Chapter Eleven
“You're dating Dumasse’s daughter?"
Mark wasn't sure what irked him more. Chase's incredulity at the thought that he could pull a girl like Honey? Or … well, there was no or.
Chase was right. A guy like Mark could never pull a girl like Honey. Not without it being a trick.
"It's not real," Mark admitted. "Something happened after you left."
Mark filled Chase in on the good deed he tried to perform that had turned into a complete mess. Chase's eyes went wide, then wider, then they narrowed, and finally closed in utter disbelief.
“You’re telling me she thinks she can make this right if you pretend to date?" Chase asked.
"If I pretend I adore her," Mark said.
He looked across the room to find Honey. She'd been surrounded by the wives of the ranch. The women all wore open, friendly smiles. But Mark wasn't fooled.
He knew the meddlesome matchmakers, who’d each been matched themselves, were pumping Honey for information about the status of her relationship with one of the few bachelors left on the ranch. Just as Mark and Chase looked to add numbers to the Army, the brides of the Purple Heart Ranch were always looking to add to their ranks on the ranch.
Honey smiled politely at the women. Her head turning right, left, and center as she addressed each woman as they fired question after question at her. Each woman watched her with genuine interest. But Honey’s smile didn't reach her eyes.
Mark wanted her to like everyone here. He wanted Honey to experience what real family, friends, and fellowship was like. She wouldn't find any better folks than right there on the ranch.
He also wanted to go over and feed her. Honey had a paper plate balanced on her knees. On it, was a small salad with no dressing. But she hadn’t taken more than one bite.
"This place," sighed Chase. "It got you, too."
“What? No.” Mark shook his head violently. “I’m helping her out. Her father disowned her. Who does that?"
"Henry Dumasse, that’s who.”
Dylan Banks, the man who had made the whole ranch possible for Wounded Warriors to come and heal walked up with his pregnant wife on his arm. The man wore shorts that showcased his prosthetic leg, a souvenir from his time in the armed forces.
“Dumasse’s wife wanted a divorce," said Maggie Banks. "But he demanded sole custody of their two girls. He made the girls choose which parent they would go to live with. Honey chose her dad. Her sister, Ginger, chose her mom. It was all over the papers years ago."
Mark couldn't fathom his parents apart. Much less making their children choose between them. It seemed to him the height of child abuse.
"That's not the worst of it," said Banks. He turned back to Maggie to complete the story. Maggie had lived there all her life and would know all the town secrets.
"He left his ex-wife and daughter near penniless," said Maggie. “He wanted to make them pay for leaving him and making him look bad.”
“What judge would allow that?” asked Mark, outrage building in his chest.
“They didn’t go to court,” said Maggie. “I think Carletta Dumasse knew that her husband had many officials in his pocket. He owns so much land and businesses here. Ginger went from private schools to public schools. She's a couple of years older than me, but I remember her. She and her mom were always in church. They went from wearing designer clothes to secondhand, but they always looked happy to me. I only saw Honey in the papers. She has the same eye color as her mom, but she never had that same sparkle as Carletta. Her mother passed away before Ginger went off to college."
"I've had a couple of run-ins with Henry Dumasse,” said Banks. "He makes Ebenezer Scrooge look like Glinda the Good Witch. I can't understand why any child would choose to stay with such a man."
"I can," said Maggie. "I understand that need for comfort and normalcy having grown up in foster care. After a time, you stop looking for love and settle for security."
Maggie looked down at her protruding belly. Bank’s arms tightened around his wife. Mark's gaze went to Honey.
Maggie was right. Her eyes didn't sparkle. But some of the tension in her shoulders had seeped out. Now she was leaning slightly forward in the huddle of women instead of back.
Reegan's and Beth's gaze lifted and turned to Mark. Their lips tilted conspiratorially. The two women didn't hide the fact that they were discussing him.
When Honey met Mark’s gaze, her smile spread slightly. There was a spark of something in her gaze. But before he could be sure, she looked away, her cheeks reddening.
"Wow,” sighed Banks. "What is it about this place?"
Mark didn't bother to answer that rhetorical question. This ranch, where love sprouted quickly and unexpectedly, had not gotten to him. But if he were honest, that woman may have.
Honey had his protective instincts firing on all cylinders. He felt the urgent need to show her a different side of people after the childhood trauma she had gone through. Mark took a deep breath, then made his way into the den of lionesses. The women fairly purred at his approach.
He held out his hand to Honey. "It's a nice night," he said. "Want to go outside?"
Honey's lips parted. She nodded and slid her hand into his. There went those tiny pinpricks of sparks again.
"Ooh,” the other women singsonged like they were in grade school.
Mark tried to hide his annoyance at their adolescent ways. But, on the other hand, he and Honey were pretending to be in love. They might as well get some rehearsal time in.
Before heading outside, Mark stopped by the spread on the table and filled up two plates with barbecued ribs, corncobs, and rolls.
"You have a healthy appetite," Honey said, eyeing the piles on the plates.
"These are for the both of us."
"I can’t eat that. It's all sugar and carbs."
Mark scooped some green salad into the corner of one of the plates. He squirted some dressing on the top.
He led Honey back to his place. Instead of going inside, he indicated the plastic chairs on the deck. Honey smoothed her skirt and sat gingerly. Mark had a strong desire to muster up. But first, he wanted her fed.
He placed the food in her hands. She eyed the plate as though it were filled with worms.
"Not a fan of barbecue?" he asked.
“I’ve never had any."
"But you're from Montana."
“Eating ribs and corn on the cob were not covered in etiquette manners at finishing school."
"You're not in finishing school, or at brunch, or with that nose in the air society. Let your hair down and dig in, woman.”
"Okay." She giggled, looking around. “Um … where's the knife and fork?"
"Right here." Mark held up his fingers and wiggled them before digging into the food.
Honey looked down at her plate. Her fingers hovered over the glazed meat. She had a couple of false starts, hands getting close and pulling back at the last second. Until finally, she picked up one rib.
She nibbled tentatively at the saucy slice of meat. A slow smile spread across her face. She took another bite, this time just a touch less dainty.
"This is really good," she said. "You guys should sell the stuff."
Mark didn't bother to tell her the sauce was store-bought. He felt far too satisfied watching her eat and smile and relax.
The night birds serenaded them. A gentle breeze brought the sweet smell of flowers from the garden. The moon shone down as their own personal nightlight. If this had been an actual date, the setting would've been perfect.
Mark set his half-eaten rib back on his plate. His belly felt full and content even though he had only had a few bites. He tipped his head back with a grimace of defeat, glad Chase and Banks weren’t around to witness his realization.
Wow, this place. It had finally gotten to him.
Chapter Twelve
Honey slept deeply. It was the most peaceful rest since the last time she’d laid tucked in her mother's arms. Her
mom had crawled into her or Ginger’s beds a lot when they were kids. Honey never knew why she didn’t prefer the city-sized bed she’d shared with her dad. Honey loved those nights when she got to sleep inside her mom’s hug.
Sleep was the only time she allowed herself to think about her mother. In the waking hours, if her father caught her staring off into space, he'd accuse her of wishing for her mom. As a child, he threatened to send her to live in the one-bedroom apartment that her mom shared with her sister.
The one time Honey had visited her mother there, she felt closed in by the small space. The walls were so thin, she could hear the neighbors. There was dust on the couch that had smudged her white dress.
Honey had panicked at the stain. Her father expected her to be perfect at all times. She would get in so much trouble for that.
Her mother had let out a weary sigh and then went to work scrubbing out the smudge. There had been sadness in her eyes when it came time for Honey to go. But for the short time Honey had been there with her mom and sister, they'd each looked happy, carefree. They walked around barefoot in faded shorts and T-shirts. Honey didn't own either garment in her closet.
Her mother's hair had been down, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Honey remembered thinking how beautiful she looked. It was one of her last memories of her mom.
Honey had chosen her dad over her mom. To keep her dad’s favor, she hadn’t visited her mom often. And all too soon, her mother had gone to heaven.
Honey opened her eyes now. The first thing she recognized was that she wasn't in her own room. The space wasn’t much bigger than her mom’s apartment bedroom had been. This room was smaller than her en suite bathroom. The sheets were thin, the comforter scratchy. There was noise coming from the open window; laughter, conversation, animals. She was not at her father's home.
It all came back to her. The shoe. Her dress. Her father. Beau. Mark.
Then more.
The group of women who’d flocked around her in the barn last night, whispering secrets about Mark like they wanted her in on all the private jokes. Mark pulling her away to be alone with him. The sweet tang of over-cooked meat dripping in sauce.
Honey still had the salty-sweet taste on her tongue. Her fingers still carried the spicy scent. Sucking at her teeth, she came across a kernel of corn stuck there.
If her father could see her now, he'd disown her all over again.
She didn’t care.
It probably had something to do with the fullness in her belly. She’d finished off her meal last night leaving nothing behind. She’d slopped up the sweet sauce with not only her dinner roll but Mark's buttery roll as well. That's probably why she’d slept so well. She’d likely gained five pounds.
She didn't care.
That and the fact that Mark hadn't been satisfied until her plate was clean. No man had ever cared that she ate. Her father cared what she ate, only the finest and not too much so as to not put on any weight.
She put her bare feet on the floor. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She had on not a stitch of makeup. She felt … happy.
She should be in a panic about her future. But the sun shone into the windows. Wafting along the breeze was something that smelled good.
Honey gathered clothes from her case. She knew the bathroom was across the hall, having used it last night. Padding barefoot on the tiled floor, she reached for the door handle. It turned and opened on its own.
Honey was met with the tanned wall of man-chested muscle. Mark stood in the bathroom door, wearing only a towel.
"There she is," he said with a grin.” You sleep well? Don't worry, I left enough hot water for you. You okay?"
No, she was not okay. She had no idea where to look. Not at his bare chest that glistened with water from the shower. Not down at the towel covering his private bits. Not at his bare feet with neatly clipped toenails. And definitely not up to his face in those dark roast eyes, dark enough to be reflective glass. She could just make out her reflection.
Her reflection. She wasn't wearing a lick of makeup, and her hair was a rat’s nest. And she was in pajamas.
Honey covered her face with a yelp. "Don't look.”
"What's wrong?"
"I'm a mess."
"Are you kidding?" He chuckled. "You're even more beautiful without all that makeup on your face. I know women don't believe guys when they say that, but it's the truth."
He slowly peeled her hands from her face. His smile was genuine as it had been every second she'd known him. Mark might like to joke, but he wasn't one for games.
"Hop in the shower and get dressed," he said. "Breakfast will be waiting for you when you get out."
Breakfast? Last night she'd eaten enough to keep her satisfied for days. But at the mention of food, her stomach grumbled.
Mark’s dimples made a morning appearance. "I think that's your tummy telling me it wants some more real food; bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns with a side of fruit salad, of course."
All that food should not have sounded appetizing. But her belly grumbled again with what sounded like excitement. Mark chuckled, giving her arm a squeeze.
"Let's get dressed and get you fed," he said again. "I gotta get to work."
"Work?"
Was he leaving her? A sense of vulnerability washed over her. Honey had no idea what she would do today without him. She had no idea what her role would be there except as his pretend girlfriend.
"Yeah," he said. "I help with the JROTC program. Another soldier here started it, but he's off on his honeymoon now that his wife is on a break from college."
Mark's hand was still on her arm, squeezing gently. Honey's eyes dipped to his chest as he spoke. A droplet ran from his shoulder down his bicep. It was on a trajectory to slide down his fingers and land on her. But it evaporated before it finished the downward slope, as though it didn't want to leave his person. That totally made sense to Honey.
"Are you one of those girls who needs an hour to get ready?"
"I can be ready in twenty …”
His gaze narrowed.
“Okay, thirty minutes." Especially if she went light on the makeup. "Don't leave me behind, okay?"
Mark's features sobered. "I would never.”
The moment felt important. But also too large for either of them to manage. Especially since they weren't fully clothed. Or in a real relationship.
"I'll be out as quick as I can," Honey said.
She twisted from his hold and ducked inside the warm bathroom. Though she clutched her clothes to her chest, she felt somehow bared to her soul.
Chapter Thirteen
With the knowledge that Honey was watching his every move, Mark stood with his back straighter. His deep voice took on a bass note as he instructed his young troops. By some miracle, the kids did marginally better today.
Billy got his left and right foot straight. Mark was certain it had to do with the intact sole of the shoes on his feet. Janey even gave Billy a look of approval at his improved performance.
“Sir?”
Mark kept sneaking glances at Honey out of the side of his eye. She leaned against a white picket fence, watching him with a grin. He was too far away to tell if the grin was the polite, bland smile she often wore or something that was a bit more impressed. Before he could be sure, Honey turned away as Maggie waddled up with her pack of dogs.
“Sir?”
Mark turned back to his troops. They were at the end of the field, marching in place in front of a fence.
“Should we turn? Or about-face? Or just bust through the fence?” Eli Wilson asked.
“At ease,” Mark said.
When he turned back, Honey was walking off with Maggie. She tossed him a wave over her shoulder. Mark raised his hand in response.
“Dismissed for the day, cadets.”
Mark hadn’t given that order. He turned to see Banks grinning at him. Chase walked behind the other sergeant, shaking his head at Mark as though his friend were a lost cause.
The kids peeled off, headed into the barn for their things. They gave each soldier a high five as they passed.
“Word on the street is that you're taking Honey to the Debutante Ball,” said Banks. “Oh, man, I’m sorry for you. I was forced to live through those nightmares back in New York.”
“I escaped them,” said Chase. “Since they’re always over the holidays, I always volunteered to plan the family vacations and made sure we were far away from society. Off on an island somewhere or on a ski resort.”
“Smart man,” said Banks.
Mark looked between the two men. Sometimes he forgot that Banks and Chase were from money. The two men looked and acted so, well, normal. Not at all like the stuck up men he’d met the other day at the brunch. And the two men would never leave a man or woman behind or kick them out of their unit the way Henry Dumasse had done his daughter.
“You’ll need to get a top hat and tails,” said Banks.
“Honey said I could wear my uniform to the ball,” said Mark, nearly stopping in his tracks. His uniform was as fancy as he got. He was more a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy. He didn’t even own a suit.
“Oh, there’s more than the ball,” said Chase.
“Yeah, there are rehearsals, and more brunches and luncheons.”
“Luncheon? What’s a luncheon?” said Mark
“And don’t forget about all the networking and schmoozing that goes on,” said Chase.
Mark groaned. He hated making small talk. It was all so fake.
“I had to take the daughter of a count to one of these things once,” said Banks.
Now he had to learn how to bow? Honey didn’t say anything about networking or royalty. He thought he’d simply escort her there, eat some snobby food, look at her with goo-goo eyes so others would get jealous and that would be it.
“You’ll need a crash course in etiquette,” said Banks.
“Etiquette?” Mark sounded out the big word slowly.
“Yeah,” said Chase. “You know, which fork to use, which spoon.”
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