“What’d I do?”
“You can’t seduce me into going along with this ridiculous plan. I’m not changing my mind.”
“What? That’s not what I was doing.”
“Sure it wasn’t. I’m filing for divorce in the morning.” She turned and made her way down the path that led to her father’s house.
His pounding heart rattled his ribs. Desperation had him by the balls. Fear shoved words from his throat. “I’ll pay you.” They were out and there was no calling them back.
Everything stopped. The birds didn’t sing, the cows didn’t moo, Scarlett stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly turned to face him, like a gunslinger in an old western. Cue the tumbleweeds. “What did you say?”
The glare she gave him made him briefly reconsider repeating himself, but at this point, he had nothing to lose. “I said I’ll pay you. Name your price.” The disdain in her eyes made his gut hurt.
She stayed mute. But her ocean-blue eyes, now the color of rough seas, said a thousand things—none of them good. The pain in his gut migrated to his chest.
He needed to grow a pair. This wasn’t the time to puss out. “Scarlett, did you hear me? I said I’ll pay you to stay married to me.”
“I heard you.” She turned and marched away.
“Scarlett.”
She never slowed down. The last thing he saw before his Sunday-school-teacher wife disappeared behind a crop of trees was her delicate hand as it shot into the air and flipped him the bird.
Scarlett stomped up the path to her father’s house. “Pay me. He wants to pay me. I shouldn’t have flipped him off. I should have turned around and said it to his face. Unbelievable, who does he think I am? What does he think I am?” she muttered. Her anger escalating with each step.
She stopped outside the barn when her phone rang. Crap, her agent.
“Hello, Marie.”
“Scarlett Kelly, or should I say Scarlett Kelly Bain, you’ve been keeping secrets,” Marie cooed.
Scarlett’s legs nearly went out from under her. She gripped the phone, praying she’d misunderstood Marie. “What did you say?”
“Now don’t play coy with me. It’s all over the news.”
“Th…the news?” She dropped down on the side of the horse trough.
“Well, not the world news, but it is all over entertainment news. They’re calling you the Renegade Bride. Isn’t that adorable? You know, to go with The Delinquent? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
A tear slid down Scarlett’s cheek. Along with any hope this would all go away quietly. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. “We were trying to keep it private.” She bit her bottom lip and blinked furiously.
Marie laughed. “If you wanted to keep it private, you shouldn’t have gotten married in Vegas.”
“Well, if that’s all you called about, Marie, I need to go. Thank—”
“No, that’s not the only reason I’m calling. Your identity was revealed an hour and a half ago, and since then I’ve taken calls from two of the largest children’s publishers in the country. They’re very interested in your books. I also received a call from Richard Graves, the Carousel Network’s bigwig. He wanted to confirm the rumor.”
“Was he upset?” She hadn’t even thought about how this marriage could affect her relationship with Carousel.
“On the contrary, he seemed quite intrigued. I don’t know if you’re aware, Scarlett—and I only say this because I love you—but you’re a tad bit uptight, dear. It can be off-putting. And I’m afraid—again because I love you—people might find you a teeny bit boring.”
“I’m not—”
“But marrying a rock star in Las Vegas is the exact opposite of prim and proper, you naughty girl. Now, hopefully, they will reconsider this ridiculous contest between you and Sarah Belle.”
Scarlett struggled for words, picking one then discarding it for another. How was she supposed to respond to that? “Marie, I’m going to need to call you back. Ah…Gavin needs me.”
Marie gave a throaty laugh that reminded Scarlett of a bordello madam.
“Okay…well, bye.” She couldn’t get Marie off the phone fast enough.
“Bye-bye, Renegade Bride.”
Scarlett hung up on Marie’s delighted chortle. Boring? Since when was decorum and good manners boring?
She was suddenly bone weary. Nobody understood the energy it took to maintain her propriety. Constantly fighting against her mother’s reputation, the town’s expectations and her own inner wild child was exhausting.
Those vultures didn’t care about her or her books. They were only interested in capitalizing on the publicity this insane marriage generated. She stomped up the back steps of the house, gripped the handle of the screen door and jerked it open. It banged behind her, causing Honey to drop a soapy plate into the dishwater.
Her aunt turned from the sink, her veined hand covered her heart. “Good-night, Scarlett, you scared the livin’ daylights out of me.”
Scarlett went to the older woman and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry. I guess I don’t know my own strength.” It was a lame attempt to cover her irritation.
The warm arms that enveloped her helped to chase away the memory of Gavin’s proposal and Marie’s call. She sniffed in her aunt’s Jungle Gardenia scent then kissed her plump cheek. “I heard daddy’s truck. Is he in the barn?”
“No darlin’, he’s in his study.” Honey placed her soft hands on Scarlett’s face and lifted it to the light. “Baby, you don’t look well.” She moved one hand to Scarlett’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish, but maybe I should rub some Vicks on your feet tonight before you go to bed.”
Scarlett smiled a real smile and stepped away from the comfort of the warm embrace. “I don’t think Vicks is going to cure what’s ailing me, but thank you.” With that cryptic statement, she went in search of her father.
Her life flashed before her eyes. Moments caught on film hung on both sides of the hall. Humperdink, Honey’s cat, wound his way around her legs. She bent to scratch behind his ears. “Are you going to be my back-up, Humperdink? I could sure use one.”
Bile burned her throat at the sound of her dad’s voice. The dread of confessing her recklessness in Vegas made her muscles go limp. Those details weren’t anything a father wanted to hear, no matter how much he loved his daughter. Especially when that daughter had a mother like hers.
Her mother—she would’ve loved this whole situation, every sordid detail. Drama had been Mary Kelly’s middle name. She’d been the talk of Zachsville, and not in a good way.
Like mother, like daughter?
Not if she could help it.
From the kitchen, Humperdink’s food clattered into a bowl, and in an instant, she was alone in the hall. So much for backup. She’d been dumped for Kitty Boodle.
She stood outside the partially ajar study door, and summoned her courage. She raised her hand to knock but stopped dead at the sound of her father’s voice.
“Poppy, this is Floyd Kelly. Honey told me you called. How’s your daddy enjoying his retirement?”
After a moment, he chuckled. “I bet he is drivin’ your mama crazy. So, what can I do for you, Poppy?”
Poppy Sims, Zachsville’s golden girl, had recently moved back to run the local bank. Scarlett hadn’t seen her yet. Thank God.
The worst night of her life and the former head cheerleader were forever tied together.
A shudder ran over her body as she remembered being instructed on the finer points of homemade tattoos, in a filthy holding cell. Scarlett could still smell the stale urine while sharing a bench and communal toilet with a gangbanger named Lil Roxie.
Her father’s aggressive tone called her back from that terrible night. “What in the hell are you playin’ at, Poppy?”
What was happening? It was something bad if her father was cussing. She plastered herself against the wall behind the door and strained to hear over the thundering blood pounding in her ears.
“Yea, I’d say you damn well need to explain.”
Explain what?
“Poppy, I’ve known your daddy for fifty years. He knows I’m good for it. This damn drought’s put me a little behind.”
Scarlett knew she should leave, but she couldn’t make her feet move, especially with her big, rough father practically begging. Now she wasn’t even pretending not to listen.
“Yes, I do understand that Hartley isn’t runnin’ the bank anymore. But how is it possible I have to pay fifty thousand dollars in thirty days, or the bank’s gonna take the farm? Poppy, be reasonable. This will ruin me. I’ll lose everything.”
Scarlett clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“No, I realize it’s not your problem. But that’s how we’ve always done business around here, like neighbors.”
“Yea.” He breathed out. “I’ll be in touch.”
The phone clattered to the desk, and she ventured a look through the slit in the door. Floyd Kelly, the strongest person she’d ever known, had his head in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking. With a sense of horror, she realized he was crying.
What should she do? Risk her father’s dignity and go to him, or give him privacy and pretend she hadn’t overheard his conversation.
In the end, she left him alone. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Fifty thousand dollars? How would they ever come up with that kind of money? It was impossible.
Then her eyes snapped open, and she ran down the hall and out of the house. Once she was outside, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket.
“Scarlett, you didn’t ne—”
“Marie, I want to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal, sweetie?” Marie practically purred.
“A deal. You know, a deal. Call another network. If Carousel’s not interested, then someone else will like all this publicity. I need it finalized in the next thirty days.”
“That’s not how these things work, Scarlett. These sorts of agreements can take months. Besides, I’m holding out for the best offer. We don’t want to appear too eager.”
“No. I want you to find a taker today, and I want the money…” She looked at her calendar app and counted thirty days out. “By the twenty-third.”
Marie’s laughter felt like road rash to her frazzled nerves. “Oh Scarlett, that just can’t be done. Don’t worry. I’ve got this under control. I’ll be in touch.” It was Marie’s turn to hang up on her.
She stood there staring into space, her arms limp at her sides and her cell phone grasped loosely in her hands like a deflated life preserver. What was she going to do now?
She chewed on her nail and paced back and forth. Her father didn’t have that kind of money and the only hope she had of helping him just evaporated. She stopped. And looked back toward her house.
Or had it?
Gavin sat on Scarlett’s front porch as a couple of dragonflies flew around her small garden. Guilt weighed on him. He shouldn’t have offered the money. He’d known there was no way she was going to accept payment to stay married to him. Even though it meant trouble for him he was pleased she’d turned him down. He smiled when he recalled her dainty hand shooting him the bird. It was nice to know not everyone in the world could be bought.
A bee dive-bombed his face. He swatted at it and saw Scarlett striding toward him. Her expressive face was blank, and it looked like she’d been crying. Guess things hadn’t gone well with her dad. He didn’t like the idea of someone making her cry.
She stopped directly in front of him. “Fifty thousand dollars, payable immediately.”
Disappointment swamped him, but he quickly schooled his features. “You and your old man come up with that number?” Bitterness oozed around each word.
“I didn’t talk to him. He doesn’t know anything about this, and I never want him to know I took the money from you for this purpose.”
He believed her. She was easy to read. “What are your terms?”
“I will stay married to you for three months, and we will live here at the farm. I have no intention of leaving my family for this outlandish scheme.”
“One year. I intend to get my money’s worth.” He looked her up and down. It was a dick move, and he knew it, but damn it, how could he have been so wrong? She was just like everyone else, out for what they could get. People sucked. On the other hand, he was getting what he wanted, so he reined in his anger.
She crossed her arms. “Four months.”
“Eight months.” He matched her stance.
“Six months. Final offer.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
She blinked back tears.
“It won’t be that bad, Scarlett. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be back in L.A. in a few weeks to start recording. We’ll be seen together in public smiling and happy for the paparazzi. You’ll make a trip to see me, I’ll come to see you, then…we’ll drift apart. Everyone knows how hard a musician’s life can be for a relationship, so the record company won’t be surprised when we divorce and go our separate ways.”
She didn’t say anything, only nodded.
He glanced around the farm. “The good news is there are two houses, so you can stay at your dad’s, and I’ll stay here. Technically we won’t be living together.”
All the color drained from her face. She raised her head, her blue irises stark against the paleness of her face. She dropped down onto the porch step. “We’ll have to live together.”
“Why?”
“Honey.”
“What?”
“My aunt Molly Jean lives in the house with my daddy. She can’t hold water.”
When she looked up, the confusion must have shown on his face because she translated. “She can’t keep a secret.”
“Even if we ask her not to tell?” He made a note to buy a hick-to-English dictionary ASAP.
“Oh, she won’t mean to tell, but yeah, we can’t trust her to keep this to herself. Daddy says if the terrorists, North Koreans or Russians want to know all our national secrets they should kidnap Honey because she’d tell them everything they wanted to know. Like, who was sneaking out of Grace Holcomb’s house at three in the morning, why the Abernathy’s youngest really went to live in Canada, and what caused the food poisoning at the Methodist pot luck last month.”
“I get it, she can’t keep a secret.” He stood and leaned his butt against the porch rail and crossed his arms.
“Not if her life depended on it. Oh, and there is also Joyce and Brody.”
“Who are Joyce and Brody?” His head began to throb.
“Joyce is our housekeeper. They live in the big house too. She takes care of Daddy and Honey. Brody’s her fifteen-year-old son. Monday is Joyce’s day off and Brody’s still at school. They could keep a secret, but it’s a moot point because of the Honey factor.”
It was like a damn chicken-fried commune. “Fine, I’ll stay here.”
He examined the dark circles under her eyes and knew his own looked the same. They’d both been through the wringer. Sympathy warred with contempt. His feelings toward her were so confused. He exhaled and extended his hand. “Six months.”
She took his hand. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go tell the vampires.”
Chapter 5
Gavin rubbed dry, scratchy eyes. Barely blinking for an hour had taken its toll.
Scarlett was still a flight risk, so during their interaction with the attorneys he’d kept his gaze glued on her like the warden at a women’s penitentiary.
Dirty thoughts of playing escaped prisoner and bounty hunter took root in his brain. Desire rolled over him at the image of frisking Scarlett against a wall. He needed to strap that shit down. Sex in this screwed-up situation was a recipe for disaster.
Damn. Now she was wearing nothing but an apron and a smile.
Stop. Think about baseball or your current marriage contract. That’ll kill your sex drive, Bain.<
br />
After they’d shared the terms of their agreement with Luanne and Jack, a quick contract was drawn up. Jack left before the ink dried. Luanne lingered for a bit then reluctantly left as well. No doubt she’d be on the phone with Scarlett as soon as possible to find out why her goody-two-shoes best friend agreed to this deal. He’d like to know the answer to that question himself.
“Well, that’s that.” He knocked his knuckles on the table.
“Yep.” She rubbed her temples. “The money will be deposited into my account tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
It pissed him off she was so unaffected by the fact that she’d let him buy her. He ignored the voice in his head that called him a hypocrite. Yes, he’d offered her the money, but she didn’t have to take it. Stupid.
He’d wanted her to be different.
She wasn’t.
Move on.
He slapped his hands on his thighs and rose. “Well, I guess we should go meet your father and Billy Jean.”
“Molly Jean,” Scarlett said.
“Okay, whatever.”
“Not whatever.” She jumped to her feet, got right in his face, and punctuated her words with a finger poke. “If this farce is going to work you’re going to have to play your part, buddy.” Poke. “Which means you will remember my relative’s names and not get into a fight with my father.” Poke. “Or anyone else in my family.” Poke.
He looked down at the finger jabbed into his chest and gently brushed it aside. “I am not going to hit your father. He's got to be what, sixty?”
“He’s fifty.”
“I don’t go around hitting old men, Scarlett.”
“Really? Because I distinctly remember an incident in which you punched a sixty-year-old man during an altercation at a coffee shop. I saw it on Entertainment Tonight.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear or see on TV.”
“So, it’s not true?”
“Well, yeah, it’s true. But that was eight years ago, and if the guy had minded his own business, he wouldn’t have gotten hit. I was throwing a punch at the guy in front of me.”
Brides on the Run (Books 1-4): Small-Town Romance Series Page 5
