“Wouldn’t I use the one on the table next to my plate?” asked Mark.
Banks and Chase looked to one another. Their expressions were part pain as though their memories of their time in high society were painful. There was humor also etched in their expressions as though ready to live through and make fun of Mark vicariously.
“It would be easier if you just married her,” said Banks. “Then her reputation would be restored, and she’d have someplace to live.”
“Marry her?” Mark choked. He looked around, but Honey and Maggie were already stepping into Maggie’s and Dylan’s home.
“Yeah, I mean you’ve already seen what’s up her skirts,” said Chase.
“Hey!” Mark came to an abrupt stop. He glared at his superior, the man he respected above most others.
Chase held up his hands in mock surrender, but his humor wasn’t gone.
Mark was surprised the man wasn’t more upset. After all, Mark had lost them the perfect location for the recruitment center. But then again, Chase wasn’t dependent on that income. The sergeant could afford to wait the time it would take the government to cut through enough red tape to set them up with a place on their own dime. Mark couldn’t afford to wait that long. Which was why he had to make this work and soon.
But just the pretending to be in love part. He wasn’t falling for Honey. He couldn’t possibly take care of her. He liked providing for her with what little he had. He liked waking up with someone he looked forward to seeing. He liked that she’d seen him working. He did want to get married someday, but he had to be sure he could take care of his family. He certainly couldn’t meet the needs of someone like Honey.
“There’s food and then dancing,” Banks was saying. “You do know how to waltz?”
Waltz?
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting more and more complicated. Exactly what had he gotten himself into?
Chapter Fourteen
"Aunt Maggie, Carlos took the pooper scooper from me. I haven't had a chance to use it."
Honey blinked twice, trying to ensure she heard the kid right. They were both of Hispanic descent. Honey didn't speak a lick of Spanish. She’d understood every word the little girl had said though. The words just didn't make sense.
"There are five dogs," Maggie Banks said. “Trust me, you’ll get a chance to scoop some poop. Now go back outside, you two."
Maggie’s tone had been patient and kind. Had it been her father, Henry Dumasse would've turned red at such an interruption. His bellows would've shaken the plaster of the attic walls.
The little girl huffed and stormed out mouthing under her breath. Those words Honey didn’t comprehend. They’d had a definite Spanish lilt.
Maggie turned back to Honey, belly first. Honey hadn’t had the occasion to be around many pregnant women. In the circles she walked in, most women were either looking for husbands or preparing to bury them.
"Sorry about that," Maggie said, lowering her body into a plush armchair. "I'm sitting them while their older sister is on her honeymoon.”
"Is that Sarai?”
"No, you met Sarai earlier. Their sister is Eva. She's married to Fran. You'll meet those two soon. They’ll be back next week.”
Honey wasn’t sure she’d be here that long. Although, even if her plan worked, there was no telling when she might move in with Beau. Or how long it would take him to propose. And then there would be the wedding planning.
She turned back to the woman who had welcomed her into her home. Maggie rubbed a hand over her round belly. Her gaze was soft and open, much like Honey’s mother’s had been. Everyone who she’d met here had the same look in their eyes.
Honey had already met a number of women on the ranch and a handful of the soldiers. Last night at dinner, the residents of the ranch walked in and out of each other's yards and houses without being announced. No one locked doors. Children and dogs and livestock were everywhere.
Honey brushed her hands over the fine fabric of her sundress. Maggie’s home was neat and tidy. She needn’t worry about smudges.
Dog drool? That was a different story. A dog sniffed at the toe of her heels. Then it laid its wet nose on her knees.
"Down, girl," said Maggie. “Sorry, are you not a dog person?"
Honey liked dogs. They just usually were the size that fit in her purse.
"I remember I used to see you at church during Sunday school when I was a kid,” said Maggie.
“Oh, I loved Sunday school.”
Honey had loved dressing up and sitting with the other kids while Mrs. Patel read them stories. Then they’d color and eat cookies. Her father hadn’t approved. Too much riff raff, he’d said. And so he’d made their mother stop taking them. To Sunday school and church altogether.
“I don’t get to church as often as I'd like," Honey said. "I have so many obligations now …”
"I'd love for you to come with me this Sunday. Or, if you prefer more Bible study, Beth and Reece go on Wednesdays."
"Oh, I …"
Why was she hesitating? She wasn’t under her father’s thumb any longer. She could spend every day at church.
Honey picked up the tiny dog and put him on her lap. Its paws smudged her dress. Honey rubbed at his back.
“That would be lovely,” Honey said. “Thank you.”
Honey looked out the window to see the two children who had been arguing were now playing together. The pooper scooper was forgotten in the grass. She and Ginger used to play like that, only quieter. And inside. But that was so long ago.
"Hey, Maggie."
A beautiful blonde came in with a baby on her hip and a baby bump on her belly. “Hey, your Mark’s girl."
“Oh, I’m not his girl," Honey began but stopped.
Both Maggie and the new girl raised an eyebrow. Even the baby looked at her.
"We know the story," said Maggie.
"It's a good one," said the blonde. "The best one we've had so far."
“Right? It’s like something out of a historical romance novel," said Maggie.
"What are you talking about?" said Honey.
The blonde and Maggie looked at each other again. Then look back at her.
"You don't know?" said the blonde. “I’m Cassie, by the way, Xavier’s wife. Every marriage here starts out … as a means to an end."
A means to an end?
"Isn't that the definition of marriage?" said Honey.
"But here," said Maggie, “the means has a habit of turning into something true, in the end. Something deep, something long, and lasting."
"I give her two weeks, tops," said Cassie.
"To get married?” Honey sat up straight. The dog in her lap gave a yelp. “No, we're just pretending."
Cassie smirked. "We all were in the beginning.”
"We could be wrong about you and Mark,” said Maggie. "But we haven't been so far. Regardless, now that you're here, you’re family."
"Can you take the baby for a second?" said Cassie, handing the baby to Honey. “His mom is on her way from work, and my back is killing me.”
Honey made space for the chubby little boy on her lap beside the dog. “He’s not yours?"
"I honestly can’t keep track of who belongs to who," said Cassie as she plopped down on the sofa and kicked up her feet.
Honey had never put her feet up on a piece of furniture. But neither had she held a baby. Somehow, it all felt natural.
“See,” said Maggie. “You’re already one of us. Kids and dogs are the best judges of character.”
The baby gazed up at her and let out a chortle of delight. The dog panted at her other side, dribbling onto her dress.
Chapter Fifteen
“The ball begins with a grand entrance of the debutantes. Each girl will walk in on the arm of her escort. In some balls, girls are assigned two escorts."
Mark raised his brows at that. "That's very liberal of them."
Honey sighed, looking tired and exasperated. Her eyelids
pinched in. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Mark bit his lip to say no more. He didn’t like the worry on her brow. He definitely didn’t want to be the cause of any furrows there.
"An announcer will introduce us," she continued now that she had his full attention. "The audience will applaud politely."
"Like at a graduation ceremony? My family brought blow horns."
"Why?"
"To make a scene."
Honey's brows furrowed again. But he figured this time it was in incomprehension as to why anyone would shout at the rooftops at their kid’s accomplishments. Wow, her family was not normal.
"I bet your school and your family followed the hold-your-applause-until-the-end rule?”
"Of course," she said, turning up her palms as though it was obvious.
"Of course."
They were in their dining area. It couldn’t be called a dining room as it was an extension of the kitchen. Honey had set the table. But the table was overrun with dishes and silverware.
"After the grand entrance is the dinner,” she continued.
Now, it was Mark’s turn to sigh. Suddenly, he felt tired and exhausted. "You should know I'm more of a finger food kinda guy."
"Oh, excellent, there will be tons of bread served."
Mark hid his surprise that there would be carbs served around the debutantes. He decided not to make a joke of that. They had enough on their plate. He frowned again, looking down at the mass of cutlery.
Honey walked around the table to one of the two seats. Mark hurried after her. He did know enough to pull out her seat for her. Once she sat, she snapped open a napkin and laid it across her lap.
"The napkin goes on the lap when you start eating," she said. "Then it goes on the table when we're finished."
Mark took his seat, snapped open his own napkin, and then looked down at the daunting task before him.
There were ten pieces of silverware on the table, and they were all on his place setting. Honey had her own set of ten. She reached for the tiny pitchfork looking utensil with only three prongs instead of the normal four. Mark followed suit.
"Oyster fork." Honey held up the pitchfork.
"Oysters?" Mark blanched.
He wasn’t a picky eater. He was just baffled at the rich folks. All the money in the world, and they dragged the bottom of the ocean for food.
"Salad fork. Salad knife."
She pointed to two utensils smaller than the oyster fork. But there was another set that looked normal sized to him.
"We can't use these two?" Mark asked, picking up the regular looking utensils.
"No, you can’t.” Honey pressed her hand to her chest. "You eat dinner with dinner forks. Dessert with dessert forks. And so on. Utensils are tools. Each one has a purpose."
“Like guns? You wouldn’t take a handgun into the desert, would you?”
Honey looked at him blankly. She gave her head a shake and served some of the leftover ribs from the other night. Instead of using her fingers, she picked up the normal sized knife and fork and began carving into the dish.
Mark sliced the meat, keeping his knife in his left hand. The foot was nearly in his mouth when he paused. Honey stared at him again.
"What's wrong now?" he asked.
"It's customary to put your knife down after cutting a bite and placing it in your mouth," she said.
"Every time?"
She nodded.
Mark set both utensils down, leaving the meat untouched. "Maybe I'll be on a diet that night," he said with a grin.
Honey put down both her fork and knife. The creases in her forehead didn’t make another appearance. Instead, she worried her hands. "I'm sorry. I know this is a lot. But if it is going to work …"
She picked up the salad fork and set it next to the dessert knife. Mark took the large fork and put it back in its place. Then he took her hands in his.
"Hey, I'm here for you. I'm just joking. I'll stop. I'll take it seriously."
Her blue gaze looked washed out, like the sea after a storm. “You think it's ridiculous, don't you?"
"I think it's important to you," he said. "So, it's important to me."
And just like that, the calm waters in her eyes settled, and a ray of sunshine broke through. “Why? You don't know me."
"I know you're a good person."
"Am I? I'm so worried about impressing other people that I’m forcing you to be someone you’re not. You all do more good on this ranch in a day than I have done my whole life. Working directly with the children instead of putting money toward a cause to support them. Working with each other and supporting one another in the smallest things. To me, that’s big.”
"You're helping me."
"Only after you helped me first."
“I’m not keeping score. Tell me what’s next. What happens after dinner?"
"There's dancing, but you don't have to do that."
"In for a penny, in for a pound."
Mark rose and extended his hand. He held his breath and let it out in a gush when she placed her hand in his. The tiny sparkles had upgraded into bona fide fireworks.
In for a pound? If someone else from the ranch could see him now, they’d say he was in for a band of gold.
Chapter Sixteen
"Do you know how to waltz?" she asked as she put her hand in his.
"I know how to salsa," Mark said, pulling her into his embrace. Left arm at a right angle, right hand at her low back.
"Those are two very different dances,” she said, trying for some semblance of decorum. She was finding keeping cool and bland to be an impossible task around this man.
Sparks. They raced through her any time he touched her. But he had a magnetic personality. Mark was either making her laugh or frown. There was no bland smile for him.
"How so? You lead a lady around the dance floor. How hard can that be?"
His fingers curled around her palm, and she felt the heat. His palm burned into her back, but she didn’t try to escape. She gave in, trapping herself to him. He’d held her before, during the most embarrassing moment of her life. Now, he was trying to help her through the most important moment of her life.
"Four steps in a circle?" he asked.
"Three. Three steps."
Honey began the counts. Mark was a quick study, and soon he took the lead. He smiled down at her, dimples blazing.
"Told you," he said. "I got it. Nothing to worry about."
For the first time in a long time, Honey wasn't worried about anything. Not whether there was a wrinkle in her outfit, or a hair out of place, or any emotion on her face. She relaxed in Mark’s hold and let him sweep her away, just like when he carried her from prying eyes.
"I still can't thank you enough for everything you're doing for me," she said as they glided across the small space in his living room. "Everything you have done for me."
He shrugged those broad shoulders. “You’d do the same for me.”
Would she? They didn't run in the same social circles. Would they have ever met if she hadn't gotten stuck in that pavement? She realized how perfect those shoes had truly been to hold her still in time enough for him to come to find her.
"I have a trust fund," she said. "It doesn't mature for another year when I’m twenty-one. But it's more than enough to build a recruitment center."
Mark halted mid-glide. Their bodies were bent slightly as he’d been about to turn her. Slowly, he straightened, but he didn’t release his hold on her.
"I'm not taking your money."
"Technically, it's my father's money. You were going to do business with him before we met."
“That’s is different."
"Because I'm a woman?"
"No. Because you're you."
The emphasis on his words made her heart flutter. But her brain needed clarification. "What does that mean?"
Mark took a deep breath, clearly searching for words. He let her go, and she felt bereft, unsteady on her feet. She wanted
to sink down onto the cushions of the couch, but she held her ground.
“You said I was family," she said. She was embarrassed to hear a tremble in her voice. She was terrified that he hadn't meant what he’d said to her. What everyone on this ranch had insinuated; that she might belong.
"You are." His arms came back around her, but not in a dance partner's hold. This was a lover’s embrace. Both arms wrapped around her torso. Both hands sealed at the small of her back.
"But still, my money isn't good enough?"
"No,” he said. “Money is what you have, not who you are. I only want who you are." He shook himself as though he had said more than he meant to say. "So, yeah, if you just introduce me to people like you planned, that will work."
"We can work together," she suggested.
"I like that. I need you.” He winced like those were more words that weren’t meant for her ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Because I'm not good at schmoozing."
"Okay."
"Okay."
They were closer then prudent for a waltz or a salsa. They also weren't moving in counts of three. They were standing still. Still and close.
Honey tasted the sweet tang of barbecue on his breath. She could make out the fine lines on his lower lip that indicated he was thirsty. He looked beyond parched. He looked hungry.
She'd never been kissed before. She’d never danced salsa or the waltz in a man’s small living room. So many new lessons. Now, she wanted a lesson from him in the art of kissing.
"Excuse me?"
They sprung apart. Honey knew people on the ranch didn’t knock, but this person wasn’t from the ranch.
"Ginger? What are you doing here?"
Ginger stood just inside the screen door. It tapped her backside as it closed, and she took another step inside.
“Mrs. Patel called me and told me what happened," said Ginger. “I was on the other side of the state, but I drove back as soon as I heard. Are you okay?"
Honey tried to pull on the bland smile. But her lips quivered. Ginger took the necessary steps to be nearer to her and pulled Honey into a hug.
Every Step He Takes Page 7
