Cowboy's Fake Fiancée: A Single Dad & A Virgin Romance

by Piper Sullivan

  Just after midday, I got the newspaper, and worked my way down the list of possible vacancies advertised in the job section. To my dismay there were no real jobs that would suit me right away, most of them wanted credentials, experience, degrees, the list was simply endless. Considering my rep, I stood no chance to get a decent job. My next step was to walk door to door hoping that somewhere, someone would offer me a chance at making something of my life. Luckily our town was relatively small, and the business district was only about a mile and a half away. I wish I could have had my parole officer’s optimism, I thought as I made my way there.

  But once I started knocking on doors, reality set in. No one was interested in employing me. It was like a penguin caught in oil slick and then being held in captivity for years until it could be rehabilitated enough to be released back into the ocean. In the case of humans however, there was no such thing as a slow fade back into a world that you had no part of for most part of your adult life. While life inside the prison pretty much stagnated, life on the outside progressed at a much faster pace.

  After being turned down by more than a dozen places, some of them even displaying Help Wanted signs in the window, I suspected that either the councilors had lied to Mr. Dunlevy or Gladys had gotten to them already. Some made the excuse that they already filled a position; while some blatantly admitted that having a staff member with a criminal record was bad for business. That much I could still handle, but then there were the ones who were downright assholes, not bothering to hide their hostility.

  After being berated by an elderly lady at the fabric store and called a murderer to my face, I had all but accepted my fate and that I would be heading back to prison in next to no time. For a moment, I wondered if that wouldn’t be better, I would be no burden to Jaime, Ally wouldn’t have to put up with me again, and they could both carry on with life in the fast lane. I continued walking, not really paying attention to where I was headed. I eventually arrived at a bar on the outskirts of town called Hennigan’s. So much had changed over the years, new buildings had been erected, some of the older places I did recognize had been completely restored and revamped, and this bar was one of those. From what I could remember it was a downright shady bar, but standing in front of it, it looked like it had been completely transformed.

  I had no idea what to expect when I first entered, but I was pleasantly surprised. The ambience was dark without being dingy; the mahogany wood of the bar was polished to sheen, so much so you could probably lick a spilled drink off the counter. And even at 4pm in the afternoon, the bar had a decent crowd. I hesitated at the door, not sure if I would end up running into one of the many enemies, known and unknown, who would want to have a piece of me. I scanned the crowd and then I casually headed up to the bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. I pulled a bowl of peanuts closer and grabbed a handful, anything to look preoccupied and not like some shady stranger about to start trouble. The bar tender placed the glass in front of me and casually moved on to the next customer. She was a fetching woman in her late thirties or early forties by my guess. She didn’t take much care to get all dressed up and the minimal makeup showed that she wasn’t the type to hide behind a fake face. What you saw was what you got. Although she was a small woman, she looked like she could handle herself; she radiated an air of confidence that could quite easily intimidate.

  After a couple of drinks, I ordered an appetizer to soak up the alcohol I have been indulging in, then a second and a third. I must have looked rather pathetic because by the third one, she came over and asked, “Okay, so who pissed in your cheerios?”

  “What?” I looked up in surprise.

  I guess I had been wallowing in my own self-pity, or she knew who I was and that was her point of entry.

  “You’ve been sitting here for three hours, nursing my cheapest whisky, snacking on oily fries and looking like someone kicked your puppy. Spill it.”

  I studied her briefly, there was a tenderness behind the cold exterior that reminded me of my own mother, or maybe the whiskey had softened me up and had broken down the walls I had erected around myself. I found myself confiding in her. I told her everything. About being paroled and trying to take care of my sister and how my parole officer had assured me that this town had forgiven me but the harsh reality was that the people here in Galena had the memory of an elephant, and the Walters name still had clout.

  At the mention of Gladys Walters, her face hardened. I thought for sure I’d done it, and that she too was in the pocket of the Walters. She stared at me for a long minute, before asking pointedly, “You Joe Armstrong’s boy, aren’t you?”

  That was not the question I had expected her to ask.

  “Yeah, I am,” I answered hesitantly, unsure of where this was going. She gave me a long measuring glance.

  “My father new him before he passed. He was a good man.”

  I didn’t quite know what to say, and just swirled the whiskey around in my glass. She uttered the words with such compassion that I felt my heart cramp in my chest.

  It was the great mystery of life that always had my mind boggled. I often wondered exactly what it was that maps out the road ahead for an individual. Circumstance and disaster were the things that shaped the yellow brick road to Oz, it either throws a left turn or gives you up hill, and you have no choice but to follow it diligently and hope that you eventually get to the end.

  “Are you an alcoholic?” she asked out of the blue.

  “No.”

  “You do drugs?”

  “No,” I answered a bit offended, “I’ve never touched drugs and I don’t plan on either.”

  “Good. You can start tomorrow night,” was all she said before walking away.

  “Wait, what?” I said shocked.

  She glanced back over her shoulder and said, “You heard me. Be here at 8pm.” And with that she walked into the back room as another bartender took over.

  Ally

  Yawning sleepily, I took another big sip of my grande Caramel Macchiato as I sat in the back booth at Java Jones. I had been coming here for the past few weeks straight, slipping out of the house at 6am to avoid Jason. Jamie had confronted me a few times, but I told her that I was just trying to get in some extra studying since I had papers to submit. I made up some excuse that I wasn’t coping too well with one or two courses, and had to put in extra effort if I was going to pass the mid-terms. In some way, there was some truth to the lie, studying part time and working was a little harder than being in college and running to classes all day. Needless to say, my excuses, albeit valid, still weren’t enough to convince Jaime that everything was okay.

  It didn’t help that two days after we’d had sex; Jason had shown up at Hennigan’s. I had been about to confront him and ask him what the hell he was doing there, when Mac came by and introduced him as the new bouncer.

  And that right there just complicated everything. Jason was flung back into my life, like a comet out of orbit heading straight for impact. He was everywhere, in the house, at my work, in my head, and there was nowhere for me to hide. At home I pussy-footed around him, uttering an occasional hello or good night. Whenever a conversation started, I darted for my room, with the age-old “I have to study” spiel. As for work, I did manage to get Mac to change my schedule Jason’s first week, but then she started giving me a hard time and questioning my motives. So, I had to go back to my normal working schedule since I couldn’t really give her a good reason for not wanting to work during happy hour when it was the busiest time. That, and I really needed the money. Tips at happy hour were the best, but that meant I had to spend close to six hours a day in Jason’s presence. Thankfully, when it was really busy I was distracted and hardly had time to think about him. But it was during those quiet times, when I could feel his eyes on me, that an undeniable flutter would swirl in the pit of my stomach. Of course, when it came to cashing up and so on, I had no choice but to be civil while he hovered around like a drone. We hardly spoke, but considering the
tension, words weren’t exactly needed.

  I hadn’t really had time to reconcile what had transpired between us and I had no idea know how I felt about it. Truth be told, I had tried everything to avoid thinking about it. Hoping that ignoring it completely would somehow make it all just go away. But deep down, I knew that it wouldn’t, and that I was nothing but a coward.

  We were just getting ready for the heavy night rush, so I made a quick pit stop in the bathroom to freshen up, because I knew I wouldn’t have much time later. Layla, another waitress, was in the bathroom with me and we were bullshitting about work, college, and miscellaneous girl talk while we peed. We had worked together for two years and were pretty comfortable with each other. I was just finishing up when I heard her yell out.

  “Oh, DAMN!”

  “Is everything okay,” I asked concerned.

  “I started my damn period,” she responded, agitation clear in her voice. “And, I don’t have anything with me. Do you have a tampon?”

  Automatically, I began rummaging through my purse. I usually only kept them for when it was my time of the month, but I found a couple in the bottom of my purse. As I handed one to her under the stall, it hit me. I shouldn’t still have these in my purse.

  While I was doing some quick math, and running through my mental calendar, I heard Layla yell a quick thanks and head out the door. I was thankful for the momentary solitude as my panic began to rise. I had put the tampons in my purse two weeks ago in preparation for my cycle; however I had not had to use them yet. The last time I remember being on my period was during the pop quiz which was almost two months ago. Feeling claustrophobic in the stall, I stepped out and up to the sink and rested my hands on the counter. In the mirror, my face was ghostly pale and my eyes appeared large and glazed as I stared at my reflection. That couldn’t be right, could it? But as I ran back through the days, realization hit me like a tidal wave. My breathing became quick and shallow, as my pulse accelerated. I was late. I am never late. My period has been like clockwork since my first cycle at thirteen. I tried to convince myself that it was just the stress of finals, work, and the situation with Jason that was causing my body to not cooperate, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Even with the stress of my mother’s death, my body has still maintained its rigid schedule. There was no doubt in my mind that I was pregnant. I would still take a test, but in my heart I knew I didn’t need it.

  Just then Mac burst through the door in a flurry, “Hey, Ally! What are you doing? Get your ass out here, we’re slammed!”

  I splashed some water on my face before apologizing and scurrying out the door. She was right, we were slammed. I didn’t feel all that enthusiastic about work, but there was no way for me to get out of it. All the tables were full; there was even a line outside the door. I was sure we were pushing the limit on capacity, and half expected the Fire Marshall to come in and shut us down.

  For the first few hours, things were running smoothly, and once I settled into the evening, I welcomed the distraction. It wasn’t until around midnight when all hell broke loose. I had been serving a group of guys that had pulled two tables together. They appeared to be construction workers. For the most part they had been fairly reasonable to deal with. They ordered a ton of food and several pitchers of beer throughout the night.

  It was only when they started ordering rounds of shots that they began to get disorderly. A couple of them tried to convince me to take shots with them, but not only was it against Mac’s policy for us to drink with our patrons; I also didn’t want to take any chances if I was pregnant. Plus, I was not in the habit of drinking with complete strangers. I was able to politely decline a few times, however on the third round of shots, one guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down onto his lap. I tried desperately to free myself, but my attempts were in vain.

  I was getting ready to dump a pitcher of beer on his head, when a deep firm voice came up behind us.

  “Let her go.”

  I glanced up to see Jason’s big form towering over us. I had never been so relieved to have him here than in this moment. He didn’t yell at the guy. He didn’t have to. His tone left nothing to the imagination. He was deadly calm, but deadly serious. The overzealous construction worker released and pushed me abruptly off his lap. I had to catch the edge of the table to keep from falling over. Jason glared at him as he reached out to steady me.

  “Tab them out, all of them. They are leaving,” he instructed me with the same eerie calm in his voice.

  “We ain’t done yet,” the man responded belligerently.

  Jason just ignored him and nodded for me to get the tab. I could see Mac watching us from the bar and I hurried over to the register and tabbed them all out.

  I handed each one of them their tabs. Most of them begrudgingly pulled out their wallets and began to pay. However, when I came around to Mr. Handsy, he stubbornly refused.

  “I SAID WE AIN’T DONE YET!” he shouted, slapping the bill folder out of my hands.

  “Pay the lady. NOW,” Jason ordered.

  He stood up from the table and for some stupid reason; I put myself in the middle.

  Plastering a fake smile on my face I said, “Will that be cash or card?”

  But the brute didn’t fall for it. Instead he shoved me out of the way for a second time, only harder and this time. I tripped and fell against the table sending pitchers crashing to the floor and shattering at my feet. Before I could gather myself, Jason had the guy by the scruff of the shirt and was nose to nose with him. He was pulled up so high his feet were barely touching the floor.

  I rushed to Jason and laid a hand on his arm. I could practically feel the tension vibrating through him.

  “Jason, let him go he’s not worth it.”

  Jason didn’t budge. The look in his eyes was pure meanness. It even sent me reeling back.

  “Please Jason, for me. Let him go. He’s not worth the trouble,” I implored, my eyes desperately trying to connect with his. I knew that if he got into any trouble, he would be sent back to prison immediately. Finally, I used the one card I knew he wouldn’t ignore.

  “Think of Jaime. Don’t do this.”

  His eyes cut over to mine and reluctantly Jason let the guy go and stepped back.

  Begrudgingly the man reached for his pocket and Jason turned around to step out of the way, but instead of pulling out his wallet, the guy pulled out a knife.

  “JASON!” I screamed but was too late.

  The guy had already lunged forward to plunge the knife in Jason’s back. Faster than I could have thought possible, Jason sidestepped out of the way. The man’s momentum carried him forward past Jason. When he swung back around, Jason grabbed his arm and bent it, the wrist up at an impossible angle. You could hear the bones snap and the man dropped the knife, screaming in excruciating pain.

  That should have been the end of it, but just as Jason released the man and backed up, his friends joined in. They ganged up on him, surrounding him and attacking in twos and threes. But Jason was like a feral animal that had been backed into a corner. He didn’t back down and attacked them with a savagery, uncaring that he was being punched and kicked by one as he deflected and attacked another. One of the men reached over and grabbed an empty beer bottle. When he prepared to swing it over the back of Jason’s head, I didn’t think, I just reacted.

  In a high arc, I swung a serving tray as hard as I could at the man’s arm. But it wasn’t the tray that crashed into his arm; it was a baseball bat from elsewhere. Mac had stepped in, and she didn’t think twice. It crashed into his forearm with a dull thud and he dropped to his knees holding his arm.

  In the time it took Mac to down the guy, the rest of them were already running out of the bar and Jason had started shoving the injured towards the door. The intensity of the situation hit me and I began to shake uncontrollably. My legs felt week and my lungs felt heavy, like I couldn’t get any air. A pair of slender yet sturdy arms guided me to the bac
k office. It was Mac who helped me onto the couch. She thrust a tiny snifter of brandy in my face and told me to drink. I tried to ward it off at first because of the possible pregnancy, but she insisted. Deciding that going into shock would be worse; I threw back the dark liquid. The fiery liquid burned its way down my throat, and almost instantly the warmth that settled in my stomach eased the panic. The chill that had seeped into my bones slowly started to fade.

  Mac sat perched on the edge of the worn maple desk while I pulled myself together. Once I managed to get my teeth to stop chattering and my hands to stop shaking, I asked her how Jason was. She said he appeared no worse for wear but she had sent him to hospital to get himself checked out. But she and I both knew that he wasn’t the type to voluntarily go to the hospital. Someone would have had to drag his unconscious body there before he would go on his own.

  I wasn’t in any condition to drive and even though I was concerned for Jason, I wasn’t comfortable facing him right now. I had seen a side of him tonight that I had never witnessed. I knew he had been sent away for a long time, but nobody really talked about why. Other than the public knowledge that it was a charge of involuntary manslaughter for killing his step-father, I had no clue as to what provoked him or why he did it. Not even Jaime spoke of it.

  Then it hit me. Was this the kind of man I wanted to be the father of my child? Even if I wasn’t pregnant, was this someone I wanted to live with in the same house with? Too tired to wrestle with the answers to my many questions, I sighed and lay back against the arm of the sofa. Mac tossed me a pillow and blanket and told me I could sleep in the office for the night. Taking her up on the offer, I curled up in a ball on the couch and in no time at all, fell into a deep sleep.

  Jason

  Even though Mac had insisted that I leave work and go to the hospital to get checked out, I refused to go. I didn’t tell her that, but I knew she didn’t believe me when I promised her I would. I had taken much more brutal beatings in prison than this bar fight. It was just a few bumps and bruises, nothing that wouldn’t heal. Thankfully the blade never got close to me.