by Maisey Yates
“I’m supposed to convince my parents that I’m marrying you,” he said, his tone hard. “I don’t think they’re going to believe I’m allowing my fiancée to live out of one duffel bag. No. Everything will have to be outfitted so that it looks legitimate. Consider it a bonus to your salary.”
She tilted her chin upward, her eyes glittering. “Okay, I will.”
He had halfway expected her to argue, but he wasn’t sure why. She was here for her own material gain. Why would she reduce it? “Good.” He nodded once. “You probably won’t see much of me. I’ll be working a lot. We are going to have dinner with my parents in a couple of days. Until then, the house and the property are yours to explore. This is your house too. For the time being.”
He wasn’t being particularly generous. It was just that he didn’t want to answer questions, or deal with her being tentative about where she might and might not be allowed to go. He just wanted to install her and the baby in this room and forget about them until he needed them as convenient props.
“Really?” Her natural suspicion was shining through again.
“I’m a very busy man, Ms. Kelly,” he said. “I’m not going to be babysitting. Either the child or you.”
And with that, he turned and left her alone.
Three
Danielle had slept fitfully last night. And, of course, she hadn’t actually left her room once she had been put there. But early the next morning there had been a delivery. And the signature they had asked for was hers. And then the packages had started to come in, like a Christmas parade without the wrapping.
Teams of men carried the boxes up the stairs. They had assembled a crib, a chair, and then unpacked various baby accoutrements that Danielle hadn’t even known existed. How could she? She certainly hadn’t expected to end up caring for a baby.
When her mother had breezed back into her life alone and pregnant—after Danielle had experienced just two carefree years where she had her own space and wasn’t caring for anyone—Danielle had put all of her focus into caring for the other woman. Into arranging state health insurance so the prenatal care and hospital bill for the delivery wouldn’t deter her mother from actually taking care of herself and the baby.
And then, when her mother had abandoned Danielle and Riley...that was when Danielle had realized her brother was likely going to be her responsibility. She had involved Child Services not long after that.
There had been two choices. Either Riley could go into foster care or Danielle could take some appropriate parenting classes and become a temporary guardian.
So she had.
But she had been struggling to keep their heads above water, and it was too close to the way she had grown up. She wanted more than that for Riley. Wanted more than that for both of them. Now it wasn’t just her. It was him. And a part-time job as a cashier had never been all that lucrative. But with Riley to take care of, and her mother completely out of the picture, staying afloat on a cashier’s pay was impossible.
She had done her best trading babysitting time with a woman in her building who also had a baby and nobody else to depend on. But inevitably there were schedule clashes, and after missing a few too many shifts, Danielle had lost her job.
Which was when she had gotten her first warning from Child Services.
Well, she had a job now.
And, apparently, a full nursery.
Joshua was refreshingly nowhere to be seen, which made dealing with her new circumstances much easier. Without him looming over her, being in his house felt a lot like being in the world’s fanciest vacation rental. At least, the fanciest vacation rental she could imagine.
She had a baby monitor in her pocket, one that would allow her to hear when Riley woke up. A baby monitor that provided her with more freedom than she’d had since Riley had been born. But, she supposed, in her old apartment a monitor would have been a moot point considering there wasn’t anywhere she could go and not hear the baby cry.
But in this massive house, having Riley take his nap in the bedroom—in the new crib, his first crib—would have meant she couldn’t have also run down to the kitchen to grab snacks. But she had the baby monitor. A baby monitor that vibrated. Which meant she could also listen to music.
She had the same ancient MP3 player her mother had given her for her sixteenth birthday years ago, but Danielle had learned early to hold on to everything she had, because she didn’t know when something else would come along. And in the case of frills like her MP3 player, nothing else had ever come along.
Of course, that meant her music was as old as her technology. But really, music hadn’t been as good since she was sixteen anyway.
She shook her hips slightly, walking through the kitchen, singing about how what didn’t kill her would only make her stronger. Digging through cabinets, she came up with a package of Pop-Tarts. Pop-Tarts!
Her mother had never bought those. They were too expensive. And while Danielle had definitely indulged herself when she had moved out, that hadn’t lasted. Because they were too expensive.
Joshua had strawberry. And some kind of mixed berry with bright blue frosting. She decided she would eat one of each to ascertain which was best.
Then she decided to eat one more of each. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She had a feeling the hunger wasn’t a new development. She had a feeling she had been hungry for days. Weeks even.
Suddenly, sitting on the plush couch in his living area, shoving toaster pastries into her mouth, she felt a whole lot like crying in relief. Because she and Riley were warm; they were safe. And there was hope. Finally, an end point in sight to the long, slow grind of poverty she had existed in for her entire life.
It seemed too good to be true, really. That she had managed to jump ahead in her life like this. That she was really managing to get herself out of that hole without prostituting herself.
Okay, so some people might argue this agreement with Joshua was prostituting herself, a little bit. But it wasn’t like she was going to have sex with him.
She nearly choked on her Pop-Tart at the thought. And she lingered a little too long on what it might be like to get close to a man like Joshua. To any man, really. The way her mother had behaved all of her life had put Danielle off men. Or, more specifically, she supposed it was the way men had behaved toward Danielle’s mother that had put her off.
As far as Danielle could tell, relationships were a whole lot of exposing yourself to pain, deciding you were going to depend on somebody and then having that person leave you high and dry.
No, thank you.
But she supposed she could see how somebody might lose their mind enough to take that risk. Especially when the person responsible for the mind loss had eyes that were blue like Joshua’s. She leaned back against the couch, her hand falling slack, the Pop-Tart dangling from her fingertips.
Yesterday there had been the faint shadow of golden stubble across that strong face and jaw, his eyes glittering with irritation. Which she supposed shouldn’t be a bonus, shouldn’t be appealing. Except his irritation made her want to rise to the unspoken challenge. To try to turn that spark into something else. Turn that irritation into something more...
“Are you eating my Pop-Tarts?”
The voice cut through the music and she jumped, flinging the toaster pastry into the air. She ripped her headphones out of her ears and turned around to see Joshua, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyebrows flat on his forehead, his expression unreadable.
“You said whatever was in your house was mine to use,” she squeaked. “And a warning would’ve been good. You just about made me jump out of my skin. Which was maybe your plan all along. If you wanted to make me into a skin suit.”
“That’s ridiculous. I would not fit into your skin.”
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Well, it’s a figure of speech, isn’t
it?”
“Is it?” he asked.
“Yes. Everybody knows what that means. It means that I think you might be a serial killer.”
“You don’t really think I’m a serial killer, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I am pretty desperate.” She lifted her hand and licked off a remnant of jam. “I mean, obviously.”
“There are no Pop-Tarts left,” he said, his tone filled with annoyance.
“You said I could have whatever I wanted. I wanted Pop-Tarts.”
“You ate all of them.”
“Why do you even have Pop-Tarts?” She stood up, crossing her arms, mimicking his stance. “You don’t look like a man who eats Pop-Tarts.”
“I like them. I like to eat them after I work outside.”
“You work outside?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have horses.”
Suddenly, all of her annoyance fell away. Like it had been melted by magic. Equine magic. “You have horses?” She tried to keep the awe out of her voice, but it was nearly impossible.
“Yes,” he said.
“Can I... Can I see them?”
“If you want to.”
She had checked the range on the baby monitor, so depending on how far away from the house the horses were, she could go while Riley was napping.
“Could we see the house from the barn? Or wherever you keep them?”
“Yeah,” he said, “it’s just right across the driveway.”
“Can I see them now?”
“I don’t know. You ate my Pop-Tarts. Actually, more egregious than eating my Pop-Tarts, you threw the last half of one on the ground.”
“Sorry about your Pop-Tarts. But I’m sure that a man who can have an entire nursery outfitted in less than twenty-four hours can certainly acquire Pop-Tarts at a moment’s notice.”
“Or I could just go to the store.”
She had a hard time picturing a man like Joshua Grayson walking through the grocery store. In fact, the image almost made her laugh. He was way too commanding to do something as mundane as pick up a head of lettuce and try to figure out how fresh it was. Far too...masculine to go around squeezing avocados.
“What?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
“I just can’t imagine you going to the grocery store. That’s all.”
“Well, I do. Because I like food. Food like Pop-Tarts.”
“My mom would never buy those for me,” she said. “They were too expensive.”
He huffed out a laugh. “My mom would never buy them for me.”
“This is why being an adult is cool, even when it sucks.”
“Pop-Tarts whenever you want?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
“That seems like a low bar.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it is, but it’s a tasty one.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. Now, why don’t we go look at the horses.”
* * *
Joshua didn’t know what to expect by taking Danielle outside to see the horses. He had been irritated that she had eaten his preferred afternoon snack, and then, perversely, even more irritated that she had questioned the fact that it was his preferred afternoon snack. Irritated that he was put in the position of explaining to someone what he did with his time and what he put into his body.
He didn’t like explaining himself.
But then she saw the horses. And all his irritation faded as he took in the look on her face. She was filled with...wonder. Absolute wonder over this thing he took for granted.
The fact that he owned horses at all, that he had felt compelled to acquire some once he had moved into this place, was a source of consternation. He had hated doing farm chores when he was a kid. Hadn’t been able to get away from home and to the city fast enough. But in recent years, those feelings had started to change. And he’d found himself seeking out roots. Seeking out home.
For better or worse, this was home. Not just the misty Oregon coast, not just the town of Copper Ridge. But a ranch. Horses. A morning spent riding until the sun rose over the mountains, washing everything in a pale gold.
Yeah, that was home.
He could tell this ranch he loved was something beyond a temporary home for Danielle, who was looking at the horses and the barn like they were magical things.
She wasn’t wearing her beanie today. Her dark brown hair hung limply around her face. She was pale, her chin pointed, her nose slightly pointed, as well. She was elfin, and he wasn’t tempted to call her beautiful, but there was something captivating about her. Something fascinating. Watching her with the large animals was somehow just as entertaining as watching football and he couldn’t quite figure out why.
“You didn’t grow up around horses?”
“No,” she said, taking a timid step toward the paddock. “I grew up in Portland.”
He nodded. “Right.”
“Always in apartments,” she said. Then she frowned. “I think one time we had a house. I can’t really remember it. We moved a lot. But sometimes when we lived with my mom’s boyfriends, we had nicer places. It had its perks.”
“What did?”
“My mom being a codependent hussy,” she said, her voice toneless so it was impossible to say whether or not she was teasing.
“Right.” He had grown up in one house. His family had never moved. His parents were still in that same farmhouse, the one his family had owned for a couple of generations. He had moved away to go to college and then to start the business, but that was different. He had always known he could come back here. He’d always had roots.
“Will you go back to Portland when you’re finished here?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I’ve never really had a choice before. Of where I wanted to live.”
It struck him then that she was awfully young. And that he didn’t know quite how young. “You’re twenty-two?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding almost defensive. “So I haven’t really had a chance to think about what all I want to do and, like, be. When I grow up and stuff.”
“Right,” he said.
He’d been aimless for a while, but before he’d graduated high school, he’d decided he couldn’t deal with a life of ranching in Copper Ridge. He had decided to get out of town. He had wanted more. He had wanted bigger. He’d gone to school for marketing because he was good at selling ideas. Products. He wasn’t necessarily the one who created them, or the one who dreamed them up, but he was the one who made sure a consumer would see them and realize that product was what their life had been missing up until that point.
He was the one who took the straw and made it into gold.
He had always enjoyed his job, but it would have been especially satisfying if he’d been able to start his career by building a business with his brother and sister. To be able to market Faith’s extraordinary talent to the world, as he did now. But he wasn’t sure that he’d started out with a passion for what he did so much as a passion for wealth and success, and that had meant leaving behind his sister and brother too, at first. But his career had certainly grown into a passion. And he’d learned that he was the practical piece. The part that everybody needed.
A lot of people had ideas, but less than half of them had the follow-through to complete what they started. And less than half of those people knew how to get to the consumer. That was where he came in.
He’d had his first corporate internship at the age of twenty. He couldn’t imagine being aimless at twenty-two.
But then, Danielle had a baby and he couldn’t imagine having a baby at that age either.
A hollow pang struck him in the chest.
He didn’t like thinking of babies at all.
“You’re judging me,” she said, taking a step back from the paddock.
“No
, I’m not. Also, you can get closer. You can pet them.”
Her head whipped around to look at the horses, then back to him, her eyes round and almost comically hopeful. “I can?”
“Of course you can. They don’t bite. Well, they might bite, just don’t stick your fingers in their mouths.”
“I don’t know,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Except he could tell she really wanted to. She was just afraid.
“Danielle,” he said, earning himself a shocked look when he used her name. “Pet the horses.”
She tugged her hand out of her pocket again, then took a tentative step forward, reaching out, then drawing her hand back just as quickly.
He couldn’t stand it. Between her not knowing what she wanted to be when she grew up and watching her struggle with touching a horse, he just couldn’t deal with it. He stepped forward, wrapped his fingers around her wrist and drew her closer to the paddock. “It’s fine,” he said.
A moment after he said the words, his body registered what he had done. More than that, it registered the fact that she was very warm. That her skin was smooth.
And that she was way, way too thin.
A strange combination of feelings tightened his whole body. Compassion tightened his heart; lust tightened his groin.
He gritted his teeth. “Come on,” he said.
He noticed the color rise in her face, and he wondered if she was angry, or if she was feeling the same flash of awareness rocking through him. He supposed it didn’t matter either way. “Come on,” he said, drawing her hand closer to the opening of the paddock. “There you go, hold your hand flat like that.”
She complied, and he released his hold on her, taking a step back. He did his best to ignore the fact that he could still feel the impression of her skin against his palm.
One of his horses—a gray mare named Blue—walked up to the bars and pressed her nose against Danielle’s outstretched hand. Danielle made a sharp, shocked sound, drew her hand back, then giggled. “Her whiskers are soft.”
“Yeah,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “And she is about as gentle as they come, so you don’t have to be afraid of her.”
