Accidental Hero: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “You can eat them after we water and feed the horses,” I say, touching the tips of their noses, first Adam's and then Chase's.

  “Okay, we will!”

  Rex never stops pounding in nails, not even after we're done with the horses and back inside. The angst turning over in my belly is almost sickening.

  “I brought you some coffee,” I shout above the noise he’s making.

  He nods before pulling a nail out from between his lips and starts pounding again.

  “Do you want me to take the boys inside?” I ask when the pounding stops.

  “No, they’re fine.”

  “It’s colder today and –“

  “They’re fine,” he says again, colder than the air itself.

  Okay. I bite my lips. I don’t need to be hammered on the head to know I’m not wanted, so I tell the boys goodbye and head back to the lodge.

  After checking out Chester Hobbs and cleaning his room, I dust the front room and foyer and wash a few windows, then head to the basement to transfer the sheets from the washer to the dryer.

  Using the last dryer sheet, I toss the empty box into the trash and enter the storage room to get some more. I grab a new box from the shelf, but it slips out of my hand. Bending down to pick it up, I see the writing on a cardboard box on the bottom shelf.

  Julia.

  My mother.

  I’ve seen the box a million times. Dug through it at least a dozen occasions, flipping through her old school albums. That’s all that's really there, all that's left, along with some pictures she’d drawn when she was young and a few miscellaneous report cards. Gramps saved them all. Just like he'd saved mine.

  Once upon a time, mom was his little girl. And I think he sees me as the daughter he wished he'd had.

  I pick up the dryer sheets and leave the room, wondering again about Adam and Chase, and if they should be in school. Too curious not to know, I head upstairs, grab my coat, and walk to my cabin.

  It’s small, but cozy. Familiar. Compact, but home.

  There’s a tiny kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms, each with their own bathrooms from when it had been remodeled several years ago. There’s also a fair-sized storage room where I keep my personal stuff, mementos, old books I like to re-read when I'm in the right mood. Whenever it needs to be rented out, all I have to do is lock my storage room and take enough clothes with me to the main lodge to bunk with Marcy until the guests leave.

  I grab a water from the fridge and sit down at the table, opening my laptop. It takes a while for it to start up, being as old as it is, a hand me down Gramps never used for business. Then I Google the age requirements for Michigan schools.

  Six to sixteen.

  So, the boys are technically too young. They're only five. That much I’d gotten out of them yesterday. Their age.

  I turn the computer off, wait for it to fully power down before closing the lid. It hits me then that I should have Googled Rex Osborne, too. Damn.

  I consider it, but the queasy feeling in my stomach tells me not to. I'm scared I'll find more questions than answers. Worse, I'm afraid I'll just feed this obsession, this stupid crush, this thing that should not be happening.

  Grabbing my coat, I leave the cabin and head back to the main lodge to help Marcy prep lunch. It goes smoothly.

  I pack an extra basket and carry it out to the barn. Rex isn’t any friendlier than he was this morning, but he does agree to let the boys return to the lodge with me. I tell him they'll be safe and warm. He grunts, the only reply I get, rude and cryptic.

  I'm steaming, but it's not long before the sweet boys take the edge off. Their innocent chatter through a couple board games I have just enough time to teach them makes me forget their ass of a dad for a few blissful hours.

  It's the start of a weird routine that continues for several more days. The boys spend the morning in the barn with Rex and the afternoon in the lodge with me, and the two of us, Rex and me, don’t say more than three or four words to one another.

  I hate his icy silence. Loathe it because I'd like to get in his face, ask him what kind of game he's playing. But I know it'd make me look like the reckless, desperate girl who's more strung up on him than she has any right to be. And Rex Osborne won't be seeing me like that.

  Also, there are times I sense he’d like to say more, but for whatever reason, doesn’t. Torture.

  I’ve lived with moody men who hold their emotions like cheap whiskey since I was four years old. I've figured out Rex isn’t grumpy. Whatever's bothering him, goes deeper and it doesn’t fit him. This isn’t the way he’s meant to be. I don’t know why I'm so sure, but I am. It’s like we’re in the middle of a poker game and he doesn’t want me to see his hand. He’s not ready to play them, either. Not even one card at a time. Not yet.

  It’s driving me nuts. Fucking nuts

  My only saving grace is the steady flow of new guests. Not many, and none book rooms for long, but at least the constant checking in and out gives me something to do every morning while waiting to collect Adam and Chase for lunch.

  Now, I can’t believe I ever had a hard time telling them apart. Adam is more curious and asks far more questions than his brother. Chase is more like Rex, quiet and pondering, often figuring out the answers to Adam’s questions about the same time Adam asks them. It's odd, adorable, and fascinating all at once.

  This afternoon we learn a popular cartoon hero flick will be on TV tonight. The boys beg me to ask Rex if they can watch it, so I do. Surprisingly, he agrees.

  The boys help me make popcorn, and here we are, watching a movie about super heroes. I’m a little lost trying to follow all the characters and the powers they have, but the boys are enjoying every second. Rex appears to be, too, when he slinks in later and sits at the far end of the sofa. So does Gramps, who gobbles more popcorn than the rest of us combined.

  Then I notice headlights shining through the window, and leave the room to man the front desk, ready to check in our new arrival.

  There are no reservations, so I collect his information and give him our standard spiel about amenities.

  He states he’ll only need a place to sleep.

  I assign him a room for the night, and then swipe his credit card. While I'm waiting for the approval to go through, I ask if he’s been in Split Harbor before.

  “Nope, first time. Heading up to Canada to go ice fishing with my brother. Haven’t seen him for five years, since he came down to Chicago.”

  “Well, have fun, and stay warm,” I say, handing him back his card. “You’re all set.”

  With a friendly wave, he heads for the wide staircase. “Thanks!”

  I'm about to staple the credit card slip to the printout of the room assignment when the sheet of paper flies out of my hand. Flipping around, I try to re-take it from Rex, who's already scanning the printout. He holds it conveniently out of reach.

  “Hey! Private information,” I say, trying again to snatch the paper back, but he's too tall and his hold is too firm.

  “I heard him say Chicago,” Rex snaps.

  “Because that’s where he’s from?” He’s reading the slip, so it’s not like I’m telling him anything he doesn’t already know. I point to the top of the paper. “Sam Walton from Chicago, Illinois.”

  He flips the paper over, finding only a blank page of course. “Where’s he going?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  His eyes turn into narrow slits. “Where’s he going?”

  I finally jerk the paper away, staple the credit card slip, and file it. “Canada, to go fishing with his brother. Not that it's any business of yours.”

  “How long is he staying?” He's relentless. “Cupcake, how long?”

  “Jesus, one night!” Flustered, I tap my cheeks and say, “What’s wrong with you, Rex? Why do you interrogate me about every single male guest who checks in?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Oh, no. You’re a lot more than curious. You’re like an FBI agent wi
thout a badge to flash.”

  He grabs my arm when I try to walk around him. “FBI, huh? Has the FBI been here?”

  “No, the FBI hasn't been here! I said it because you’re acting like they do on TV.” Pulling my arm out of his hold, I add, “Like a total asshole.”

  He scowls, but then glances towards the staircase.

  Wow. He hasn't actually let this go.

  An eerie feeling crawls up my spine, slowly, like a spider on a mission. A creepy-ass scary spider. I can’t stop myself from asking, “You aren’t wanted by the FBI...are you?”

  I swear my heart stops during the silence that follows.

  “No,” he finally says.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Would I be here, with my sons, working on your barn if I was wanted by the goddamn FBI?”

  That’s his way, answering my questions with his own. Tired of playing his game, I say, “You'd better be telling the truth, Rex. Because if you aren’t, I’ll –“

  “You’ll what?” Rage flashes in his eyes. “Tell me, Cupcake. What'll you do?”

  Hell if I know. Pissed, I skirt around him while hissing, “Rue the day you were born for putting my family, my business in danger.”

  “I –“

  I stop, waiting to hear more.

  “Forget it,” he snarls numbly, walking past me.

  He heads to the front door and I march into the front room.

  “Anyone need more popcorn?”

  Both boys and Gramps say yes, so I grab the bowl and leave the room. Rex is still outside, I can see his outline through the window.

  Fine. I’ll forget about it all right. And him. Jerk.

  I stomp down the hall. Such. An. Asshole.

  Why can’t he just be honest? Tell me his wife died and he’s going through a rough time right now. That's all he'd have to say, and I'd believe him.

  But no. Instead, he jumps back and forth in some stupid Jekyll and Hyde routine that's twisting my last nerve.

  I make the popcorn and deliver it to the front room. Rex is back, sitting on the sofa with the boys, acting like nothing happened. I leave again. I can't do this and I've officially had my fill.

  I need space. Finding myself back in the kitchen, I dig out the ingredients to make a batch of blueberry muffins, a double batch so Sam Walton can take some with on his ice fishing trip.

  Screw you, Rex Osborne.

  Flipping off the door while I wait for the oven makes me feel a smidge better, but I’m still fuming.

  After the muffins are done, I gather the bowls and glasses from the front room, which is empty except for Gramps. The movie's over. I tell him I’ll lock up after wrapping the muffins and putting the extras on a plate for the front desk in case the guests checking out want to take some.

  “You doing all right, Tabby-kitten?” Gramps asks as we walk down the hallway together.

  “I’m fine.” I'm nowhere close and I think he knows it.

  “Is it the boys? Taking care of those kids getting to be too much?”

  “No way. Adam and Chase are wonderful, Gramps. Seriously.”

  I'm glad I don't have to lie. They're not the problem.

  He casts me a thoughtful glance before saying, “Well, they won’t be here much longer.”

  “I know.” God, do I ever. I hold up the dirty dishes in my hands. “Gotta get these in the dishwasher.” After kissing his cheek, I hold the kitchen door open, giving him one last glance. “Night.”

  Gramps is a better man than Rex. Grumpy, short-fused, but his heart is in the right place. With Mr. Osborne, I don't know what the hell I'm dealing with besides a constant guessing game.

  His words ring in my memory while I finish up. They won't be here much longer.

  Sigh. My mind goes down several melancholy paths concerning both Rex and his sons while I’m wiping the counters. I'll never hear their sweet laughter, or catch Rex's fierce blue eyes stripping me bare, or wonder for the thousandth time what makes him tick like the timebomb he is. Soon, they'll be memories. By the time I’ve locked the front door, I can’t take any more.

  None.

  I’m done.

  Rather than grab my coat and head for my cabin, I march up the back steps. Quietly, because I don’t want to wake the boys, I knock on Rex’s door.

  He pulls it open and scowls. Exactly what I'm expecting.

  “Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, but his eyes never leave mine. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me inside.

  VI: No Escape (Rex)

  Nothing good will come of this, but I can’t take the sorrow in her eyes any longer. I can’t take the shit-ton of it filling me, either, strapped around my neck like an albatross made of solid granite.

  Cupcake’s the reason I feel this way. At least part of it. She’s done me one hell of a favor, watching the boys every afternoon, asking for nothing in return. I’d offered to pay her, but she’d refused to even consider that.

  She just wanted a smile, a few kind words, a goddamned thank you or two. And I've been too screwed up to give her more than a disinterested grunt and a weight from hell she doesn't need.

  Fuck. It isn't fair and I know it. I'm not oblivious.

  The least I can give her is the truth – a small portion of it.

  Still holding onto her arm, I close the door, and then guide her to the corner of the room furthest away from the bed the boys are sleeping in. I can't wake them up with this.

  “Look, Tabby, I can’t tell you everything, but what I’m about to say, is the truth.”

  My heart literally swells at how her face softens.

  “You don’t have to. I never asked for everything,” she whispers.

  But I want to get it out, have her understand, but there's this ugly fear in my guts she’ll hate me once she knows. “You can’t tell anyone a word I say.”

  “I won’t,” she says. “Promise.”

  I have no idea where to start, what to say specifically.

  “Had she been ill long?”

  I shake my head, wondering if I’d already spoken. Convinced I hadn’t, I ask, “Who?”

  “Your wife.”

  “I’ve never been married.”

  She glances towards the bed. “Grandpa said their mother died recently.”

  A wave of regret washes over me.

  “He said you told him that.”

  “I did,” I admit. I'd said a lot of things to get the job, most of them true, stopping at the part where I'm running for my life after an accidental murder.

  “Why?” There’s skepticism in her eyes again. “So he’d give you the job?”

  “Bingo.” I had to give Morris a normal reason why the boys and I are here. Why I needed the job so badly. He’s an intuitive old goat, would've seen through any obvious lies.

  “So she’s not dead?”

  “She’s dead all right,” I say.

  Tabby blinks and her eyes get big. “But that’s not what’s bothering you. It’s not the chip on your shoulder,” she says softly.

  No. Fuck no. It’s far more than 'a chip.' More like a thousand-pound boulder. “Some things happened a few weeks ago. Bad shit, and now I've got bad people looking for me.”

  The splattering of fear racing across her face has me taking hold of her hand.

  “They don’t know where we are. I have to believe they won’t find us here.” Not for a while, anyway. I’m still hoping they're following my pinged phone all the way to Florida. They’ll figure it out sooner or later, and by then, I can only hope any trail I may have left is ice cold.

  “Who are they?”

  “Demons. People deep in the criminal world.” I can’t tell her about the deaths, but can let her know what lead up to it at the beginning. “They needed money laundered. I got blackmailed into doing it.”

  Her eyes pop wide again. “So, are you wanted by the FBI?”

  I have no idea, but for her sake, I shake my head. “They aren’t the type to go to the
FBI, and no one will report the money laundering. I just refused to keep doing it. That's why I've got problems.” That’s what I should have done in the very beginning. Instead, fearing Nelia would find a way to take away the boys, I agreed to run a few thousand dollars worth of drug money through my construction company. Then a few thousand turned five figures, then six. I know now, as I should have then, it would never fucking stop. You give these men an inch, they'll be up your ass for miles.

  “And now they're after you,” she finishes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus. Can’t you just...I don't know, go to the authorities?”

  I shake my head. “If only it was that easy. I broke the law, Cupcake. Also not sure the police can do shit to protect us from these people. Their Syndicate has tendrils everywhere. I can't start over with the boys in witness protection, growing up with their old lives and me scorched to the ground.”

  Her eyes are so sweet, so innocent, nowhere cut out for contemplating something like this. Guilt blackens my heart for laying this on her, but there's also a vicious relief in giving up the truth.

  She takes hold of my other hand. “There are people who can help you, Rex. I can help. You just have to let me.”

  I pull her towards me, close enough for me to place a tiny kiss on her forehead. “No. Nothing you can do, Cupcake. Nothing anyone can do. I'm not putting you in danger.”

  “Yes –“

  I shake my head. “We’ll be leaving soon.” Nodding towards the bed, I continue, “The boys and me, we can't stay here forever once the job's done, much as I'd like it. Soon as the money comes in from remodeling the barn, we're moving on.” I didn't expect this part to be the hardest confession. My heart constricts so tightly my chest burns.

  Fuck.

  I know this is exactly how it has to be, and if I don’t get her out of this room soon, I won’t want her to leave.

  I lead her back to the door. “Thanks, Cupcake, you’re an amazing, compassionate, beautiful woman. I hope you never change.”

  I open the door then, gently nudging her over the threshold because it'd be far too easy to ask her to stay. She leaves without a fight, or maybe she just doesn't know what the hell to say. I can't blame her.