Accidental Rebel: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  He shakes his head. “Nah, I kept Dad company. Think he liked having somebody awake most of the time to talk to on the road. It gets lonely driving that many hours,” he tells me proudly.

  Lauren gives him a formidable look. “And you ate nachos that made us have to stop at bathrooms every thirty miles.”

  I quiver. “Gas station nachos? The kind where the cheese sauce just festers in one of those metal urns? My condolences.”

  “Yup!” Lauren laughs. “It smelled awful. I told him to be careful but...he was starving.”

  Shane nods and grimaces. “All right, all right. Lesson learned. No more orange goop ever.”

  I fight back a laugh. They’re both so adorable. “Smart choice. That stuff makes me quiver just thinking about it,” I say, cringing all over again. “I opened the lid once.”

  “It was really gross inside, wasn’t it?” Lauren asks, wrinkling her nose.

  “Pretty much. Gross might be an understatement.”

  “I knew it!” Looking at her brother, she says, “Told you.”

  Shane puts his hands up defensively, trying not to grin.

  She glances up at me again, her little eyes twinkling. “I told him those things are never washed. They’re all unsanitary.”

  “The one I opened up hadn’t ever seen a wipe down, that’s for sure,” I tell her.

  “Why would you ever open one?” Shane asks, standing to stretch.

  “It was...a project of sorts. A challenge, I guess you’d call it. I had to describe the cheese machine in painful detail,” I answer, hating how it sounds as ridiculous as it actually was.

  His face wrinkles with a frown. “What kind of project is that?”

  “Something to do.” I shrug. “I liked to do a lot of writing growing up.”

  I decide to leave it at that. It sounds better than explaining how Mother was always doing research for her books, locked up in her writer’s cave, and because I was usually with her, I was given assignments, things to research and describe in vivid detail to keep me busy.

  “Sounds like you need an iPad, Miss,” Shane says dryly.

  A giggle bubbles up my throat as Lauren nudges him with her elbow again, shaking her head.

  “What kind of books do you like?” I ask her.

  “All of them,” her brother mutters. “Real boring stuff.”

  “Says you! I like history, fantasy, mysteries...” She shoots him another daunting look before rattling off a number of children’s series.

  Some older ones that I’d read when I was young, and some newer ones I’ve barely heard of but haven’t bought because they’re kids’ books. Mother would shake her head if she knew I was interested in reading them.

  I sit down on the extra chair and ask her about the ones I’ve read. I remember the characters like I’d just read the books yesterday instead of years ago. That’s something I’d agree on with momsy, the endless power of a good read to stick in your head many years later.

  I’m supposed to be the adult here. I could go on, tell the kids some sage wisdom about how books open doors, and Lauren should never stop reading, and Shane should read more, but...

  We’re still talking about a series that was turned into a Netflix show recently when Manny’s office door swings open.

  “Ms. Courtney?” Manny calls. “Allow me to formally introduce you to Miller Rush.”

  I stand up abruptly, trying to steel my knees, nodding at the man as he steps closer.

  He may be tall. He may be hot. He may be gruff.

  But if I’m going to do this, I can’t let him scare me anymore.

  “Miller, please meet Gwendolyn Courtney. Your partner in crime for however long you’ll be staying here in little old Finley Grove.”

  For a second, Miller turns, giving him a vicious look.

  Manny holds up his hand. “Sorry. Poor choice of words maybe. By partner in crime, I certainly didn’t mean–”

  “Enough,” he growls before turning back to me.

  Oh, crap. There’s that racing heart again. Except now it feels more like a turbo powered lawnmower screaming against my ribs.

  He’s standing still, the dirty look fading off his face, waiting.

  I can do this. I swear, just a quick nod and a handshake and we’ll be like old friends.

  Yeah, I’m delusional.

  My hands start shaking the instant I move closer, and he holds out a hand.

  Curling my right hand into a tight ball to quell the trembling, I force myself to hold out my fingers.

  “Thanks for agreeing to help us, Ms. Courtney,” he says. “Means a lot to me and my family.”

  Whatever else I expected, it’s not this.

  Sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. They’re the same bright sky-blue as Shane’s.

  I push my hand out farther. “Happy to help!” I say.

  He says nothing else. Just takes hold of my hand firmly.

  Oh, God.

  Then it happens. The brush fire heat of his palm touching mine sends a bolt of pure electricity racing up my arm. I pull my hand away. Unable to think of anything to say, I nod, and then look at Manny.

  “Everything’s all set,” my boss says, oblivious to the weird energy exchange powerful enough to short-circuit me. “I think Miller here has been awake for over a whole day, and he’s ready to get some rest. So don’t let me hold you guys up a minute longer. See you around, Ms. Courtney.”

  I nod at Manny. He’s probably not wrong.

  Miller’s eyes do look dog-tired, and there’s a five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. Tongue-tied again, I nod, then walk to my desk where I shut down my desktop and pull my purse out of the bottom desk drawer.

  Manny says goodbye again and just like that we’re walking out the door.

  Once we’re outside, I point at Pearl. “That’s my ride. You can follow me to my place, it’s not far.”

  “Got a restaurant or drive-thru on the way?” Miller gestures at the kids climbing in the back seat of his Equinox. “They’re hungry as hell. It’s been too long since we had a real meal.”

  Oh. Right. They’re probably starving.

  “There’s a hamburger joint along the way,” I tell him. “This small local place that serves up breakfast and sandwiches and other diner fare. I hear they do the job.”

  I can’t speak from experience. I’ve never eaten there.

  Shrugging because I don’t know much about the taco place on the far side of town, either, I let him think it over. Finley Grove sprawls out across several miles, all thanks to the newer housing developments, but the town doesn’t have much of a business base. “The only major sit-down restaurant nearby is about another five miles away. I’m not sure if they open before lunch, though. I know for certain the other restaurant at the golf course doesn’t open until four.”

  That’s the only one I’ve patronized, with Mother, more Friday nights than I want to count. There’s a bar there where I do drinks with friends the rare times they come into town.

  “The drive-thru will do,” he says.

  I hope he’s right. Because I kind of feel like I’m being stared down by a huge, hungry giant.

  “Follow me. We’ll be there in no time,” I say.

  Pearl fires right up, and I back out of my parking space, onto the road. Miller does the same, staying close as I lead him a block or two up to the highway.

  We stop briefly at the four-way stop sign before crossing the road. Glancing in my rear-view mirror when he follows me through the intersection, my lips sag into a frown.

  Something’s off.

  I think it’s that vehicle.

  The baby-blue Equinox just doesn’t fit him. He seems more like the sort of man who’d drive a hulking four-by-four pickup. Black and tall and snorty like a dragon, so high the kids would need his help to scramble up in it.

  But what do I know? I’ve known this guy for all of an hour.

  Taking the next corner, we pull into the hamburger joint. I don’t know if he wants to go insi
de or not, so I park on the side of the lot. He drives past me, straight into the drive-thru lane.

  I wait patiently until after he’s ordered and pulled forward before I flip a U-turn so they can follow me after they get their food. My place isn’t far. Only a mile from here.

  And I can feel my nerves revving up with every second ticking by.

  “No backing out now,” I whisper. “It’s a week or two. Big money. You can do this.”

  I wrinkle my nose, just knowing those words are going to be my personal prayer for however long this lasts.

  * * *

  The row of four-plex townhouses backs up neatly against the golf course. There are two other sets of units just like mine, and then four separate, but attached homes farther down on Seventh Avenue. About where the road comes to an abrupt end, right next to the eighteenth hole of the golf course.

  If I were the superstitious type, I might start to wonder if that number means something.

  During those last few minutes while I wait for his Equinox to round the building, I take a few deep breaths, reminding myself I’m doing the right thing. Helping them. Helping myself to the serious moolah Manny promised.

  And it’s for a good cause...isn’t it? Knowing it’s a witness protection program is comforting.

  Only innocent people can use that program, especially if it’s sanctioned by some alphabet soup agency like the FBI. Right?

  I hope so.

  I’m still debating it, and my own judgment, when Miller’s Equinox appears in my mirror. Drawing in another breath for the road, I hold it and shift Pearl into drive.

  Within a matter of minutes, we’re rumbling up my driveway. I push the garage door remote, now hosting a new battery, and pull in close to the far wall, leaving plenty of room for his vehicle next to mine.

  The two car garages are another reason Mother bought this place, and then the other three rental properties, years ago. She claims a garage is a must in wintry Minnesota.

  She’s not wrong, but right now, I’m even more thankful for the garage, plus the large door that slowly closes. It almost feels like I need to keep Miller and the kids hidden.

  Like they’re a secret, a treasure I have to protect. It seems like the stakes are high with the amount of money I’m supposed to get from all this. But every time, I come back to the glaring, chilling fact that for them, it’s worse. It could mean their lives.

  “Lauren, you can carry the food while Shane and I grab our luggage,” Miller says as he shuts his car door.

  I walk around my car and see Lauren looking down at her hands. One’s full of books, the other’s holding a heavy looking backpack.

  Smiling at her, I say, “No worries. I’ll get the food.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Courtney!” Shaking her head, she whispers, “Men.”

  I want to bust out laughing at the sour expression on her face, but just wink at her instead. “This way,” I say, once I collect two bags of food and a tray of drinks out of the front seat.

  I lead her through the living room, not worrying about my shoes, and then into the kitchen, where I set down the food. Miller and Shane have their hands full with the suitcases. “There’s a bedroom just up those stairs, and another one right around the corner. Can’t miss them.”

  Shane looks around, frowning. “Why does your house look so big on the outside, but so small on the inside?”

  “Because it’s a townhome,” I say.

  His frown deepens. “What’s that mean? It’s only half a house?”

  “Sort of,” I answer. “There are actually four houses here, all connected to each other.”

  “Weird,” he whispers. “I remember Dad talking about living in something like that growing up and–”

  “Shane.” There’s a commanding edge in Miller’s voice. “Luggage.”

  The boy blinks, nods, and starts up the stairs with a suitcase in each hand and a backpack on his back.

  Miller follows him, and I smile at Lauren. “You can put your stuff on the sofa or carry it upstairs. I’ll get plates and set the table.”

  “Oh, no, I’ll help,” she says, setting her backpack on the sofa and books on the coffee table. “I like your house. It’s bright and pretty. Nice flowers on the wall.”

  I follow to where she’s looking, no heart to tell her the floral arrangement is a total fake.

  “Thank you.” I hand her three plates. “You can put these on the table while I fetch you guys some silverware and napkins.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat with us? Dad bought you a chicken sandwich and a soda.” She looks at me expectantly. “I wasn’t sure...we just thought you might like chicken over a burger.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” I grab another fork from the drawer and then a plate out of the cupboard. “Thank you.”

  I’m not that hungry, not with my stomach turning itself into knots, but how can I refuse? I’m not that rude.

  I think.

  Honestly, now that they’re here, I’m feeling way out of sorts. Like I’m a stranger in my own home. Almost as out of my element as these unexpected guests I’d agreed to on a whim.

  Well, and a heartfelt six-figure payout, but I’m not sure an extra zero behind that would make this less weird.

  Lauren and I are working on getting the food plated and the four sodas on the table when Miller and Shane come back downstairs.

  “This place isn’t so bad! Your backyard is huge,” Shane says, jumping off the bottom step. “Those kinds of places back home cost a fortune, don’t they, Dad?”

  “Right, son.” Miller shrugs, taking in the scene.

  “It’s not all my backyard.” I point out the sliding glass door behind the table. “That pond is the water trap for a golf course. It starts back there, right behind my little patio.”

  Shane speedwalks around the table. “Golf? Cool! I love golfing.”

  “It’s time to sit down and eat, bud,” Miller says, pulling out a chair at the table for him.

  Empathy fills me. He’s looking more like death warmed over by the minute. It’s strange to see a man with his size and looks so utterly drained, like he’s just had the life sucked out of him.

  The kids don’t seem affected, but I imagine they slept while he drove. “Once you’re done eating, we can walk down to the course,” I tell Shane. “There are always golf balls around the water trap people leave behind.”

  Shane’s eyes light up. “There are? Can I keep them?”

  I shrug. “If you want. Or you can turn them into the clubhouse. They’ll probably pay you for them.”

  “They will?” He grins. “Sweet. I wanted a way to make some money this summer.”

  “They use them for the driving range, mostly. Always need a good supply.”

  Shane looks at his father. “Can we go look for some?”

  “I’ll take them,” I say before Miller has a chance to answer. “While you take a nap.”

  “You won’t mind?” he asks, looking relieved.

  I shake my head. “Not at all! It’s nice outside, and I have the afternoon off thanks to you. It’d be a shame to waste such a beautiful day.”

  For a moment, he hesitates, something dark turning behind his eyes.

  “Thanks,” he says. “I appreciate it. Just remember, kids, you stay with Ms. Courtney. Anybody comes around asking about you, about us, you–”

  “Dad, I know. We run and find you. You’ve told us a hundred times.” Shane nods, gobbling up his burger. “We’ve been cooped up forever. Can’t wait to walk around.”

  The rest of the meal gets eaten without much conversation. Once we’re done, the kids help me clear off the table while Miller thanks me again, tells the kids to behave, and goes upstairs.

  “Hey, Shane,” I say, pointing at a drawer. “There’s a bag in there you can use to save the golf balls you find.”

  “Awesome!” He opens the drawer and pulls out a bag, then runs for the patio door. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”

  Frowning slightly as he pull
s open the door, he says, “Oh, but one more thing...should we call you mom? Or is that too freaky?”

  Ice instantly grips my spine, freezing me in my tracks. Mom?

  “No, silly,” Lauren tells him. “She’s just our pretend mom, remember? Dad’s pretend wife.”

  Wife?

  I feel sick.

  4

  Fine Print (Miller)

  Even in my dreams, I can still see her smile.

  It’s subtle, sly, intense. A faint crescent smile like the Mona Lisa, if da Vinci’s model had been a cold-blooded demon.

  My eyes want to bore through this witch. I wish I had superpowers so my gaze could set her the fuck on fire. After what I’d found, after what I knew she’d orchestrated, if anybody ever deserved their own special VIP seat in hell, it’s Jackie Wren.

  But in my fitful dreams, every time her cruel lips open, she always asks the same question.

  “How much, Miller?”

  I don’t have time to answer.

  There’s just the fierce sound of Keith screaming, bones breaking, and the deafening thud of my own pulse.

  * * *

  “Shit!” I bolt up in a cold sweat, wiping my brow.

  Almost the same nightmare as the other few times I’ve slept since everything fell apart. I wonder if I’ll ever have a normal night of shut-eye again.

  Disoriented from sleeping so hard, it takes a second to remember where I am.

  Finley Grove. Minnesota. Gwen’s place. Safe.

  For now.

  I’m scrunched in a twin-sized bottom bunk bed so short my knees are practically touching my shoulders. I roll over onto my back and shove my feet out over the foot board. Sweet relief rolls up my legs, into my back.

  I needed that, both the stretch and the sleep.

  I’d been so dog-tired, I barely remember my head hitting the pillow. Even with the nightmare ending, I feel better.

  Reaching beneath my head, I rub my neck, working out the knots. It takes a lot of pressure to relieve the tension.

  The plywood above me is painted bone white, almost glowing in the darkness, just like the rest of the wood used to make these bunks. They’re sturdy, friendlier than the slabs I had in my Army days, and if they were longer, they wouldn’t be half bad.