“We were good at it.”
“It was the only thing we were good at.” And it wasn’t all that great, if I’m being honest. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.” The words sound harsh coming out of my mouth, but she needs to hear them. “I love someone else.”
“That blonde whore?”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Daisy laughs. “Like she’s so innocent.”
“She’s perfect just the way she is, and we’re happy. All three of us are happy.”
“Sure you are. How well do you know this woman? Maybe I don’t want her around my son.”
“Then you should have stuck around so you’d be able to make such decisions. It’s late and I want to sleep. It’s time for you to leave.”
“One more thing, Wes, and then I promise I’ll leave.”
“Fine. One more thing.”
35
Scarlet
I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders, unable to stop shivering. Wes has been gone for nearly an hour now, and I haven’t heard from him. Every minute that passes makes me more anxious.
I’ve shut down, told everyone I was tired and wanted to sit in silence on the couch. Dean went upstairs to sleep, and Quinn and Archer left about half an hour ago. Emma woke up crying, and after nursing her back to sleep, Quinn was able to slip her into her car seat and leave.
Mrs. Dawson walks out from the kitchen to check on me, and I close my eyes and pretend that I’m asleep. I have no idea what will happen. I’m in the middle of nowhere at their farm. While this place feels safe and I trust the Dawsons as if they were my own family—actually I trust them more than my own—I want out of here. Because shit is going to hit the fan at any minute and I don’t think I can stand to see the disappointment in Mrs. Dawson’s eyes.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I shoot up. It’s Weston, and for a split second, I’m scared to answer.
“Hello?” My voice is shaky and thin.
“Hey.” He’s not yelling. Not telling me to fuck off or run away and never return. “She’s finally gone…for now. I’m changing into pajamas and will head back. What do you want me to bring for you?”
Wait, what? He’s not mad. Does he not know? Did I get a Christmas miracle in No-fucking-vember?
“Scarlet?”
“Sorry,” I rush out. “I’m tired. Um, just my toothbrush and some leggings and a sweatshirt or something for the morning. I don’t really care.”
“Any preference?”
“Something black.”
I can hear Weston walking down the hall and into my room. My clothes are still mostly in that closet. “That’s easy. About ninety percent of what you own is black.”
“It’s a flattering color.”
“Anything is flattering on you.”
I close my eyes and lean back, eyes filling with tears. He doesn’t know. I will live to see another day.
“Just pick the first thing you grab and get back here. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” He zips a bag and moves through the house. “I’ll be there soon. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I hang up, too relieved to realize Mrs. Dawson has come back into the room.
“Is everything okay, dear?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah. I think so.” I pull the blankets up and cast my eyes down, trying to cover up how emotional I am right now. “Wes is coming back. He wants to stay here just in case.”
“I figured he would. I can show you to the guest room upstairs if you’d like.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” We go upstairs.
“This used to be Quinn’s room, and when she lived in Chicago, she’d come and stay for the weekend. There should be face wash and soap in the bathroom if you need any.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Dawson looks at me and smiles. “And thank you, Scarlet, for making my Weston happy again.”
Don’t thank me yet, lady.
Wes rolls over and pulls me to him. The rough skin on the palm of his hand slides under my shirt and over my stomach, and I inhale deeply, not opening my eyes. It’s early in the morning, and we’re still at his parents’ house.
He didn’t talk about what happened when he came in last night. He looked tired and worn and not even his mom questioned him on it. I’ve been dying to ask, but I’m going on the whole no news is good news thing.
Once we were in bed together, Wes kissed me hard and made love to me. I know he’s worried this whole mess with Daisy will send me running, but he has nothing to worry about. The expectation of finding someone with no baggage, with nothing from their past that could come back to haunt them, is ridiculous. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. We’ve all had the best-laid plans come crashing down.
It’s not the past that makes up who you are. It’s how you continue forward with your life. Which is why I know we can work out. I’m not the same girl I was when I first laid eyes on him, when my only thought was oh shit, both because I knew he was the right amount of brooding and gorgeous to get under my skin and because he wasn’t the rich asshole I thought I’d be working for.
And even if I had started working for Quinn and Archer…I don’t think I would have gone through with things. They’re both good fucking people. Quinn is my friend now.
I swallow hard and let out a shaky breath. I fell in love with Weston, but it’s deeper than that. There’s Jackson, of course, and the rest of the Dawsons. I love that whole family.
The toilet flushes in the jack-and-jill bathroom, and I sit up, peering in. Jackson steps onto a stool at the sink to wash his hands. He doesn’t know we’re here. I wait until he’s drying his hands to whisper his name. He does a double-take and then runs in, jumping on the bed.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “Your dad is still sleeping.”
Jackson hugs me and then squirms out of bed, running back into his room and returning with Ray, who’s looking more tattered and worn as each day goes by.
“He told me he gets lonely,” Jackson says, situating the unicorn under the covers with us. He’s sandwiched between Weston and me, and Wes wakes up with a smile.
“Hey, buddy.”
“What are you doing here, Daddy?”
“I missed you too much.” Wes wraps his muscular arms around his son, making Jackson look so small nestled against Wes’s large frame. “Did you have fun with Grammy and Papa?”
“Yes! We made cake and I helped change a poopy diaper,” he says proudly. “And I was the only one who got Emma to stop crying.”
“You’re a good cousin,” I tell him, pulling the blankets up over all of us. We lay in bed for a few more minutes. Then Jackson says he’s hungry and gets crabby when Wes tells him to let us go back to sleep.
“Go find Grammy,” Wes mumbles, turning over. “You’re at her house.”
“I want you,” Jackson whines.
“I’ll take him down,” I offer.
“You don’t have to,” Wes grumbles. “Jackson, it’s early. Lay back down.”
That starts a crying fit and Wes gets up with a huff. It’s not even seven AM yet, and the house is quiet. Well, until we go into the kitchen. Then all four dogs come running, thinking we’re going to feed them breakfast. Wes lets them out and plugs in the coffee pot.
“Want any?” he asks, getting out a mug.
I shake my head. “I’ll have tea instead if there is any.”
Wes puts on a kettle and turns on cartoons for Jackson, who cuddles up with a blanket on the living room couch and isn’t interested in breakfast anymore. But we’re already up, so we might as well eat.
“Morning,” Mrs. Dawson says, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later. She looks at the cereal we’re eating and shakes her head. “I’m going to make you a real breakfast.”
“You don’t have to,” I tell her, rather enjoying my Crackling Oats.
“There’s no point in arguing,” Wes whisper-talks. “Food is love in Mom’s eyes.”
“Food is
comforting, and I figured after last night you could use a little extra comfort.” She pulls eggs and bacon from the fridge and looks at Wes, waiting for him to explain things.
“Yeah. In that case, make me lunch and dinner too.”
“Is she coming back?” I ask quietly.
“I’m sure, but I think I made it clear I’ll only handle this through a lawyer. I’m not making deals or promises with her.” Wes takes a long drink of coffee. “I don’t know what to do.” He sets his mug down and puts his head in his hands. “He’s her son too.”
“It’s a hard situation,” I agree, putting my hand on Wes’s shoulder.
“You said your dad wasn’t around when you were a kid, right?”
“Right. I was glad when he came back into our lives, but mostly because my mom was a dead-beat drug addict who left me to raise my brother and sister.”
Mrs. Dawson turns away from the stove to look at me, but her eyes aren’t full of judgment. She feels bad for me, which is almost worse than being judged. I don’t want anyone’s pity.
“Jackson has you,” I go on. “So it’s a totally different situation.”
“She’s never been a mother to him,” Mrs. Dawson says, and I know she’s fighting hard not to scream profanities and curse Daisy’s name. “Thank God you’re in the process of being granted full custody of Jackson.”
Wes nods. “She is his mother, but she’s left him. Twice. I’m not risking him getting to know his mom only to have her leave again.”
“That’s smart,” I agree. “She’ll have to earn the right to see him. He’s a great kid.” I look into the living room, only able to see the top of Jackson’s head from where I’m sitting. “I can’t imagine leaving him like that.”
Mrs. Dawson beams at me. “I’ve always been a believer in things happening for a reason. Sometimes the reason takes years to manifest, but it’s there.”
The tea kettle starts to whistle, and I get up to get it. Mrs. Dawson’s words echo in my head, making me think I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe everything in my shitty past happened to push me here right now.
I never would have met Wes in the South Side. And I never would have come to this small Indiana town. The only reason we met was because I took a job thinking I could con my new boss. If I didn’t have such shitty moral character before, I wouldn’t be where we are right now.
I’m happy.
Weston is happy.
Jackson is happy.
Maybe this did happen for a reason.
36
Scarlet
“What’s all this?” I ask, looking at the papers and boxes cluttering the living room. We just got back to Weston’s house. In the daylight, things never seen as scary as they do in the dark. And the more I think about the universe wanting me to meet Weston, the better I feel about this whole situation.
“Family heirlooms. Jackson, don’t touch them,” he adds quickly.
“Why are they out?” I take off my coat and move to the couch, curiously picking up an old book.
“You-know-who wore her mother’s wedding dress at our wedding.” He looks uncomfortable talking about it. “She wanted it back and I wasn’t sure what box it was in.”
“Oh. This stuff is cool.”
“You like Civil War history?” he asks, looking a little amused.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t know much about it. But I love antiques. Wait, all this stuff is from the Civil War?”
“Some of it is. Not all is that old. It’s been in the Dawson family for years and gets passed down to the oldest son. Jackson will get it someday.”
“Can I see it?” Jackson asks, peering into a box.
“Sure,” Wes says, and we all sit on the floor together. There are books, handwritten letters, a World War II Army uniform, a saber, and a silver tea set that looks like it has to be worth a pretty penny.
“Can we use it?” Jackson asks as I carefully look at the teapot, feeling like I should be wearing those white gloves you see museum workers wearing when they handle artifacts.
“I don’t know if it’s safe to drink out of,” Wes says, looking at the sugar bowl. “It might have traces of lead in it.”
I gently set the teapot down and grab my phone, doing a Google search for more info on the tea set.
“Holy shit—I mean, shoot. But holy.” I turn my phone around, showing Wes the value of the tea set.
He takes my phone from me, eyes going wide. “These aren’t in as good of condition.”
“They’re tarnished, which can be cleaned. That’s crazy though.”
Wes nods. “It is. I had no idea.”
“That sword and the uniform are probably worth a lot too.”
“I know the saber is,” he tells me. “And we know the personal history of it.” He sorts through a box for a minute, pulling out a photo of great-great-great Grandpa Dawson holding the exact sword.
“Wow. That’s incredible.”
“It is pretty cool,” he agrees. We spend another half an hour looking through the stuff before putting it away. Wes tries to get Jackson to sit and watch a movie with us since we’re tired. Any other time this kid would jump at the chance to watch TV, but since both Wes and I are dead tired, of course he wants to paint instead. Everything is fine at first, and then Jackson paints his face in the one minute Wes and I turned our backs, talking in hushed voices about being extra careful at preschool pick-up with Daisy back in town.
Wes takes Jackson upstairs for a bath, and I start cleaning up the paint mess on the table. Wes’s phone is on the counter, and it vibrates with an alert from the motion sensor on the doorbell. Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I rush through the house and see Daisy standing at the front door.
Anger surges through me and I storm out of the house before thinking it through.
“You are not welcome here,” I say, clenching my fists. “Leave before I call the cops. Or better yet. Watch Wes cart your ass off to jail.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “And it was you I wanted to talk to.”
Oh, shit. I cross my arms, trying to stay calm and keep warm. It’s cold out here and I’m not wearing shoes or a coat.
“You have two minutes.”
“This won’t take long. Good thing I already know all about you, Scarlet Cooper.”
I try to swallow my fear and keep my cool. “What do you want?”
“I want my family back and I want you out of the picture.”
“That’s not happening.”
She laughs. “That’s what you think. Come on, we both know Wes will kick you out when he learns the truth. And not just about you coming here to rob him blind, but about all the other cons you pulled. I think my favorite was the time you convinced a Fortune 500 CEO to donate thousands to a bullshit charity you made up.”
The blood drains from my face. How does she—dammit, Heather. She was bragging about me to her prison friends, who relayed the message to Daisy.
“I’ll tell him you’re lying.”
“I knew you’d say that.” She bats her lashes and gives me a smile. “So I did some digging and your sister has been so helpful. I should really send her a thank-you note or something.” Daisy reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper with a name and number written on it.
Deven McAllister.
My old boss. The one I blackmailed into paying me for my silence. Shit. Shit Shit Shhhiiitttt.
“Why would you do that to Wes?”
“Because I want him back.” Daisy shakes her head like it’s obvious. “And you’re going to help me get him back.”
“Fuck that.”
Daisy holds up her finger. “The election is coming up soon, isn’t it? It’d be a shame if something were to happen.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
“Oh, I will if you push me.” She takes a step forward and I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a slippery cliff, desperately trying to keep my footing. “Star County is small and full of closed-minded,
simple people. If you haven’t noticed, not everyone here is as open and understanding as the Dawsons. One little rumor about candidate Wes Dawson dating a known con-artist with a sister in jail, a mother who died of an overdose, and a father who drank himself into a stupor and well…it’s not something I’d risk.”
The girl from the ghetto comes out and I don’t even think as I take a tangle of Daisy’s hair and yank her to the ground.
“Stop!” she screams. “Or the article will go out now!”
I freeze, breath leaving in ragged huffs. “Article?”
“My sister works for the Star County Post. Ask Wes, if you don’t believe me.” She scrambles up from the ground. “It’s already written and ready to go out in the morning.”
“They why would I do anything for you?”
“If you tell Wes he should give his wife, Jackson’s mother, another chance and then get the hell out of here, I’ll have her yank the article. And if not…you know what will be on the front page of the Sunday paper…two days before the election.”
“You’re a horrible fucking person.”
“Like you’re much better,” she snorts. “How many people have you fucked over? Actually, I’m curious. How many other married men have you slept with? Wes can’t be the first.”
“He’s not married to you anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter. He was mine first. And I want him back.” She taps her watch. “Tick-tock. You don’t have much time before the front page is drafted up. And even if you took your sorry ass out of here after that, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
With a triumphant smile, she turns and leaves, walking across the street and getting into a white sedan. I never stopped and thought about what the people I was conning felt. They were asshole men trying to pick me up at a bar, not even attempting to hide the fact they were married. They deserved it, or at least that’s what I told myself. Maybe I deserve to have my happily ever after ripped away, but Weston doesn’t.
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