by Nicole Helm
Croy toddled over to him, grabbing on to Jack’s knees when his balance wavered. Blinking blue eyes stared curiously at him before he shouted something with a little jump. “Ba! Ba!” He held out his pudgy hand, a red fabric ball clutched there.
Jack swallowed and took the outstretched ball. He pretended to examine it. “A very nice red ball.”
Croy repeated him, though the syllables were a little baby garbled. Still, it made Jack smile, and he held the ball back to Croy. He took it, then hurled it at Jack’s chest.
“Easy, slugger,” Jack murmured as Croy squealed in delight. They repeated the process a few times before Rose’s voice interrupted.
“Jack, Becca wants us to dust off some chairs in the office and bring them to the table.”
Jack looked up. Rose stood in the entrance to the kitchen, and she nodded down the hall toward the rarely used office.
“Oh. Sure.” He looked down at the kid holding on to his knees. His nephew. It was easier to separate him from what Madison and Mike had done when it was just him and the kid and the ball, but Rose standing behind him and Madison staring at them with pink-cheeked embarrassment, he suddenly didn’t know what to do with Croy.
Madison got off the couch and scooped him up without making any eye contact with Jack. “Look at your puzzle, baby.”
Baby. I don’t know, baby. Let’s wait. Madison’s voice was a constant loop in his head. Should he have known all along? Should he have read into her not wanting to actually get married before he was deployed?
“Jack.” Rose’s hand squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up at Rose in costume.
Except she didn’t have that fake, wide smile on her face. She looked a little grave, a lot more like the Rose he preferred.
“Right.” He stood and followed Rose down the hall, everything inside him feeling hollow. They stepped into the old office that had once been Alex’s father’s and wasn’t used much these days.
“Was this a real errand or a fictional one?” he managed to ask.
“Both,” Rose replied with a shrug. “I asked Becca if there was anything we could do to get away from dick-bag talk.”
“Dick-bag talk?” he echoed, standing in the middle of the office, wishing he could will himself back to present-day life.
“Yeah. Your brother, sitting there talking about all the things that were supposed to be yours? Dick. Bag.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean—”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Rose replied, searching the room before she found a stack of folding chairs. “And for the record, Croy isn’t a name. It’s a drunk person trying to spell Cory.”
“Rose,” he admonished, trying not to be amused.
“It’s like a noise a British person makes when they’re frustrated. I can’t get the pickle jar open! Croy!”
He tried to swallow down the laugh, but no matter how childish it might be, it felt good to be around someone who didn’t ignore the past or wasn’t faintly embarrassed by it. Someone who thought it was the affront it was.
Because no matter what he had or hadn’t done, whether or not he should have realized Madison didn’t really love him, what she and Mike had done was a betrayal.
“And you’re sitting there playing with the kid, and I don’t know how, Jack. I really don’t.”
“He… Well, it isn’t his fault.”
“No, but…” She shook her head. “And your brother!” Rose continued, sharp and hard as she wiped down one folding chair and moved to the next. “I’ve run a bar long enough to know that sometimes you get a gut feeling about someone, and mine is always right.”
“And what’s your gut feeling?”
“That he’s a turd.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “What’s the deal there anyway?”
“Deal?”
“I mean, I never had a brother, but I’d chop my own arm off before I hurt my sisters the way he hurt you. So I doubt it was a great relationship.”
“I didn’t think it was a bad one,” Jack muttered. “Competitive, I guess. We’re only about eleven months apart.”
“And?”
Jack sighed. “And I was—and this isn’t conceit, it’s just the truth—better at everything.”
Rose grinned, forgetting the chair. “Everything?”
“I got good grades. I was the star of the basketball team and led us to state twice. Mike was a fair student, always pissed I had more playing time, and couldn’t join the military because of his asthma.”
“That doesn’t excuse what he did.”
“I’ve spent two years trying to find a way to excuse what either of them did,” Jack replied. “Nothing does.”
“Damn straight.”
He found himself walking toward Rose. Not to help, but to soak up the orbit of actual Rose.
“She asked me what I knew, you know,” Rose said, so patently pleased with herself.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, I was vague. I said I knew you’d dated, and when she asked if that was it”—Rose flashed one of those grins he wanted to sink into—“I said it wasn’t it and walked away. I hope it eats her alive.”
Then he didn’t resist. He sank into her smile, pressing his mouth to hers, gathering her close. It wasn’t like the parking lot—no. Not frustrated confusion and attraction pumping through him. He knew exactly what he wanted, right here.
Her mouth. Her words. Her support.
She was stiff for all of two seconds before she melted into him and the kiss. Her hands slid up his arms and up his neck. “I miss your hair,” she murmured against his mouth before scraping her teeth across his bottom lip.
“It’ll grow back.”
She laughed into his kiss, and he breathed it in, the beautiful, sharp reminder, this was his life. Mountains and ranches and Rose.
Which made him forget everything else. He slid his hands down her back, over her ass, pulling her closer, wanting all of her.
She pulled her mouth away from his with a breathless laugh that wasn’t the same as the one she’d made before. “Jack, your family.” Something about her tone sounded all wrong. Like that syrupy-sweet thing she’d used when everyone else was around.
Then he realized she was glancing over his shoulder. “Oops,” she said, all fake embarrassment.
He looked behind him to see Madison standing there, her expression pinched.
“Sorry,” Rose said, leaning her head against Jack’s chest and patting him on the abdomen. “Hard not to get carried away with this one.”
It hit him hard and unwelcome that this wasn’t what he wanted, no matter that Madison was clearly rattled. Maybe in some part of his brain or betrayed heart, he wanted her to hurt. But he wanted that kiss with Rose to have been real a lot more than he wanted to perform for Madison.
“Mom wanted me to let you know dinner is ready,” Madison said.
“Mom,” Jack echoed.
“Yup. I’ll let her know you’re on your way,” Madison muttered, turning on her heel and hurrying out of the room.
Jack glanced at Rose, who had a self-satisfied smile on her face.
“You don’t have to lay it on quite so thick.”
She blinked at him, something in her expression shuttering, that Rose armor clicking into place. “That’s the point though, isn’t it?”
“The point was never a fake Rose. It was a fake relationship.”
“Lucky you, Jacky boy,” she said, hefting two folding chairs under her arms before walking past him. “You get both.”
Which was not what he wanted. At all.
* * *
After dinner, Rose stood on the porch of the Revival Ranch house and told herself not to bolt. Becca was trying to convince Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong they would be more than welcome to sleep in the main house, while Vivian enthusiastically took Becca up on t
he offer. Jack stood as he’d stood all night, stiff and straight and unsmiling. The worst part was she thought he was trying to smile. All the while, a perfect, starry sky stretched above, and everything looked like a beautiful, heavenly dream.
All Rose could do, all night since that kiss, was think about it. Relive it. She could fight attraction, and she could even fight confused, frustrated kisses in bar parking lots. She’d fought that fake, wonderful date tooth and nail, but she didn’t know how to fight whatever that had been.
Sweet and maybe a little sad, but like a kiss from her could soothe the sad.
Then she’d opened her eyes to look at him, to read him and that heart-shuddering kiss, and she’d seen Madison in the doorway and remembered why she was really there.
Jack might not want fake Rose, but he did want fake. Maybe he’d convinced himself he liked her outside of that, but she didn’t believe it for a second.
Couldn’t.
“Mom. Dad. Spend the night in a real bed. Maddy and I will be fine in the RV. More than fine,” Mike said, sliding his arm around Madison’s shoulders.
Madison clutched the baby to her chest, misery all over her face, and Rose didn’t have it in her to feel bad for the woman. She might have a little more conscience than Mike, but that didn’t erase what she’d done to Jack.
Jack. Who was somehow immeasurably sweet and good and clearly saw the best in people if he was kissing Rose, for heaven’s sake.
“Oh, well, if you’re sure—” Mrs. Armstrong turned to Becca, who was already steamrolling over the excuses.
“We have plenty of room for you three, and I made up both extra rooms, so if you don’t sleep there, I’ll have done all that work for nothing.”
Mrs. Armstrong let out a hefty sigh. “All right, you’ve twisted my arm. We’ll sleep in the extra room. Vivian, maybe you should—”
“Two extra rooms, Mom. I’m sleeping on a real bed without a kid screaming in the middle of the night.” Vivian grinned in Jack’s direction. “Unless you and Gabe have room in the bunkhouse.”
Rose didn’t know Vivian all that well, but she had the sneaking suspicion Vivian kept flirting with and making innuendos about Gabe to get a rise out of Jack, not because she had any particular interest in Gabe.
“Here’s fine,” Jack all but growled, earning him a tinkling laugh from Vivian. There was a brief flash of humor on his face before it was gone. Rose wanted to slide next to him again, say something silly and over the top so he’d show that smile again, laugh, or roll his eyes or something other than that horrible blankness.
Mrs. Armstrong got there first, stepping forward and pulling Jack down into a hug. “Good night, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Jack hugged his mother back and nodded, and again there was maybe the glimmer of something before it was gone.
Then Mrs. Armstrong turned to Rose, all soft, sweet, motherly smiles. Rose could only imagine what this woman would think of her mother, a cold, bitter woman who’d hurled insults at her children like her husband had hurled fists.
Rose swallowed. It was as though that stupid kiss before dinner had dismantled everything, and she didn’t even know how to be pretend Rose anymore. She was just this bleeding, armor-less idiot.
“It was so good to meet you, Rose. I hope we’ll see more of you.”
Rose forced the fake smile and opened her mouth to say something overly sweet, but Mrs. Armstrong pulled her into a firm hug before she could get words out. It was motherly and soft, all those things she’d never had growing up. She knew Mrs. Armstrong wasn’t perfect. Hell, this whole family was dysfunction personified. There was love here, even if it was a little warped around the edges.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Armstrong whispered, and Rose didn’t have the first clue what she was being thanked for, but Mrs. Armstrong released her abruptly and then bustled into the house. Mr. Armstrong and Vivian followed at her heels, while Mike, Madison, and Croy headed across the lawn to the RV.
“I’ve got this all covered if you want to go down to the bar and get a drink or something,” Becca said with a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks, Bec,” Jack replied, his mouth still doing that horrible thing where Rose thought he was trying to smile and failing.
“Night, guys.” Becca disappeared inside, leaving Rose and Jack alone on the porch.
“She’s nice,” Rose murmured about Becca, feeling somehow less. Becca had opened her home and fed Jack’s family simply because it was the right thing to do.
“Yeah, she is.”
That never would have occurred to Rose. She wasn’t nice or selfless. Even getting herself into this mess had been tit for tat, a favor for a favor. She didn’t know how Jack thought otherwise, but she needed to put an end to it before this got…
She wanted to laugh at herself, because as much as she wished she could stay in denial, this was already complicated. Go home, Rose. Get the hell away from this mess.
“You want to go to the bar?” she asked instead, because she needed him to stop looking so bleak and desolate or she was going to do something really stupid.
“No,” he replied, his voice gruff, his eyes on the crescent moon glimmering in the distance.
“You want to go to my house?” she asked on a whisper. A whisper, because it was not an offer she could extend him. Yet here she was.
It’s pretend. Just for a little while. What’s the harm?
“Yes,” he replied simply, his gaze never leaving the moon.
“Okay.” It didn’t matter that she was an idiot. She’d made the offer, and something inside her chest expanded at the thought of being there for him. Of soothing him.
Of kissing him over and over again.
Jack’s hand slid over hers, twining his long fingers with hers. He didn’t look at her or anything other than straight ahead, but her heart squeezed all the same.
No guy had ever done something as innocuous as hold her hand. Which was a stupid thing to think, being that they were walking past the RV and this was all for show.
The main door was open, so the only thing keeping Rose from looking inside was a screen. Madison was standing there, watching them.
So Jack wasn’t really holding her hand, no matter that he hadn’t so much as glanced at Madison watching them. He probably had some Navy SEAL sixth sense, and he was holding on to her hand for dear life to prove a point.
Not because he needed it—or her.
Which was right and for the best and damn necessary. Anyone who had ever needed her ended up hurt. Emotionally. Physically. All the kinds of hurts.
She released his hand once they reached her car, but he held on. For the first time since they’d stepped out onto the porch, he finally looked at her. Really looked at her.
Why her breath caught at that was beyond her, but what wasn’t beyond her since he’d kissed her like she mattered?
You cannot let yourself matter. Do not let him think you matter.
“For the record, fake Rose is not invited,” he said, his voice so serious.
Tell him to fuck off, this is your party, and you’ll invite who-damn-ever.
“Okay,” she whispered instead.
Chapter 16
They drove in silence to Rose’s house. He didn’t know why she’d suggested coming here, but he knew it was exactly where he wanted to be. Clear, starry night. Abandoned, falling-down house. Beautiful, complicated Rose Rogers. It felt like everything he needed after this day.
It hadn’t been the explosive, angry tragedy he’d expected. It hadn’t been the easy, oh this doesn’t actually hurt so much gathering he’d hoped for. It had been all those things and a million other things on top of them, to the point where he’d gone completely numb.
Numb to Vivian’s happy recounting of her strange customers. Numb to Madison and Mike feeding Croy at the dinner table, a clear partner
ship. Numb to Mom’s good-night hugs.
He felt nothing.
He supposed it was some natural, biological function—shutting down completely so he didn’t have to actually deal with the pain.
Rose pulled her car all the way up to the steps of the house. Without a word, she got out and so did he. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the pond glittering in the distance.
“Want to go for another swim?” Rose asked from somewhere that sounded a million miles away. He felt a million miles away. When he turned to face her, she was a lot closer than that, still in that overly feminine dress, her hair in that ridiculously demure braid, simply standing at the top of the steps and looking like the sweet, accommodating queen of the dilapidated manor.
Something swept through him then, a tide of emotions he couldn’t have named if he’d tried. They weren’t sweet or nice or easy. It was fire, and it was pain, and it was some edgy need with teeth.
He stalked over to her, taking each step with no thought to the ache in his right leg, and he noticed and yet didn’t mind the wariness that crept into her expression.
Maybe someone should be wary. Maybe someone should have a goddamn care.
He reached out and tugged the band out of her hair. She didn’t move. She stood there like a disapproving statue. So he unwound the braid until her hair hung loose over her shoulders, all bent in the places it had been twirled together.
“I hate that dress,” he all but spat, that edgy, needy thing building in him more and more the longer she looked at him with nothing but detachment.
Her eyebrows raised a fraction. “Do you now?” she murmured, all cool, collected, in charge Rose.
Thank Christ she was back. He couldn’t take another second of fake her.
“I hate the syrupy-sweet way you said my name all day,” he continued.
She crossed her arms over her chest, icy, regal, and cool. “Well, I just live for the critique of my performance. Maybe you’d like to do a review in the Valley County Gazette.”
He had no reason to be mad at Rose. Hell, maybe he didn’t have any reason to be mad period, but it roared through him like fire, and he wanted to get under her facade. The dress, the hair, that distant way she spoke.
