Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  “Mom didn’t need our permission. And besides, it got her out from under Dad’s leftover debts.” Morgan had to view it this way or she’d launch into orbit at her own hatred of the book and all the troubles it continued to cause her.

  “Dad’s. Debts. Even when they’re paid off, they continue to dog us.” Tory sat down on the sofa and pulled a pillow to her chest to punch. “I mean, geez. He might have been a nice guy, from what Mom says, but such a bad credit risk never existed in all time. I’m so sad for Mom. Don’t you think she saw that coming when she married him? Don’t you think young women should be taught to look a generation ahead when they’re choosing a husband?”

  This was all well-trodden ground. Dad’s exit from their lives when Morgan was six, Mom’s never asking for a divorce, Dad’s debts slamming Mom when he died. Morgan thought about her own choice, the one she’d made without looking a generation ahead—or even about her own generation, herself.

  “Never mind all that, Morgan. Just take those papers back up to the school and get your stuff. I’ll make us some fabulous apple pie, since we still have about forty pounds of apples from that tree—the one good thing Dad left us—and then we can have a filling-out-forms party. It’ll be awesome. Paperwork à la mode.”

  It was time. Morgan had to come clean. “Uh, actually…” She inhaled sharply and then just spit it out. “These are the right papers. I got married this afternoon. It was the only way I could qualify for federal grants. I tried to think of every single other solution in the world, both legal and illegal, and this was the only way I could make it work so I could finish school this year and get that job so you can start school next fall, and finally get into that design program you’ve been waiting two whole years for already. I know it was probably a rash thing to do, but I had you in mind, and I hope you’ll understand that I meant to do it mostly for you.”

  When she finished, Morgan felt like she’d been a machine gun and had run through a whole belt of ammunition, and now it was all empty. She plopped on the sofa beside Tory and lay her head on Tory’s shoulder. “Forgive me?”

  Tory’s jaw dropped to her chin. She blinked six times. She shut her mouth. It fell open again. Finally she spoke. “Forgive?” She shook her head. “Forgive! I mean—what on earth were you thinking?”

  “I told you. I was thinking I had to finish so you could start, and this was the only way.”

  Tory spluttered, “Well, who did you marry? I mean, did you just grab some homeless druggie off the streets and drag him to the nearest preacher-man? Or have you got some kind of secret boyfriend you never told me about? Are you really working at Eat-n-Leaf, or have you been on clandestine dates with your new husband?” Tory was on a tear. “Wait a minute. You got married today. Why aren’t you on a honeymoon? Are you insane? You’ve been saving yourself all these years. You should be somewhere else right now, don’t you think? Like heading for a beach cottage?”

  Morgan couldn’t answer the questions all at once. And she intended to never answer the honeymoon question. What went on between a husband and wife—even if it was nothing—was nobody else’s business.

  “Come on, Morgan. Don’t go into the Conversation Coma on me.” Tory’s voice then softened. “I’m not upset. I’m just in shock. I mean—seriously. I never saw this coming.”

  “Neither did I.” Truthfully, she was in shock herself.

  “Then what happened?”

  Morgan gave a skeleton outline of the sequence of events.

  “So, I was desperate, see? And this guy I met was desperate, too. Neither of us had a prayer of getting into school this semester without a drastic change in our eligibility status, and we struck a deal. Yeah, it was basically, ‘Hi, I’m Morgan.’ ‘Hi, Morgan, let’s get married.’ And we drove down to the county building and signed the papers, and the judge said, ‘You’re husband and wife.’ Boom. Eligible for funding. Took about half an hour was all.” She strategically omitted how the electricity sparked through her at you-may-now-kiss-the-bride. “So now I can fill out these married student forms and I’ll be paying my tuition in full before the college drops all my classes for me at the end of September. It’s perfect.”

  Tory paused. “It’s fraud.”

  “It’s not. We have a real marriage certificate and everything. We’re legally and lawfully married.”

  Clearly, Tory wasn’t convinced, but she looked like she bit back several sentences, because she opened her mouth and shut it three times before finally saying, “Look. I don’t know about this. You don’t even know this guy. Do you have any idea what could happen to you? This stranger could steal your good name, ruin your credit history, demand some kind of marital rights—you don’t know.” Tory’s voice had risen in pitch, and it scared Morgan a little. “This is really risky. Did you even think through the implications?”

  Morgan had no response. She couldn’t even start to say what had possessed her at the time, other than sheer panic about her future in one, tunnel-vision aspect.

  “Come on, sister. Let’s just hustle you down to the courthouse. We can get this annulled. It’s only been, what? An hour? And I’m assuming you haven’t consummated the marriage. Or have you? Was this some ploy on his part to get you to—”

  “No. No!” Morgan’s jaw hinge finally un-rusted and she could speak. “It’s not like that. I mean, I told you when I first met him that he said he has a girlfriend. He’s in the same financial aid bind I’ve been in. This is a business arrangement, pure and simple. And your plan for annulment? We’ve already discussed it. As soon as our grant checks arrive, boom. We’re back down at the courthouse to sign the paperwork. I’m not as dumb as I look right now through your eyes.” Well, that might only be half true. Morgan knew she didn’t deserve genius-status going through with this harebrained scheme.

  But what choice did she have?

  Tory exhaled. “This, Morgan, is just…it’s out of character. You’re measured. You don’t jump into big things without thought. I don’t get it.” She lifted her head from where she’d tilted it back against the couch and looked at Morgan. “What happened? Did you develop some horrendous crush on some guy in the past few days and figure this was a way to snare him? Because it won’t work.”

  “No. I did not develop a horrendous crush on him in the last few days.” Uh, maybe in the last two hours, maybe since she’d experienced his incredible kiss, but not in the last few days.

  “Okay, so is this some kind of brain tumor? A fog you’ve entered?”

  “Enough. Tory, I made this choice. It’s going to help me. It’s going to help Josh Hyatt. It’s going to help you.”

  “Wait. Wai-ai-ai-ait. You married Josh Hyatt?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t I say that up front?”

  “Uh, no. You most certainly did not. You said it was someone you saw in the parking lot, but I figured it was Leonard or Mr. Reeves, I guess.”

  Morgan must’ve omitted that detail.

  Tory looked like she’d just swallowed a Christmas tree. “Josh Hyatt. The Josh Hyatt? James Bond in Jeans, the guy from apartment six?” Her face was all sparkly as she gushed about him. “He’s gorgeous. To die for. Geez, Morg. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “What’s with the sudden about-face? You can’t be basing all that on his looks.”

  “Of course not. Come on. I mean, yeah, I like a pretty face as much as the next girl. But, no. I internet-stalked him after you talked to him and I saw him hauling trash out to the dumpster.” She raised an eyebrow. “I may have also daydreamed about the days when he’d be hauling trash out for the two of you someday, so it’s kind of a dream come true.”

  “What do you mean? You already had us married in your mind?”

  “Of course. We’re women. It’s what we do—plan marriages, extrapolate seconds-long conversations into eternal relationships. Come on. You’ve done it, too, I know. Anyway,” her face lit up, “I figured out where I’d heard of him.”

  “Where?” All this changing of reactions from Tory wa
s giving Morgan a bit of emotional whiplash. Tory did have a point—Morgan had no idea what kind of risks she was taking by marrying him, basically sight unseen. It was a stupid move, but it was done, and she was all in—no matter what kind of criminal past he may have had.

  “You hit the jackpot, Morgan. He’s part of that Hyatt family that made all the money in logging back in the day. Now they have the construction company in Portland. Pretty much Portland royalty, if there is such a thing. Huge family fundage.”

  “Hyatt Holdings?” The corporation name had come up more than once in her accounting and business classes. That was some serious assets column they had, since their great-grandfather had basically been the super granddaddy of all logging in Oregon back in Oregon’s logging and paper mill days. Now it still swam in cash, but they did construction projects for other corporate interests, and a million other things.

  Tory sniffed. “What’s a rich boy like that doing at Estrella Court?” She cackled a little. “Maybe we’ve moved up in the world and didn’t notice.”

  Not when the rich boy wasn’t rich anymore—because he refused to be bullied into becoming a plumber.

  Tory hugged Morgan. “Look, I appreciate that you sacrificed for me. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time. He’s a good guy—we said that at first. And the way he helped get Nixie’s surgery arranged? That says something about him. I’m going to give him a chance. Maybe you should, too.” She cocked an eyebrow at Morgan, shooting worry and hope through her simultaneously.

  “He really is pretty nice.” And a lot of other things. But she should stop thinking—because he was not actually available, weird as that was, as her husband. “But like I said, he’s got that girlfriend. So the point is moot.”

  “Then what in the H is he doing marrying you?”

  “I told you. The financial aid deal.” Suddenly, Morgan remembered—she wasn’t supposed to tell a living soul about their real situation. And she could see why, based on some of the things Tory had said. “But listen. Tor. I’m not in this for reals, but I’m definitely in this. I can’t have anyone know that Josh and I didn’t do this with sincerity.”

  Tory thought about it for a second then nodded. “Oh. Okay. I see.” She took a deep breath. “You’re asking me to keep your secret…a secret. I get it.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it. We can’t tell anyone it’s a sham. Not a single soul. Not even Mom.” Mom. The thought of Mom finding out that Morgan got married without her permission or knowledge—that was just sickening, for a lot of reasons, several that Morgan didn’t want to think about right now.

  “Mom’s not going to take this well.”

  “I know.” Morgan’s heart filled with dread. “I’ll figure something out. I promise.” She tried to make it sound like it would be all right.

  “Okay, Morgan.” Tory sat up. “I’ll keep your secret. I’ll tell people you and Josh Hyatt are happily married. That you fell in love over the summer here at Estrella Court, that you couldn’t help your beautiful selves. That everything is great.”

  “Oh, Tor! Thanks—”

  “But,” Tory interrupted, “my silence comes at a price.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. You are never allowed to think of that so-called girlfriend of his as your competition. Ever. Not once.”

  “Uh, it’s his girlfriend.”

  “And you’re his wife. Whatever. You have the certificate to prove it. Besides, she’s on the other side of the world. If he’d wanted to be married to her before now, and she wanted him, too, Josh wouldn’t be getting married to you for grant money instead of her. Just keep that in mind.” Tory looked satisfied. “Or I’m telling everyone.”

  Seemed like a fair price to ask—not that Morgan could begin to dream of keeping the promise.

  Chapter Nine

  Josh bounced between texting and calling. There was no way he could fill out even this first section on his application without asking Morgan about sixteen questions. This was ridiculous. So many questions! What were they going to ask for next, his firstborn?

  Uh, not that he and Morgan would be having any firstborn or second-born or any other kids, but it seemed like this form should have been named Rumpelstiltskin. Guess what I need or I’ll take everything you dream of.

  Joshua: Hey, Morgan. I need some details for the forms.

  She texted back almost immediately. Morgan: Me, too. This is a crazy amount of personal information. How am I supposed to know this about me, let alone you?

  Joshua: So should we text it back and forth? He, of all people, with a girlfriend in, what had she called it? Sequester? Josh should know better than to be sending all his personal details through the cell towers. The problem was, getting together had some level of danger for him. He was a man committed to his woman, and hanging out with Morgan Clark (make that Morgan Hyatt) didn’t smack of committed boyfriend. Not a bombshell like that. At least Brielle wouldn’t see it that way.

  Morgan: It’s already taking forever to write it all in.

  That was for certain. He’d almost gotten a cramp in his pen hand. She was right.

  Josh: I’ll call you. He was throwing caution to the wind, he knew. Someone somewhere could be listening in. In fact, it could be Brielle. But he’d rather undergo that minuscule risk than put himself in a situation where he might lose control and kiss Morgan on the forehead again and maybe take an even longer whiff of her floral shampoo. Or her raspberry lip gloss.

  Uh, now he had to wait a few minutes to call her, just to clear his head of those details.

  When he finally dialed, he could hear music and voices in the background of wherever she was.

  “Hi, Morgan. It’s Josher.”

  “Josher!” She sounded a little weary. “Hey, I’m super sorry about that. I don’t know what made me say it.”

  “You’re forgiven, if—” he let the if hang for a moment, “if you tell me what county and state you were born in.” Since he already knew her birthday. As if that weren’t weird enough.

  “I was born in Portland.”

  “Me, too.” So that meant he and she both knew the county: Multnomah. Now they both paused as they filled in their blanks.

  “That’s cool. What hospital? Wouldn’t that be something, same birthday, same hospital?”

  But they were born in different hospitals. That was a relief. Things were getting too spooky.

  After that, they exchanged information about high school graduations, college entrance dates, the amount of money each of them made at their jobs last year. It brought up little asides. Not that Josh minded. It was kind of fun.

  “I can’t believe you went to that high school. They had the worst football team.”

  “Legendarily bad football team. If they could have scored negative points, they would have.”

  “I remember that one game, I was a freshman—”

  “Oh, yeah. My junior year…”

  It went on. She was pretty funny. At least he hadn’t married some drippy, boring chick. Or a shrew. Good for him. His family wouldn’t mind when they met her.

  Whoa. What did he just say?

  But that was going to happen. Unless the checks came immediately and they could race down for their annulment, there would be a family meeting.

  Geez. What had he gotten her into?

  ∞∞∞

  Morgan hung up the phone and then kind of danced to the kitchen. She shouldn’t have such a spring in her step over this. It was paperwork, for heaven’s sake. But it was a Paperwork Honeymoon, so she let herself do a mini-celebration for ten seconds as she crossed the room to get a mailing envelope for the sheaf of papers she and Josh had just managed to fill out, and which had cost her about eighty-five minutes on her pre-paid phone plan—most of which minutes were spent on talking about funny stuff that happened to him when he was enrolled at Clarendon a few years ago and making fun of high school memories.

  Besides, she should celebrate, even if only because it meant she was definitely qualifie
d for the funding for her classes. She did a toe twirl—and it wasn’t based solely on the little bubble of excitement that ping-ponged inside her after talking to the very charming Josh Hyatt.

  Her legal husband. Whom she could never date.

  Whatever. Today was a good day. And now, she would seal the deal—by affixing postage to the envelope and dropping it in the mail slot down at the post office near the beach.

  She did, and then she celebrated by going for a brisk, early fall swim.

  Yes, everything was going to work out just peachy.

  ∞∞∞

  Josh was back in his obsessive mailbox-checking routine again.

  For one, he still hadn’t heard from Brielle. Weeks, and no word. This was getting ridiculous. What, exactly, was she doing in Germany that meant she couldn’t Skype, FaceTime, send or receive an email, or do any social media with him? Come on. He’d started a couple of snail mail letters to her, telling her that he’d be starting classes, that he had things really rolling, but without a mailing address, he had nowhere to send them and stuck them in his desk to send later. Maybe.

  And, if he were honest, he felt a pang or two of guilt because he couldn’t tell her everything. Certainly he couldn’t tell her about his marriage to Morgan Clark. And that was, as they said, the elephant in the room of his life at this point. I married her so I could pay for school and finish it so I could marry you. Uh, pretty weak, and she might not get it. If he were to switch places with Brielle, and she pulled this shenanigan, no way would Josh be Sensitive New-Age Understanding Guy about it. Safer to omit the major detail until after things had ironed themselves out. For sure.

  Which they would. For sure.

  But meanwhile, there was the other reason he was obsessively checking the mail—watching for the check from the federal student aid people with the grant. Why they couldn’t just do automatic deposit like every other entity in America at this point, he didn’t know. Even the IRS could do an automatic deposit. And they’d basically asked for every other detail about his life—why not a bank account number, too? And a credit card number while they were at it? And his blood type? And whether he liked milk chocolate or dark chocolate?