocked her head to the side. “Maybe both.” She reached the end of the escalator, stepped off, made a sharp U-turn, and stepped onto the one going up. She swiveled so her back wasn't to him, and he heard the camera whirl again.
“Lookey there. So much said in these pictures. Who needs words?” She winked at him, tucked the camera away, then gave him a tiny finger wave that ended by shooting him the bird as she rode away.
“What are the odds?” he mumbled. “Of course, Sabrina sent you!” he called to her. Maybe Sabrina hadn't intended to help him all along.
She nudged her chin to the space behind him. Her voice grew louder as the escalator carried her away. “Pretty good deduction considering no one else is waiting down there for you and willing to play house. Guess that's why you're a cop.”
Fort quickly scanned the area and noticed they had the attention of a few passengers. No one he knew.
She continued, “But if you want me to break it down with specific stats, I think I might be able to do that, considering who our fathers were.”
Children of gamblers—that was them. Only her father happened to be a crook, too, the one that had destroyed his father and what small life they had back in Texas.
“What was she thinking?” he mumbled and briefly closed his eyes. The moment needed a deep, calming breath, and he took eight of them, trying to slow the spinning, free-fall he was experiencing. One moment he was working toward his plan to be sheriff, and the next he was watching said plan crash and burn. All because Corinne Walters was sent to pretend to be his dream girl. He watched her step off and, within a blink, she was immediately gone from sight.
Fort took off, climbing the escalator in long strides. She was walking back to the ticket counter when he caught up with her. Catching her by the elbow, he spun her toward him. A bolt of fire shot up his arm and zinged his chest.
Yeah, who was surprised that Cori produced a negative charge? Not him. “What was Sabrina thinking? Is this some kinda joke? You having another laugh at me about this?”
She studied him, as if each blink of those large eyes was seeing deep into his mind, reading his thoughts.
“I had no idea it was you until I saw you. Jokes on both of us.” She jerked her elbow free, then resituated the backpack on her back.
Fort scanned her from top to bottom. “Why did she send you? Of all people?”
Cori shifted her weight and crossed her arms. “I'm sure you're hugely disappointed. I know I am. I also know I'm not your type. What was it you said about me in high school? I was a carpenter's dream? Flat as a board and never been nailed?”
Fort narro
wed his eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She stuck her hands out in front of her chest. “You like them big and dumb. I'm the exact opposite of that.”
He wouldn't say the exact opposite. She'd filled out some in all the right places. Not that he was looking or anything.
He waved to get her to continue. “Anytime you want to make sense is good with me.”
“What I mean is that Sabrina said you have one goal. Maybe she sent me because I wouldn't be a distraction from that goal.”
Fort looked over her shoulder, focusing on something else besides her. Maybe if he didn't look directly at her, he could be reasonable. It didn't matter she wasn't directly involved with the con her father ran, but when he saw her, he saw his past. He saw his failures. How Sabrina thought she wouldn't distract him was plain stupid.
He huffed out his frustration. “Sure, I can see how the daughter of the man I despise the most wouldn't bother me at all.” He narrowed his eyes. “I'm only going to think of everything your dad did every time I look at you. A constant reminder of those bad times,” he bit out.
His plan was sunk. No way Cori Walters was going home with him. It was bad enough she knew his secret.
9
Sabrina stared at her phone's screen and ignored the repeated calls from both Cori and Fort. She had provided him a pretend bride, and only four days after he'd made his request. The universe had helped with that one. And she'd found an opportunity for Cori to get her pictures. They both were getting what they wanted, and Sabrina was happy to be done with the task. Now they needed to work together after they buried the hatchet. Hopefully, not in one or the other’s skull.
It had been risky getting Cori to go to Wyoming, but from Sabrina's perspective, it had been a no-brainer. One of a few options could happen.