An Arranged Marriage

by Peggy Moreland

  Well, the two-month deadline was still a few weeks away, yet he knew he couldn’t wait until then to end their marriage. If he waited, one of them would be hurt, and he didn’t mind admitting, if only to himself, that he was the one who’d be hurt the most. Fiona had changed during their weeks together. She wasn’t the same selfish, irresponsible woman he’d agreed to marry. She was generous, loving and committed to helping others less fortunate than herself.

  And she had displayed uncanny business sense while working to establish the child-care center, one that made him aware that she had only just begun to tap into her real potential. It wouldn’t be long before she would realize the mistake she’d made in agreeing to marry him. She’d want to take on more projects, more responsibilities, spread her wings a little. He could see her in a corporate boardroom, going head-to-head with industry giants for her causes. She’d schmooze them over cocktails and dinners, persuading them to put their financial muscle behind her charitable organization. It wouldn’t be long before she realized just how much she’d shortchanged herself by marrying Clay. It was only natural that she would compare Clay to the successful businessmen she met with and she’d realize the life she might’ve had if she hadn’t knuckled under to her father’s threats and married Clay.

  She’d grow to resent him, perhaps eventually hate him. Then she would leave. It would break his heart. He knew that. But was it worse to have it broken sooner, rather than later? If he let her go now, it would be less painful…at least for her.

  As he watched her sleep, he had the strongest urge to reach out and gather her into his arms, wanting to store up as many memories as he could for the lonely nights ahead.

  But he didn’t. He feared if he dared even so much as a touch, he’d never let her go.

  After interviewing an inmate at the state prison, one who had told the warden he had information that would be helpful to Clay on a case he was working on, Clay climbed back into his truck and headed for Mission Creek. The drive gave him time to think about the decision he’d made the night before.

  He soon realized that ending the marriage wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d once thought. First, there was the matter of the money Carson had paid him. Though Clay hadn’t come close to spending it all, he had withdrawn a sizable chunk to pay for supplies and equipment he’d bought for the ranch. He’d have to repay the money, he knew, but he didn’t want to approach Carson with his plan to divorce Fiona until he had in his hands the full one hundred thousand dollars Carson had paid him. Which presented a problem, because it would take Clay months, maybe even years, to come up with the money.

  As he tried to think of a way to raise it, he passed by the Wagner farm, where former district attorney Spence Harrison lived with his new wife, Ellen. A half mile down the road, he slammed on the brakes and whipped the steering to the right, spinning the truck around to head back in the direction he’d just come.

  He’d ask Spence to lend him the money, he told himself. No, not lend, he amended quickly, though Spence could well afford to give him the money if he chose to do so. But Clay didn’t want to be indebted to anyone ever again. He’d offer Spence a part of the ranch in exchange for the money he owed to Carson, he decided, plus what funds he’d need to complete the repairs. It was a fair deal for both parties.

  He turned into the entrance to the farm just as Spence stepped from a barn not far from the house. Clay bumped the heel of his hand against the horn, and Spence glanced up, shading his eyes with a hand. Clay was surprised to see Spence dressed in overalls, instead of the customary three-piece suit he wore when he had served as Mission Creek’s district attorney. Marveling at the changes in Spence that had transpired since that fateful day when he’d tangled with a tornado and ended up with amnesia, Clay climbed down from his truck.

  “Hey, Clay,” Spence called, heading toward him. “What brings you out this way?”

  Clay hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I was at the prison and was on my way back home when I remembered you lived out here. Thought I’d stop by and see what a farmer looks like.”

  Spence grabbed Clay’s hand and pumped it, laughing good-naturedly. “I won’t make the cover of GQ, but I’m happy and that’s worth a lot.”

  Clay’s smile faded at the word happy, remembering Fiona’s simple wish.

  Spence braced his back on the side of Clay’s truck. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Clay frowned, ducking his head as he nodded. “Yeah. In fact, that’s why I stopped by.”

  “Needing a little advice on how to handle the wife?” Spence teased.

  Clay shook his head. “No. I wanted to make you an offer.”

  It was Spence’s turn to frown. “What kind of offer?”

  Clay laid it out for him in the simplest terms possible, explaining about his intention of divorcing Fiona and why he needed to raise the cash.

  Spence studied him for a long moment. “I handled quite a few divorce cases during my law career, and I always asked the person who approached me one question before agreeing to handle the divorce.”

  “What’s that?” Clay asked.

  “Do you love her?”

  The question took Clay by surprise. “Whether or not I love Fiona isn’t important,” he replied, trying to dodge the question. “It’s her happiness that I’m concerned about.”

  Spence pursed his lips as if considering, then shook his head. “It’s a good thing you’re asking me to invest in your ranch and not asking me to handle your divorce. If you were, I’d have to say no.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because where there’s love, there’s hope, and I never take on a divorce case where there’s still hope of a reconciliation.”

  “There’s no hope for Fiona and me,” Clay insisted.

  Spence snorted and pushed away from the truck. “Then you’re as stubborn as you are blind.”

  “Where are you going?” Clay asked, concerned that Spence had changed his mind about investing in his ranch.

  “To get my checkbook,” Spence called over his shoulder.

  Clay staged his return home to arrive long after Fiona had gone to bed. And he planned to leave before she awoke the next morning. He wanted to avoid any conversation with her until he had all his ducks in a row and was ready to tell her about the divorce.

  But he discovered sleeping beside her was impossible. From the moment he slid into bed, he was aware of her. The heat of her body, her scent, the brush of her hip against his when she turned onto her back. But, thankfully, she’d never once awakened.

  And Clay had never slept.

  Just before sunrise, he slipped from the bed and dressed quickly, determined to leave before she awoke. As he opened the back door, he thought he heard her call to him, but he closed the door quickly and hurried to his truck.

  He drove around for more than two hours, waiting until he was certain the Carson household was up for the day, then headed for their ranch. As he parked in front of their mansion and looked up at the grand house, he was reminded what a tremendous step down in lifestyle Fiona had made when she’d married him and moved to his ranch.

  More convinced than ever that he was doing the right thing, he climbed down from his truck and approached the front door. He rang the bell, then waited for someone to answer, and was stunned when Ford himself opened the door.

  “Clay!” Carson said in surprise, then opened the door wider. “Come in, come in. I’ll tell Anita to set an extra plate for breakfast.”

  “No,” Clay said, dragging off his hat and stepping inside. “I just want to talk to you for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

  Already headed for the kitchen, Carson stopped and peered back at him, his brow pleated in a frown. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not exactly.” He gestured with his hat toward Carson’s study. “If we could talk in there…”

  His frown deepening, Ford turned into his office, waited until Clay entered, then closed the door behind them. He crossed to his desk
and sat down behind it. “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  Clay pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket and tossed it onto the desk. “There’s your one hundred thousand.”

  Carson looked from the envelope to Clay. “But that money’s yours. We had an agreement.”

  Clay nodded. “Yes, sir, we did. But I don’t want your money.”

  “Why not? You earned it. You married Fiona, just as you agreed to do.”

  “Yes, sir. But I also agreed to teach her responsibility and commitment.”

  “And have you?”

  “I can’t take credit for the changes, but she’s not the same woman I married. I think you’ve seen evidence of that.”

  Carson lifted a brow. “You mean this child-care facility she’s all pumped up about?”

  “Yes, but this isn’t just a whim of hers, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s committed to the project. And she’s displayed tough business savvy while making her plans. She’s already gathered enough financial commitments to cover more than half the construction costs, plus she’s persuaded an architect to draw up the plans for her for free.”

  “She’s a Carson. I wouldn’t expect anything less of her.”

  Clay nodded, understanding that Carson’s gruffness was the man’s way of hiding his pride in his daughter’s accomplishment.

  “Then I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s time to end the marriage.”

  Carson’s eyebrows shot up. “What? End the marriage. Why?”

  Clay settled his hat back on his head and prepared to leave. “Because the mission is accomplished. Fiona has proved that she’s responsible, that she understands the meaning of commitment. To continue would be a waste of time for both of us.”

  Clay could tell by Carson’s expression that he didn’t agree with his decision, but the man didn’t offer any arguments.

  He did, however, push the envelope back across the desk. “Keep the money,” he muttered. “It’s yours. You earned it.”

  Clay stepped back. “No, sir. I don’t want your money. I never felt right about taking it in the first place. But if it’ll make you feel better, give it to Fiona. You can tell her it’s for her child-care center.”

  Fiona stared at the long to-do list she held, but couldn’t for the life of her concentrate long enough to tackle even the simplest task listed there. She was worried. No. She was beyond worried. She was scared to death.

  She’d noticed a change in Clay over the past few days. A definite withdrawal that grew more pronounced with each passing day. At first she’d shrugged off her concerns, blaming his inattentiveness and the long hours he spent away from the house on his work. But she couldn’t excuse his behavior any longer. Coming home in the middle of the night and leaving before daybreak without offering her any kind of explanation was inexcusable.

  She heard the sound of his truck and lurched to her feet, her gaze going to the clock on the kitchen wall. What was he doing coming home in the middle of the day? she wondered, then hurried to the back door to meet him.

  She pushed open the door just as he was climbing the steps. “Hi,” she said, hiding her fears behind a welcoming smile. “You’re home early.”

  He stopped, his gaze meeting hers, then he glanced away and pushed past her. “I need to talk to you.”

  A shiver chased down her spine at the ominous tone in his voice. She dropped her hand from the door, letting it close, and followed him into the den. “What about?”

  He stood in the center of the room, facing the dark fireplace, his back to her, his hat in his hand. “I want a divorce.”

  Her heart dropped, then shot to her throat. “A divorce? But…why?”

  “This marriage was only temporary. Surely you must have realized that.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He spun to face her, his face taut with anger. “Don’t make this difficult, Fiona. I’m going out of town for a couple of days. I expect you to be gone by the time I get back.”

  “But, Clay—”

  He tossed an envelope onto the chair. “There’s the rest of your allowance,” he said, then pushed past her and headed for the front door.

  She didn’t try to stop him. She couldn’t. She was too choked with tears to squeeze a word past her throat.

  Eleven

  Fiona wasted no time packing her things and moving out. She never once considered returning to her parents’ home, though she knew they would welcome her with open arms.

  She was determined to go forward, not back.

  Within hours of Clay leaving, she located a condominium near downtown, put down a deposit using funds from her allowance, then arranged for some of the hands from her father’s ranch to help her move her things again. By sundown, there wasn’t a sign left at his house to indicate that she’d ever lived there.

  She didn’t allow herself to cry—at least, not after the buckets of tears she’d shed when he’d first left her. It was easy, she discovered. She simply exchanged all the old feelings she’d had for Clay for hate. He deserved her hatred, she told herself. He’d tricked her into thinking he cared for her, made her fall in love with him. She’d even given him her virginity, considering him worthy of the gift, and he’d tossed her aside like an old pair of boots he’d grown tired of.

  Oh, yes, she told herself, it was easy to come up with reasons to hate him. She wiped away the moisture that leaked down her cheeks.

  And in time, she was sure she would actually succeed in feeling the hatred.

  Two days later, as he’d stated, Clay returned to Mission Creek. He stopped by the post office downtown, picked up his mail, then headed for his ranch. As he turned down a side street, taking a shortcut to the highway, he saw the sign. He pulled to the curb in front of the vacant lot where it was posted and stared.

  She’d done it, he thought, the words on the sign blurring before his eyes. Fiona had finally come up with a name for the charitable organization she’d founded. Sara’s Dream. He couldn’t imagine a better way to honor the memory of the little girl whose tragic death had spawned the idea for the child-care center.

  He stared at the sign a moment longer, then dragged a sleeve across his eyes and pulled back onto the street. As he did, he remembered that Fiona wouldn’t be there waiting for him this time when he arrived home. At least, she wouldn’t be if she’d followed his instructions. And he didn’t doubt for a minute that she wouldn’t have. He’d been clear in stating his expectations, cruel even.

  But the cruelty was necessary, he told himself, as was his haste in leaving. He’d seen the tears in her eyes, the hurt he’d caused her. If he’d stayed a second longer, he’d have gathered her in his arms and told her he didn’t mean it. He would’ve told her he didn’t want a divorce. That he loved her. That he wanted to live with her always.

  But that would have only bought him time with her, he knew. Eventually she would want out of the marriage. He’d simply saved her the stress of having to ask for the divorce herself and saved her the time she’d have wasted staying married to him.

  She’d thank him for it someday, he was sure.

  “Well, hi, Daddy,” Fiona said in surprise, opening the door of her condominium wider.

  Carson strode past her and looked around. He grunted, then swung his gaze to her. “How much are you paying a month for this place?”

  Fiona closed the door, then crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s none of your business.”

  “If it’s more than a grand, they’re stealing you blind.”

  “I’ll be sure to share your opinion with the owner when I pay my next month’s rent.”

  He scowled. “Well? Are you going to invite me to sit down?”

  Chuckling, she gestured to a chair. “Have a seat and I’ll get us a cup of coffee.”

  He dropped down on the chair, recognizing it as one he’d once had in his den, before Grace had redecorated the last time. At the thought of his wife, he remembered Grace’s fury with him when she’d learned that Clay was divorcing
Fiona. He called after Fiona, “Do you have any whiskey you can add to that coffee?”

  She returned, carrying a tray with two cups. “Sorry. Only cream or sugar.”

  He scowled again as he accepted a cup. “Probably holding out on your old man,” he muttered, then added under his breath, “Takes after her mother.”

  Fiona hid a smile as she sat opposite him. “That’s odd. Most people say that I take after you.”

  He dragged a hand over his hair. “Yeah, well. You could do worse.”

  Fiona relaxed back in her chair. “Did Mother send you over here to check on me?”

  He shook his head. “No. In fact, she’ll probably skin my ears when she finds out I came without her.”

  “I take it your visit is of a business nature, rather than a social one.”

  He placed a hand over his heart, looking wounded. “Do I have to have a reason to drop by and see my daughter?”

  She laughed softly. “No. But I assumed, if you came without Mother, you had something on your mind that you didn’t want her to know about.”

  He grimaced. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He set aside his coffee cup and reached into his shirt pocket. He tossed a thick envelope onto her lap.

  She looked from it to her father. “What’s this?”

  He waved an impatient hand at her. “Open it and see for yourself.”

  Frowning, she tore back the flap and looked inside. Her eyes widened in amazement. “Why, there must be thousands of dollars here!”

  “A hundred thousand to be exact.”

  She looked up at her father. “What’s it for?”

  “Your child-care center.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips, touched by his generosity. “Oh, Daddy,” she said tearfully, “this is wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Clay. The money’s his.”

  “Clay?” she repeated in confusion.

  He squirmed, knowing he’d just boxed himself into a corner. “Well, yeah. You see…well, I sorta paid Clay to marry you.”