Accidental Hero: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Nicole Snow

I grab her around the waist. She spins around and gasps, clasping a thick medical textbook tight in her little hands, the object she was busy retrieving.

  Our eyes lock for a long, fiery second before I let go.

  “Do you mind?” she whispers, an edge in her voice.

  “I do. Like to know exactly what's happening in my house. Everything cool here, or did you spill a whole library?” I nod toward several more books and scraps of papers strewn across the floor.

  She steps away from me, sniffing, this time facing forward as she attacks the pile. “Clumsy me. My backpack ripped. I was fine picking it up like a normal human being before you barged in.”

  All the books and printouts are about blood. Interesting. “You sure you're human? Seems like your studies would go over better in Transylvania than Nowhere, Iowa.”

  “Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. They catch the soft low winter sun seeping through the window, giving me a kaleidoscope of pretty green. “Somebody has to learn to stick veins if we want a functional medical system. Phlebotomists and lab techs are actually in pretty big demand around here with our aging population.”

  “That so?” I lean in. An evil part of me adores how her breath sticks in her long ivory throat when I'm up close and personal. My voice drops an octave. “Just keep that shit away from Mia. She's real squeamish with blood and needles. You're welcome to read whatever when she's occupied.”

  “Fine. It's only for a few more weeks, anyway. I'll have my certificate soon, and then I'll be able to go back to books I enjoy.”

  My flicker of amusement fades. I don't need the reminder I'm dealing with a student.

  Another risk. One more strike against having a reliable nanny.

  My eyes stick to her while she turns, slips past me, and settles onto the sofa next to my little girl on the floor, opening her book. Sadie smiles down at the kid for a moment, who's trying to pronounce different animals' names. She looks at me and opens her plush lips. “I thought you had work?”

  I hesitate, taking in the scene. I'm still trying to decide if this whole thing is a big fat stinking mistake. Maybe I should cut her loose by the end of the day.

  There's a million reasons this is wrong.

  But Mia's happy singsong melody, stuck in her own little world, doesn't lie. She likes her new babysitter. That's a huge plus. Almost so massive it negates the risk of her getting attached, which will be a bitch to deal with if Red leaves me high and dry.

  “Another hour or so,” I finally tell her. “I'll be back in soon to square up your pay and talk hours for the rest of the week.”

  Red smiles. I don't say anything as I walk past, pausing a second to reach down and ruffle little Mia's hair. She's so deep in the zone learning she barely notices.

  That's the way I want it.

  That's why I'm risking my own good judgment and Red's flippant anything-could-happen place in life.

  That's how much I'm willing to put up with the subtle cock tease parading around my house, awakening a need for cold showers I haven't had for years.

  This thing could blow up in my face. Hell, it probably will.

  It could also be the break I've waited for. Nothing will shut up the ghosts in my head until they've had justice. I can't find the time unless something takes the pressure off Marshal, part-time machinist and full time single dad.

  Marshal the killer operates best when he's alone.

  “Come on, honeybee. Stretch out your arms, please.” Mia laughs and obeys, standing reasonably still while I bend down, sliding her jacket over her little arms. She'll ride with me to town first, then the mall. Now that the motorheads have picked up their bikes, I have a refurbished trolling motor to drop off and money to collect.

  Behind me, Red clears her throat. It's the first time I've seen her getting antsy, but I can't really blame her.

  “I almost forgot...” I stand up, pull my wallet, and dig through the mass of twenties I always keep tucked inside. “Six hours at seventeen bucks each. That comes out to...screw it, we'll just say a hundred and twenty. Fair?”

  “Perfectly. Hope this means more tomorrow?” Her green eyes widen the instant her palm closes around the rumpled bills.

  “Yeah. Except tomorrow I want you wearing jeans, Red.” I look her in the eye and lower my voice when I say it. Mia's too young to understand, but I don't want her picking up on anything if this gets dicey, and my new nanny won't listen. “I can't concentrate when you're dressed like that. Bad influence.”

  She smiles, shaking her head like I'm joking. Disappointing.

  “You're serious? You want a dress code to babysit your little girl? Jesus. This one even goes to my ankles.”

  “My house, my rules. I'm paying you for keeping her company. Not distracting my sorry ass every time I come in for a cup of coffee. Be here at nine again. Hopefully you can shuffle around your hours for whatever else.”

  “You're insane,” she says, fighting through the beet red flush. Hesitation scrunches her face, and then defeat. “Whatever. You're lucky I'm flexible.”

  She doesn't specify with the job, leaving my brain to imagine bending her into all kinds of positions. God damn.

  We have to get out of here.

  “Mia, it's time to go. Say bye-bye to Sadie. She'll be hanging out with you again tomorrow – fun, right?” I take Mia's little hand, leading her to the door, while she waves frantically with the other. We all step outside together, Sadie in front of us, giving me one more parting view of that dangerous, full ass.

  My hand twitches. So does something else for the thousandth time today.

  Fuck.

  She heads for her car while my little girl calls after her. “Bye-bye, bye, Ms. Sadie!”

  “Bye, sweetie! Tomorrow we'll go north on your game and I'll show you some polar bears. My grandpa spent a lot of time in Alaska. I always loved his stories.” She's beaming like my four year old daughter is an old friend, rather than a child she's paid to keep up with. I'll admit I admire her attitude.

  My eyes jerk toward her one last time after I settle my little girl in her seat, and then slide into the driver's seat. Red's older Toyota pulls out of my long driveway and curls down the overgrown path toward the highway, a few stray icicles breaking off the trees, littering the road behind her.

  The rest of the evening goes peacefully. A rarity.

  The guy with the boat motor pays up without a fuss, singing my praises for a job well done. I put a little of my haul to good use in Davenport. A new pair of shoes for Mia, pizza, and ice cream before we head home.

  Eating out in a bigger city is actually a pleasure because nobody recognizes me. They keep their eyes to themselves. They don't whisper Castoff under their breath, secretly wondering if I'm fit to be a father.

  That last part is the only thing that ever gets to me. The rest, I'm used to.

  I've never had to use fists over it yet. The coward assholes in this town who like to mutter get up and run the second I stand, muscles flexed, giving them holy hell in a gaze.

  That's for the best. I'm willing to stand my ground, but any extra altercations will just make my life harder, and my exile from Port Eagle's polite society even longer, more irredeemable.

  Later, at home, I help Mia clean up and put her to bed. She picks a story out of the big fairytale book I bought her last summer. It's Little Red Riding Hood.

  How fucking fitting. Every sentence drags my warped brain far from the innocent kid's story involving a good girl in over her head and the big bad wolf.

  She's snoozing softly by the end of the tale, right when I get to the part where the hunter shows up and saves the day. It's just as well because I'm too damn distracted to come up with a PG ending.

  Those Grimm brothers make every parent's job harder, reading their twisted crap verbatim.

  I tuck her in, kiss her forehead, and switch off her light, then walk through the house until I reach the kitchen. Part one of my nightly ritual is over.

  Part two, visiting my shop in the off
-hours, I skip. Probably for the first time in weeks.

  Freezing out there in layers with the wood burning stove while I rifle through fury, guns, and dead men's memories can't rip me away from a hot shower tonight.

  The balmy water beckons to a part of my soul I'd buried a long time ago. The old shower head hisses, pouring steaming droplets down my back in rivulets. They trace the rough, deep crevices between my hard body like lonely fingers. They tease muscles built in haunting memories, always on edge, but tonight they lull them to sweet forgetfulness.

  It's not the past on my mind when my hand dips below my abs, grasping the throbbing spike between my legs. The source of this ache in my balls is very much in the present.

  Sadie.

  Red.

  “Fucking Red!” I'm grunting her name when the long, hard strokes wrapped around my cock pull the come out of me.

  It's the crack of her ass caught in my head when everything up my spine goes nuclear, except there's no dress this time. Just my imagination. Just my thick hands on her cheeks, pulling them apart, taking hold to slam her cunt hard and deep.

  I'm panting like an idiot, coming down from the blistering high. What the hell was that? Really?

  I'm not losing it. It's just a fantasy. Harmless.

  I'm not stupid. I won't actually bed my nanny, and screw up the best break I've had in awhile before it's even begun. But damn if I'm able to ignore the urge. She can't live in my head rent free, without relief, knowing the fucked up insta-lust thing her body does to my mind.

  I think about her blood books and grin, hands braced against the tiled wall so they rinse away the shameful sweat clinging to my skin. Whatever happens next, I won't let her stick me. Red will not fucking break my skin.

  If she doesn't get into my system, and discover my blood is already on fire, we might have a fighting chance at making this work. Without someone getting fucked very hard, I mean, while someone else's heart gets pulverized.

  3

  Bossypants (Sadie)

  I can't believe it's been a week working for the man the whole town keeps at an arm's length.

  I haven't told anybody yet. As far as my family, my friends, my co-workers know, I'm just picking up a few extra hours watching a busy welder's kid. Not exactly uncommon in this town, where two thirds of the men still make their money off motor oil, muscle, and machines.

  The timing is just as well, too. We'll be into Christmas soon. Officially signaling the end of my lab training and a few days to rest.

  I doubt I'll have as many days here with this little cherub. We've shifted from wildlife studies to reading practice, a lesson plan set by Papa Bear, who's surprisingly meticulous about his daughter's learning schedule.

  I wouldn't have expected a man like Marshal to know the first thing about homeschooling. He tells me he's planning to send her to school as soon as she's kindergarten age, but he wants her ready to leave everybody else in the dust.

  So, I follow his lesson plan. I use Google and a few advice videos from YouTube to help fill in the gaps. I ask the little girl for her thoughts after we watch the kids' shows on his list, and she recites back what she's learned beautifully.

  Surprisingly easy. Efficient. Mutual.

  She's happy, and I'm making money. That's the point, right?

  If it weren't for him, the answer would be obvious. But I'm learning fast there's a lot more than what's surface deep.

  Marshal never shows his face more than two or three times during our days together, always briefly. And often just to check in, make sure I'm carrying out his orders, and pay up at the end of the day.

  After seven days back to back, it's becoming routine. He spends the last couple hours with us in the living room, seemingly ahead with his work.

  Marshal stomps across the room while I'm reading to Mia and rips a few candy canes off the tall Christmas tree reaching to the ceiling. He shoves one into my hand, passing the little girl another. “Part of your bonus. Won't need you around until the twenty-sixth,” he growls, biting through the wrapper of the final cane he keeps for himself.

  “Got it. We'll pick up then. Anything else you need before I head out?” I ask, gathering my training material into my backpack. I'm so ready to be done.

  It's nice to accomplish something for a change. Just a few more hours to log and a test or two, and I can start contemplating my future with a fancy new license from the state of Iowa.

  “We need to talk hours for next year. You're performing, Red.” I blink through his compliment, surprised. “Didn't think you had it in you to juggle responsibilities. Glad I was wrong. Guess you're more grown up than you look – especially in the jeans.”

  Mia laughs, watching me stand, hands on my hips. I'm not daunted by the prickly glow in his bright blue eyes. “Again, bossypants? If you want more hours, I wish you'd take an interest in something besides what I'm wearing.”

  “Keep dressing right and maybe I will.” Jesus, he's serious. He looks at me slowly, hoisting Mia into his arms, then settling into the huge wood recliner in the corner. The end of the unwrapped candy cane goes into the corner of his mouth and there's a loud crunch. “I'm trying to be nice, Sadie. It's almost Christmas. Relax.”

  There's nothing relaxing about the second time he chews into peppermint. Mia giggles at the sound.

  I don't know why I'm so on edge.

  If only calming down were so easy. Truly, nothing ever puts me at ease in his presence. Well, nothing except the wild contrast between this beast and his daughter, who looks like a porcelain doll in his arms, smiling so sweetly.

  She clearly loves the brute. He'd tear a hole through the world just to keep that happy grin on her face. They're a happy family, a unit, however strange and unlikely.

  It'd be delightful, if his pearly blues didn't twist knots inside me. “I want you full time for a few days next month, if you can swing it.” He gnaws his candy cane halfway down, helping Mia open hers, never taking his eyes off me. “And if you can't, how does overtime sound? I need the extra hours.”

  “We'll see,” I say, backing away slowly, trying to hide how stunned I am. He's already asking for more? I averaged over thirty hours this week, every day but Sunday. I'm not sure how much leeway I'll get from home, knowing dad can't look after mom constantly.

  “What's holding you back?” he asks, pulling Mia closer. Her smile is gone. She's less than a minute from dozing in his arms by the looks of it, and his voice drops to a rough whisper. “School? Home? Already planning to jump ship?”

  Now, he's just being an asshole. My fingers go taught against my skin. “I told you, I'm flexible, as long as I'm being paid and treated fairly. But as you know, I have a situation at home –“

  “Yeah, your mom. Tell you what, how much would it take to get your family a real nurse to look after her part-time? Whatever it is, I'll pay it.”

  Red flags beat me in the face. I'm not even shocked by what he's said because it doesn't compute on any level.

  He wants to pay out oodles of extra money why, exactly?

  It's not even the mystery of how he thinks he can afford it on a freelance machinist's salary that's bugging me. He clearly makes good money doing what he does, but nothing justifies what he's offering.

  “Talk to me, Red. Before I dole out your pay and put her down for a nap. You look like you just got run over.” He stands, bouncing the lazy little girl gently on his shoulder. She's sleepy, lazily sucking her candy. “Why are you passing up real help?”

  “Because it's completely ludicrous, Marshal!” It comes out louder than I intend, making Mia shift in his arms. “You want me to work for you full time? After a single week? Jesus. Look, I like spending time with her but...I do have a life. I'm after a career. Every day is a struggle to get on the right track.”

  “Then you weren't listening. Your problem is your sick mother, yeah?” He steps closer, silent, blue eyes blazing through me until I finally nod. But he doesn't understand. Lord, not even close. “I just said I'd help tak
e care of it. I want you to move in.”

  “Move. In?” I mouth the words slowly, searching for their meaning and failing to find it.

  Okay, so he isn't just insane in the eccentric fringe weirdo sense. He's delusional. Decoupled from reality. Full on hallucinating if this isn't some kind of sick joke.

  “Right. You, me, Mia, here.” There's no humor in his eyes. They shift around the room, landing on his daughter, and me again last. It's a look that tells me to just shut up and accept this madness. “You follow? I'm talking the whole nine yards. Lodging. Better pay. Family benefits. Just for a few weeks, so I'm able to take on a special job I've had on the back burner forever.”

  “Oh. You didn't say temporary...” Does that even make it better? In theory, sure. “I'll have to think about this. Get back to you after Christmas?”

  He isn't happy. He wanted an answer today.

  The blank, sour disappointment on his face tells me I might be jeopardizing this whole arrangement. Too bad. I can't agree to move into the Castoff's house without even talking to my family first!

  Not without breaking the news as gently as I possibly can. Jackson's disgust alone will be a hurricane.

  “I'll give you till New Year's. Won't be needing the full time gig for a few weeks, anyway. I'll be busy traveling for awhile next month, and I really need someone to hold down everything here full time.”

  “You want to leave Mia here? With me?” That surprises me more than anything else.

  They're inseparable. He hates to even let her out of his sight when she isn't asleep or playing next to me.

  He's just silent. I don't have a clue what that means.

  Then his eyes break, signaling a whole new level of what the hell is going on here? I've never seen him look away before. “This isn't easy for me to ask. If it weren't so damn important, I wouldn't think about it twice. Truth be told, I loathe the thought of leaving her alone anywhere. She's been by my side since the day she was born. But I don't think she'd handle the trip well, and I need to get this done.”

  “Daddy? You're...going? Away?” Mia looks up, concerned by the darkness entering his tone.