The Marriage Bargain

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The Marriage Bargain Page 10

by Stephanie Dees


  Food and stuff.

  Jules closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks for her sweet niece. She took a deep breath and walked through the door. “Okay, you ready to go, Amelia?”

  “Yep.” Amelia got up from the table and pushed her chair in. “Thanks for the cookies, Uncle Cam.”

  He hesitated but smiled. “Anytime, kiddo.”

  “Go ahead to the car, Amelia. I’ll be right there.” Jules heard the garage door open as she stopped by the kitchen table. “I have something to say, Cam.”

  “Surprise.” A tired smile kicked up one corner of his mouth, but he didn’t look up, his eyes on the cookie in his hands as he turned the chocolate wafers around and around.

  “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Your childhood, getting kicked out, none of it. You didn’t cause it. It happened to you, but it was not your fault, any more than what happened to Amelia was hers.”

  “Thanks, Jules.” When he looked up, his face was carefully blank, a look she hadn’t seen since his first day or two here. He’d clearly retreated into his Cone of Distrust.

  She drew in a breath, then sighed. “There’s just one more thing. We may not be a couple, but you will always have a family.”

  He didn’t say anything else. Once again, she wanted to reach out to him, but since she knew she couldn’t, she followed Amelia to the car. The damp air hung around her like a wet blanket, and her heart felt heavy, too.

  All the work they’d done in the past few weeks to create that thin bond between them had dissolved in the space of one conversation...under the weight of a broken childhood.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cam shoved away from his desk, staring at the blank screen of his computer. The blinking cursor taunted him with the futility of writing today. He’d played with the puppy until Pippi had collapsed in a boneless heap. He’d made coffee—twice. He’d ordered toys on the internet—for the kids and the dog. He was taking procrastination to a new level, but the fact was, he just couldn’t concentrate.

  His mind was on the conversation he’d had with Juliet last night. He hadn’t slept at all, despite the exhaustion he still felt from the infamous “ear infection week.” He’d never told anyone, not even Ya-ya, what happened that day he’d left home—what his stepfather had said and how his mother had turned away from him. And now he knew what it felt like to have your guts hanging out, life choices laid bare.

  It was so much easier to get lost in a made-up story, a new character in a new place. His hero was about to paraglide off a mountain in Morocco to rescue his heroine in the latest adventure story. Cam, on the other hand, was about to make another cup of coffee. He tossed his pencil down and watched it bounce off the desk and land somewhere behind his trash can.

  “C’mon, Pippi. We’re going to the house.” The puppy tilted her head and obligingly loped to the stairs after Cam.

  The storm of the night before had passed, leaving them with a crisp, cool spring day. The dog’s attention was caught by a grasshopper, and she was halfway across the yard before Cam could close the barn door. At some point, he needed to clean up the remains of last night’s date: the table, still laid with china and crystal, and the uneaten dessert, still in the cooler under the table.

  Going on an actual date with Jules... It had been a good thought. Wasn’t that what people said when they had good intentions, but the reality turned out to be a horrible mistake? Last night definitely hadn’t gone as planned, but he was going to have to find a way to put it out of his mind and move forward. He and Jules had to work together for the girls.

  Pippi ran ahead of him into the house when he opened the door to the kitchen, immediately sniffing under the high chair and nibbling the remains of whatever Emma had for breakfast. The espresso maker was on already, so Cam didn’t have to wait for it to heat up, which foiled his plan to take as long as possible before he went back to not writing.

  As the fragrant espresso streamed into his cup, he picked up an orange-yellow biscuit from a baking sheet and sniffed it. Sweet potato? He shrugged and slathered on some butter from the crock on the counter. He took a bite and looked at it in surprise. That was one delicious biscuit. Jules was upping her biscuit game for the new restaurant.

  As the last of the steam from the espresso maker spurted into his mug, he realized he could hear the murmur of voices from the living room. Mug in hand, he strolled through the archway, expecting to find one of Juliet’s siblings, and stumbled to a halt when he recognized the woman on the sofa.

  She was older and life hadn’t treated her well. Her face was grooved with time and hard living, but he had no problem recognizing her.

  He looked at those eyes in the mirror every morning. “Hello, Mother.”

  She rose to her feet as he greeted her, her hand going to her chest. He acknowledged that she’d at least put a little bit of effort into her appearance. Her black hair, now streaked with gray, was still damp and combed into a severe ponytail at the back of her head, but her eyes were bloodshot and he wondered if her long sleeves covered needle tracks. Her hands were trembling. And her presence here, in his home, was a punch in the gut.

  Jules was visibly uncomfortable, sitting on the edge of a club chair made for relaxing, and he wondered why she hadn’t called him. Unless maybe he had it backward. Maybe Jules had set the visit up after their conversation last night.

  The flash of anger was gone as quickly as it came. Jules was incredibly protective. There was no way she would willingly allow Vicky anywhere near the girls, not until custody was settled, and maybe not even then. And their own relationship might be far from what appearances suggested, but he knew she’d protect him, too. He frowned. “What are you doing here, Vicky?”

  She flinched slightly at his tone, but recovered quickly, smoothing her face into an ingratiating smile. “I heard my firstborn was in town and I wanted to see you, Cameron. It’s been too long. You look wonderful. And I wanted to see the girls, too, of course.”

  “That’s not happening.”

  Jules’s eyes snapped to his and she looked worried, so he crossed to her and sat on the arm of the chair, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  It was hard for him to think of Vicky as his mother, because as far as he was concerned, the person who’d mothered him ceased to exist after she’d turned her back on him. “You filed a petition for custody, Vicky. You shouldn’t even be here.”

  “Jules isn’t texting me back,” she said, a petulant tone to her voice. “They’re my grandchildren.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, fearing that he was going to say something he would regret, something she could use against them in court. Jules groped for his hand, then gripped his fingers.

  Vicky turned narrowed eyes toward the two of them, a sneer forming on her face as she changed tactics. “I bet you two are having a fine time spending the money the girls inherited from Glory on this big fancy house. I hate to do it, but I’m gonna have to tell the judge about it—for the girls’ own good.”

  “You go ahead and tell the judge whatever you want,” Cam laughed, even though the accusation wasn’t funny. He should’ve known this little family reunion was all about the money. In fact, he and Jules had figured that from the beginning. They just hadn’t realized how bold Vicky was, or maybe how desperate.

  Jules cleared her throat. “Mrs. Porter, Cam’s a very successful author. He doesn’t need Eleanor and Emma’s money.”

  Of course, Vicky turned on her, then, too, stammering and indignant. “It doesn’t matter what kind of stunts you pull—you’re not going to get to keep them. You’re not even related to them. I’m their grandmother and the judge is going to give me custody. Glory shoulda put that in the will, anyway.”

  “I think Glory had a good idea of what was best for the girls.” Cam stood and took a couple of deliberate steps toward the door. “It’s time for you to go now.”

 
Vicky shook her head and sat back down on the couch. “Not until I see the girls.”

  Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he handed it to Jules. “Call your brother. Tell him we need a patrol car out here. There’s someone trespassing on our property.”

  Vicky’s eyes went wide. “Stop—I’ll leave, but I’m going to tell the judge you wouldn’t let me see my own flesh and blood.”

  “You’re not getting custody of them. If I have to fight you until every last cent of my money is gone, and I have to work until I’m 110, I will not give up fighting you on this. Eleanor and Emma deserve parents who care about them and love them, parents who put them first. They deserve parents.”

  Vicky stood in the open door, anger making her face blotchy. Ah, there she was, the woman who’d watched as his entire life was torn from him. It shouldn’t surprise him, but her next words shook him, anyway. “I should’ve let Jerry kill you when he wanted to. At least then you would’ve stayed gone.”

  He heard Juliet’s gasp from behind him. He waited until his mother had gotten into her car and turned onto the highway before he faced Jules with a sigh. “I might not have mentioned that my stepdad was holding a gun on me when he told me I had to leave.”

  Jules put her arms around him. “We’re not a couple. I know that. I just... I need to hug you.”

  He closed the circle of his arms and held her. “I’m not going to let her hurt you or the girls, Jules. You have my word.”

  “I know.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and clear. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but getting kicked out of that house was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to you. I mean, look at you. Look what you’ve made with your life. And that was all you.”

  He couldn’t help it; he kissed her forehead, stepping back with his hands in the air when Jules snapped a look at him. “I know, I know, no kissing. But come on, that doesn’t count.”

  She studied his face and he wondered if maybe he had a telltale piece of biscuit stuck somewhere.

  “Are you okay, Cam? Really okay?”

  “Surprisingly, yes.” He started toward the front door, picking up his keys from the table in the entrance hall. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Another one?” She looked wary, and honestly, after all his confessions in the last twenty-four hours, he didn’t blame her.

  He grinned at her. “I ate one of your biscuits, and it was amazing. Is that going on the new menu?”

  “Most likely.” Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled, a genuine smile, and something eased in him, as well. “I’m thinking thick slices of ham, lettuce, tomato, maybe avocado. The sweet potato flavor is subtle, though, so maybe maple turkey would complement it better. What do you think?”

  “I think we should taste-test both of them, just to be sure. I’m going to pick the girls up at day care. I want to get there a little early so I can make sure the preschool staff never lets them leave with anyone but you or me.”

  “I told them that already.”

  “It won’t hurt to repeat it.” As he walked to his car, he took note of his surroundings. He didn’t think his mother would attempt something as heinous as trying to kidnap the girls, but honestly, he wouldn’t put it past her.

  * * *

  While Cam went to pick up Emma and Eleanor, Jules took the opportunity to check on the progress at the construction site. April and Lanna had everything running like a top at the bakery, so she felt great about that. But when she passed the construction dumpster in the alley—booths and tables and pieces of Sheetrock piled high—she had a moment of panic. She wanted to tell the construction crew she’d changed her mind, to put it all back. Which, of course, was ridiculous.

  She liked everything to be perfect and she wasn’t comfortable with a mess, even if she knew logically the mess was the way through to something better. And come to think of it, that sounded like a great metaphor for her life these days, and might be the reason she’d been so unsettled about her relationship with Cameron.

  It was all so complicated and messy. Very, very messy.

  She pulled open the back door of the café and stepped into organized chaos. The whole place had been gutted. Dust hung in the air—a thick, choking fog. Near the front, a worker was using some kind of very loud, ear-shattering tool to remove the old vinyl tile from the concrete slab.

  Colin, the contractor Latham had recommended, spotted her and walked over, shouting so he could be heard over the noise. “Mrs. Quinn. I didn’t know you were going to be stopping by today, but as you can see, we’re making progress. Once we demo the bakery, we’ll start installing the floor in the full space. The tile got delivered. You want to check it and make sure it’s the right one before we start laying it in?”

  “Sure.” Her head was spinning. So much was riding on just her gut and instinct. But what if she was wrong? What if her gut feeling stank?

  In the corner, Colin pulled a box cutter out of his back pocket and sliced into one carton, pulling out a tile. “Now, you’ll know this is tile when you see it on the floor, but the overall feel you’ll get when you look at the room as a whole is warmer, like wood. And it’s a lot more durable and less finicky than wood.”

  “It looks good. I like it!” The machine the other worker was using abruptly stopped, leaving Jules shouting into a suddenly quiet room. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “Yeah, it looks good. I like the exposed brick on the back wall, too.”

  “Glad to hear it. We’ve still got some structural work to do in here, like making that back door into French doors that lead out to a courtyard, like you wanted. And we’ve got to replace the windows and all that, but by Monday, we’ll be ready to start demo in the bakery. My crew is the best around. By the end of next week, you’ll be picking out paint colors.”

  “Monday. Wow. Okay, I’ll tell my staff, and over the weekend, we’ll get it cleared out and ready for you to start work. Thanks.”

  “No problem. You’ve got my cell if you have any questions.”

  Jules got in her van with a million questions circling in her mind like sharks ready to feed. Would people come to the restaurant? Would they like a different menu? Was she crazy to change a formula that had worked for her mom for over twenty years?

  The overwhelming urge to call her mother surfaced again. She wanted to hear her mom tell her to trust herself. She definitely didn’t want to disturb the honeymooners. And what if Bertie was horrified that she was changing things? Maybe she’d just snap some pictures and email them to her. She was almost certain Bertie would be supportive, unlike Cam’s mother. The two of them couldn’t be more different.

  So yeah, Jules had lots of questions. She just wasn’t sure the contractor could answer any of them.

  Cam’s car was in the driveway when she pulled in. She picked up a stray sippy cup from the front steps that had probably fallen out of Eleanor’s backpack. The stress she’d felt leaving the café melted away the instant she heard the giggles of two little girls.

  She followed the sound of their play through the living room, down the hall and to the playroom. She had to laugh when she found Cam sitting on the floor, playing dollhouse with Eleanor.

  “No, no, Uncle Cam, you say, ‘I think it’s time to do hair, Princess Piglet.’”

  “I think it’s time to do hair, Princess Piglet.” He was using a falsetto voice, and as he spoke, he wiggled the pig figurine he was holding. Emma was creeping around him, her little hand fisted in his shirt for balance, and the dog was asleep, resting her head on Cam’s foot.

  Jules thought her heart might explode. It was one thing to put the brakes on romance when she knew for a fact he wasn’t feeling the same way. It was another thing altogether to actually resist a man who cared enough about his little girls to play dollhouse.

  She knew better than to fall in love with Cam. She knew better. But every day, she seemed to get a l
ittle bit closer. Not that she would tell him that, or could tell him that. She’d proposed a marriage of convenience, he’d agreed to it and she had to live with it, no matter how hard it was.

  However, it would be super helpful if he’d stop being so incredible. If he were a jerk, it would be so much easier for Jules to remember she wasn’t supposed to fall for him.

  Emma looked over, saw her at the door and squealed. She let go of Cam, steadied herself and took two steps. She teetered toward Jules, looking up with a toothy, drooly grin before losing her balance.

  “Oh, my goodness, Emma, not yet! Cam, did you see that? Emma took two steps!”

  “No way!”

  Jules dropped to the floor beside them and dug her phone out of her back pocket. “Let’s see if she can do it again so we can get it on video.”

  She lifted Emma to her feet and held her until she was steady. And then, as Jules held her phone in trembling hands, their tiny girl took three straight-legged steps toward Cam, arms outstretched, wobbling as she tried to balance.

  “You can do it...” Cam coaxed, as she paused and swayed. “Come on, Emma, you can do it.”

  When Emma dived into Cam’s arms, he tossed her in the air. “Woo-hoo, you did it!”

  Jules tried to speak, but the lump in her throat was too big. She choked out the words, “I’ll be right back,” and hurried into the hall before giving in to the tears.

  Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed—for Emma, because her mom wasn’t here to witness this milestone. For Eleanor because she wanted her mom to tuck her in at night. She cried for Cam because he’d missed knowing his amazing sister, and last, tears for herself, because she missed Glory so, so much.

  She felt a hand touch her shoulder and she turned toward him. Cam held his arms out and she stepped into them, letting him hold her, crying until her tears were spent. Finally, she eased away from him, swiping the wet streaks from under her eyes. She sniffed and winced. “Sorry about your shirt.”

 

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