by Jean Oram
Where had the two met? Had it been a long romance or a short one? He wanted to know everything.
And it wasn’t just his old training kicking in. It was more than that.
It was because he was starting to want things to be a bit like real life with Catherine, and he instinctively knew that what she held in her past might interfere with that dream.
Catherine had made breakfast, surprising Zach, who had been moving his office to the basement, prepping the room for Xavier. Honestly, he could have waited another year, as she was far from ready to let her son out of her sight at night.
She’d made pancakes. Not frilly waffles. Just not-quite-sweet-enough pancakes. Zach hadn’t said a word and she’d itched throughout the meal, waiting for him to say something so they could banter about who was on which breakfast team—waffles or pancakes.
Finally, while putting the dishes in the dishwasher, he’d said, “I can’t believe you think I’m Team Pancake.”
Yes!
“Because you are.”
“And you want me to think you’re Team Waffle? You don’t even wear nail polish.”
Okay, so that was true. She’d given that up while on the run.
“I used to.”
“See? You’re in the process of switching sides.”
“Maybe I secretly like the crispiness of waffles. The fuss and effort that goes into them.”
“You like being fussed over?”
“No, not really.”
He nodded as though her answer confirmed something. She hoped he didn’t think she didn’t enjoy flowers and a bit of pampering from time to time.
She continued, “The careful measuring instead of just slapping the batter on a hot pan and knowing it’ll form a circle.”
“And you’re into homemade mix, batter, I’ll bet,” he said. “Nothing the easy way.”
She laughed.
In the swing beside her, Xavier made a foul-sounding noise that suggested he was in need of a fresh diaper, and quite likely a new outfit, as well. A quick check told her she was correct, and she closed her eyes for a second, hoping for serenity and good luck, since this messy diaper was going to mean laundry for Xavier’s outfit and the swing seat cover, a bath for him, and maybe one for herself, too.
“I’ll run the water,” Zach said, moving behind her as she still stood over Xavier in his swing, contemplating where to start.
Since Zach was getting the kitchen sink ready for Xavier’s bath, she chose to strip her son down on a receiving blanket there on the floor. Zach was waiting, hands outstretched, ready to take the naked one to the sink.
Catherine bundled the whole mess of clothes, seat cover and blanket into a ball, then headed to the washing machine in the basement while Zach lifted Xavier into the water. As she started the wash cycle, she could hear Zach singing to her son in a low voice.
She slipped up the stairs, curious what song he’d chosen. Xavier was gurgling happily, possibly trying to sing along to what sounded an awful lot like the Sammy Davis Jr. song I’ve Gotta Be Me.
“I didn’t know you liked the Rat Pack,” she said, entering the kitchen. Zach looked so natural with Xavier, her little boy watching him with big, trusting eyes. It melted her heart. She wanted this man, this connection for her son.
“Their songs were some of my grandma’s favorites.”
“So you’re not actually a soft-hearted romantic,” she said, as she took the offered baby, who was clean and as slippery as an eel, and wrapped him in a towel. “It’s your grandmother’s fault that you choose to sing these grand classics?”
“Pretty much.”
“Hmm.” She gave him what she hoped was a saucy look. He’d been singing with heart. He liked the song and he couldn’t hide it—not from her.
Xavier was sleepy and she put him down for a nap, then returned to the kitchen, where Zach was sitting with a cup of coffee. The front of his thin knitted top was still wet from the bathwater, she noted.
“Do you think they’ll actually have a reception for us in a week and a half? Or were those ladies just bluffing at the surprise party?” she asked, pouring herself a mug.
She’d grown more and more apprehensive about her ability to brush off the event in the short time frame without inadvertently snubbing people and hurting feelings. Add in the way Zach had clammed up when she’d said yes to the idea, and the event had the potential to really mess things up. And not just because everyone thought it was odd that she didn’t want her picture taken. Zach, at least, had seemed to accept her partial truth about being stalked.
“Won’t the caffeine keep Xavier up?” Zach asked, as she joined him with her cup of joe.
“If I have more than half a cup, yes.”
“Delicate balance.”
“I like the taste. As well as living on the edge. So?” she prompted.
“Why not drink decaf?”
She made a face that caused him to laugh.
“And yes,” he said, “I think they will do their best to have a reception, as well as the shower for you and I as well as Xavier.”
Catherine quieted the worries swimming through her mind. The questions. The thoughts. The doubts.
“Do you want them?” she asked. May as well start at the beginning.
He was watching her, his surprise evident. She’d noticed since yesterday’s party that one of his walls, at least, had swung open like the shutter on a window. He no longer tried to hide his emotions. Not all of them. He allowed himself more expression around her. She hadn’t realized how closed and careful he’d been until up till now. “Do you?” he countered.
“I asked first.”
“So? I asked second.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Says who?” He was glowering, but in a playful way, she realized with a skip of her heart.
“Says me,” she retorted, with a gentle firmness that she hoped would keep the banter going.
“And you’re my wife so your word takes precedence?”
“You’re a fast learner.” She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. “I like that.”
“That was a question, not a declaration,” he grumbled, but she noted the twinkle in his eye as he lifted his own coffee.
“So are we having a reception or not?”
“Why should we?” he asked.
For a split second she thought he was giving her a surly retort, but quickly realized he was actually asking, wanting to hash this out with her like a real partner.
“The town expects one.”
“And?”
“And they really seem to want one.”
“We’ve covered that already,” he said.
“‘Want’ and ‘expect’ are two different things.”
He tipped his head, ceding her the point. “I suppose.”
“I’m afraid that if we, two people with the most unorthodox marriage in town, say no, they will…” She inhaled loudly as she thought through all the possible consequences.
“It’s not the most unorthodox.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s not. Blueberry Springs has gone nuts with marriages of convenience and the like over the past year or two. Although we are the first to do the mail order thing.”
“You make it sound like I was shipped in a box.”
“Some assembly required.”
“For our marriage or for me?” she challenged.
“Your pick.” He added, “Don’t worry about me and the town. If you start doing things for them and their sake they’ll never let you stop.”
“Who says I’d be doing it for them?”
“I can see it in your gaze.”
“Can not.”
“Can so.” Zach leaned across the table, his eyes soft and unthreatening. She wasn’t uncomfortable with his probing, even though she knew he was looking deep.
For once, she didn’t want to hide.
“You’re a pleaser,” he announced.
“Am not.”
�
��Except with your husband. You’re happy enough arguing with him all day long.”
She gave him a dark look and huffed, hoping to hide the fact that she wanted to smile.
Catherine was letting Zach stare her down, see that she had doubts about denying the town a baby and bridal shower as well as a reception in their honor. She cared what they thought. Not just for her sake, but for his. He could see it. The hesitation, the worry.
And no, he couldn’t kid himself that it was about creating that perfect family and community upbringing for Xavier. She wanted that, but he could tell that a reception and shower weren’t about Xavier in her mind. They would be about and for him—Zach. She would pretend their marriage was genuine, that she was his real wife in all ways expected in order for him to keep face around town. She would fake whatever was needed so he wasn’t judged.
She was a good woman.
A good woman with a past that sometimes frightened her.
And he didn’t have a dossier on her. He didn’t have the information he needed so he could do everything in his power to keep her safe. Because that’s what he was going to do. Start watching her more closely. Digging for information, in ways that didn’t cause her to run.
How was he going to do that?
How was he going to be the man she was beginning to trust, and act like an agent, too?
He shook off his thoughts. He needed to give her a chance to open up on her own. They’d made good progress over the past two days, and if he wasn’t careful, he could mess up everything. And then he wouldn’t be able to help her.
Patience.
He needed patience.
He felt as though untangling his grandmother’s embroidery threads would be easier than this.
He focused back on the conversation, and stated, “You worry that the town will start talking about me and what kind of marriage I got myself into if we don’t play it up and celebrate like a real couple?”
She was turning her cup in her hands. It was a fun one from Wally’s that said Running Wild in Blueberry Springs, and had a stick figure running from a bear. Rumor was that Jen Kulak had designed it along with some T-shirts.
Catherine stopped fiddling with her mug, her somber eyes meeting his. “Yes.”
“And?”
“Do you like to bring in strays who take advantage of you?”
“Sorry?” He had a pretty good idea what she was getting at, but he wanted her to voice it, try and defend the faulty notion, and then kill the very thought where it stood when she realized how ridiculous it all was.
Because in his eyes, it simply wasn’t true. She wasn’t a stray and their marriage wasn’t a pity deed. For either of them.
“Zach, I think you know what I mean.” She stood, taking her mug with her, the warm tone she’d been using replaced by a clipped, cool British one.
He hooked his fingers around her wrist, holding her loosely so she wouldn’t flee. “Please, explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a great guy who everyone respects. There’s no love in this marriage and it looks like I’m taking advantage of you. That I’m using you.”
Zach released her, the words striking surprisingly deep. “That’s not true.”
“Which part?”
“People won’t think those things.”
“They already are—I overheard them at the party.”
He reached for her hand again, slipping his fingers through hers, locking her hand gently in his. “Let’s vow to not care what others think, and keep this marriage about what really matters. Let’s keep it about what works for us, about what we want and need it to be. That’s the only way we’re going to be happy.”
She nodded, her eyes on his hand. He gave a squeeze, and felt the warmth from her reciprocal response travel all the way up his arm and settle in his chest.
She leaned forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “So how are we going to wiggle our way out of a shower and reception?”
And in that moment Zach thought Catherine might just be a match for him in ways he hadn’t dared hope.
7
Catherine had spent days poring over the financial records for Logan and Zach, hoping they were much better with security system installation details than they were with their finances. She considered herself lucky any time she saw a billable number of hours on a scrap of paper, along with a name and the type of system installed.
But by week’s end she had a method to determine their flat rate and add-ons, which had resulted in a nice stack of payment-due notices ready to go out in the mail. It was gratifying to be able to pull her weight and help out.
By a stroke of luck, the ladies weren’t able to hold the reception right away, earning her and Zach more wiggle room for finding a way out of having one at all. Something about the lady who made the sandwiches being double booked. Catherine would gladly take the delay, although there was still the small issue of the baby-and-bridal shower, which was coming up faster than she was prepared for. Although a shower felt so much easier to handle than a reception.
Realizing there was no more catching up to do with the finances, Catherine sat back in the kitchen chair she’d dragged into a corner of Zach’s new basement office. She’d scrounged an old unwanted table from George next door, and along with the new laptop Zach had ordered for her, she had a workstation.
Yesterday, without being asked, Zach had come back from delivering Gran’s resized ring, with a stack of fresh file folders and a filing cabinet. He was a thoughtful man and a thoughtful boss. Patient and willing to laugh at himself, and always generous with his customers by erring in their favor.
But most of all, nothing was off-limits, like it had been at the nightclub, when she’d requested certain financials in hopes of having a broader sense of the company and her role in its success. Zach didn’t seem to have anything to hide, and despite her being on the lookout, nothing had struck her as odd or sketchy, other than their large pile of unsent invoices. Were they secretly wealthy, so they could afford to be lax about receiving payment for their services? Or was their income coming from other places? Both Zach and Logan were retired from the military, but having a great pension at their age was unlikely.
She’d missed spotting money laundering that had been happening practically under her nose at the nightclub. Was she missing something here, too?
She’d been naïve, though, so certain that the rest of the world wasn’t like her family and that what was happening at the club was normal that she’d turned a blind eye to the small signs. The quiet conversations that stopped when she came along. The strangers coming and going from the back room as if they owned the place. The careful redirection whenever she wanted to know more about the financial aspects of the business.
Catherine sat forward and pressed her hands against her lower back, arching and leaning from side to side, stretching her tired muscles. Xavier was getting to the point where he would nap for several hours, giving her plenty of time to dive into her work, but she often forgot to look up and take a break until he awoke.
It had been snowing all week, a storm having moved in, determined to bury the town in white. She had never seen anything like it, and tried not to panic at the way the small window above her workstation was blocked by a pile of snow, and how Zach had had to shovel a foot or two of the fluffy stuff away from their front door that morning so he could go out and clear the sidewalk.
Like anyone would be out walking or even driving in that stuff.
Well, she’d been wrong.
The street had been alive with the sound of snowblowers, calls of hello as the neighbors shoveled their drives, then helped each other finish theirs, as well. Shortly afterward, people had been out walking like it wasn’t some sort of snowy version of Armageddon out there.
Through the baby monitor, she heard Xavier starting to gurgle and coo, in his bed beside hers. Picking up the device, Catherine headed up the stairs. In the hall that led to the living room, she met Zach, who was carti
ng an office chair.
“What’s that?”
“I got you a chair with lumbar support and armrests.”
She couldn’t help but smile. The chair was gorgeous and looked very comfortable. She wanted to worry about Zach spending money on things for his business, but seeing how much was owed to him and Logan, a proper chair might be nice.
“The kitchen chair is fine,” she said, wanting to assure him she didn’t expect to be pampered.
“What if we have company?”
“We can carry it upstairs, silly.” She gave a little laugh. She’d learned that when Zach decided something was needed, he made sure it materialized, and there was no use fighting it. She figured a new desk was most likely to appear next, but wanted him to know she didn’t expect it. “I’ve seen your financials. Saving a little money wouldn’t be a bad idea.” The man spent like money was water coming over the falls.
“I’ve got savings, and you need a proper chair.”
“I’m only sitting for a few hours at a time. I’m all caught up, by the way.” She hoped that the sudden, prompt billing shortly after her arrival didn’t lead the townspeople to believe she was a money-grubber.
Zach moved past her. “You could still use a proper chair.” As he angled his way through the doorway to the basement steps, he called, “I have no interest in being sued because I failed to provide suitable, ergonomic office equipment.”
“You can’t sue your husband.” She thought for a moment. “Can you?”
“Don’t get any ideas about finding loopholes.”
Shaking her head in amusement, she went to retrieve Xavier. He kicked his feet when he saw her, filling her heart.
“Hey, my little man. How was your nap?” She kissed his soft cheeks, loving the way they were so doughy and warm, giving in to the light pressure of her lips. Such unconditional, uncomplicated love.
She changed Xavier’s diaper, marveling at how much he’d filled out over the past week. His cheeks seemed chubbier, his short legs sporting an extra roll.
