“Why are you crying?”
I jolt, startled and look into the worried brown eyes of Grace.
Clint
At twilight, I pull the guys in for another talk. They form a ring around me and I sense the discord. I want to smooth it over, but I know some things are simply broken and are not meant to be fixed. If they want to walk, they know where the door is. If they want to stay, they’ve got paychecks waiting.
“Okay,” I say as they settle in and listen to me. “We can camp or we can keep going. If we slow down and head out, we’ll be heading home toward dawn. Or we can camp and head out at dawn.”
Beside me, Carson takes on this role and offers a good suggestion. “If you want to keep going, we can stop for a meal, drink, and piss break. If you don’t we’ll have that break anyway.”
I nod, agreeing with him. The men mumble, and I tell them they can think it over, but the resounding responses are that we should break for chow and get back out.
“What about Bram and Scott?” It’s Shane’s voice ringing out.
I answer with my usual calculated wariness. “They’ll be happy to get home to their beds earlier rather than later, I’m sure,” I say, and there’s a ripple of agreement. Shane’s glare leaves me and he nods.
“Chow and then we ride!” He brings his horse around and I want to sock him right in the mouth. It’s not his god damned call. It’s mine. He’s hired help, not the boss. Not on my ranch.
But I let it go. This isn’t an argument I want. As men step out of saddles and stretch, the sounds of bones cracking and men groaning becomes louder than the chorus of crickets. It’s a welcome sound, but I maneuver Thunder around to do a quick parameter check.
We’re not safe from cougars and bears here, and I want to make sure they know we’re here and armed. The predators out here are smart, and a gun on your hip is often enough to keep all but the starving critters out of sight.
I circle, giving another thought to my plan. I’m not proud of it. Tricking dad isn’t my favorite idea, but maybe it’s time to fight dirty. After all, he is. The fortune my great grandfather passed down isn’t really his to guard like this. He’s a rotten bastard, and it pisses me off.
But it’s not about the money. It’s about getting the recognition I deserve. I’ve fucking worked hard to build myself for the ground up and all he did was impose more rules, more bars for me to meet before I’m good enough to call myself his son.
Once I’m sure the perimeter is safe, I head back to where the guys have lit up a fire and are cooking and setting coffee to percolate. Carson offers me a mug of coffee and I crack open the can of beans I’d brought and set it in the fire.
Within minutes it’s hot and I nudge it out and hold it with a leather glove I keep on hand for working. Carson is taking bites of some franks that are being passed around and cooked on skewers. I take one that’s offered to me and dip the molten dog into my beans.
As we all dig in, the night sky turns from twilight to billions of stars and a chilly night breeze that cuts to the bone.
***
Dawn brings sight of the herd we’re here to drive home and the collective sigh is much quieter than last night’s gusto. I’m just excited at the thought of getting home. Getting home.
I’ve got some explaining to do with Grace. And I’m curious to see how May is doing.
“Not much longer, Boss,” Carson says as we slow down and watch the guys heading into formation. As we begin to drive the horses back toward home, I sigh with relief. Not much longer.
***
As the last horse files into the pasture, I let loose a sigh of relief. We did it. No major calamities. Carsen and I head toward the barn, and he offers to take my horse so I can head into the house. I thank him and feel better the second my boots hit solid ground. I head to the house, looking toward May’s bedroom window.
I’m not certain why.
The front door is locked and I grab the key and let myself in. I catch her in the living room with a book in hand and suspiciously red eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, and I shrug. I don’t care. She can lock the doors if she chooses. I make a mental note to make sure she knows where the twelve gauge is and how to use it. I doubt anything will ever happen, but I’d be more comfortable knowing that if something did happen she’d be okay.
“How was it?” I ask. It’s not the question I want to ask her.
“Fine. You look tired,” she says, rising to her feet. “Would you like to get some rest? I could make you something to eat.” Her genuine concern warms my heart as she heads to my side. I stare into her pretty blue eyes wondering why she was crying. But as I watch, the misery leaves her expression and there’s a sweet joy there that I want to enjoy.
“I’m fine,” I say, needing to set her mind at ease. “Are you okay?”
She seems startled by my question, but her eyes dart to my lips. I stiffen as she sucks her lower lip between her teeth and nibbles it before letting it slide free so she can respond.
“Um… yeah.” She sounds hesitant, as if she wants to open up but knows better. But I don’t care anymore. All I want now is to touch her again, to feel her surprised intake of breath, her sweet shiver of pleasure…
But there are other things to think about. Like the fact that she hasn’t said a word about Grace. “How is Grace?” I ask, forcing my mind to stop all these crazy thoughts.
“She was fine when I sent her off to school,” May says, her expression softening. “She’s such a sweetheart.” Suddenly she takes on a more troubled expression. She bites down on that distracting lower lip and I sense she’s doing that to keep from speaking her mind.
“What are you keeping from me?” Anger surges up in me. This is my daughter. May better not be hiding something.
Her blue eyes meet mine as the words burst out of her. “Gertie hits her.”
May
I see the fury in his eyes and back off a step. Before he’d come home, I hadn’t really considered telling him. It’s not like spankings are a big deal. Or at least, I hadn’t thought so until Grace told me her father’s stance on capital punishment.
We’d had many deep talks and I found her a refreshing girl with a perspective on life that was much too old for her age.
“How do you know?” he says, his eyes so tired they’re fever bright. But the rage in them is unmistakable and I know I did the right thing by telling him.
“She told me that Gertie smacks her bottom when she’s not ladylike.” I sense he’s nearly shaking with anger, but it’s not terrifying. It’s not aimed at me, nor could I ever imagine him being upset at me. And even if he was, I realize, I can’t imagine being afraid of him. He’s not the kind of guy who’d hurt me.
And I realize something startling; I feel safe with him.
He stands up straight and I know he’s wrestling with his anger. “Thank you for telling me,” he says stiffly, and I nod.
“Go to bed,” I say gently as he stands before me, still internally fighting something I can only sense. “I’ve got things here.”
Finally, he nods and heads back toward the hall. I watch him go, hoping he didn’t notice the tears in my eyes when he’d come in. Despite the talks I’d shared with Grace and all the calming influence she’d had on me this morning while getting ready to go, I’d still found myself sinking back into that scary pit of despair once I was alone.
And even when I’d tried to distract myself, he’d still come creeping back to burrow under my skin and haunt the darkness in every blink.
Still, Clint is every bit as intense as he’d been from that first moment. And every bit as able to make my heart stumble in my chest. And able to make a curious warmth pool deep in my belly.
Then I hear him call my name from his room. With a sense of trepidation, I head back, hoping this isn’t about to get uncomfortable. At his door, I lift my knuckles to knock and he tells me to come in.
I do so and find him under the blanke
ts. My cheeks sting red and I look toward the floor as he speaks. “Before I forget,” he says, sounding a bit drunk with exhaustion. “I need to ask you a huge favor.”
“Anything,” I say, my face flaming red hot. Please don’t ask me for something I can’t do. Please. Still, I can’t imagine anything I wouldn’t want to do with this man. Even the thought of him asking me to bed sends a warm tingling feeling through my pelvis.
“Can you pretend to be my fiancée?”
Jerking my head up, I meet his stare, shocked to my very toes. Never in a million years would I have expected anything like that. I feel my mouth drop open, but no words come out.
He stares at me like he’s expecting an answer now, but I can’t quite formulate anything.
“Why?” I ask, the word popping out like a cork from a bottle of bubbly.
“It’s a long story,” He says, “We’ll talk more when I get up.”
I nod and turn toward the door, but he stops me once more. “Thank you,” he says, and I look back at him, one hand on the door. He already looks like he’s sleeping, and there’s a peace to him that’s unexpected.
He’s so handsome. In sleep, there’s a boyishness to him that is gone in the harsh light of his wakeful self. I study him, thinking about his proposal.
I’d be safe if we went with a farce like this. But I’d be at his mercy. More at his mercy. And I don’t think I want to put myself in the mercy of any man, ever again. Not in a romantic sense. What would he expect of me with this farce? Nothing good, I’m sure. The kind of man who asks a woman to pretend to be in love with him is the kind that might do other evil, underhanded things.
Still, as I leave his room, I find myself curious. Everything I know of him says he’s not a cruel, underhanded man. But I also won’t lie to myself by pretending I know him.
It’s not like he can possibly be without prospects. He’s handsome. He’s successful. He’s got a kind heart, even if it might not look like it from the outside. He has to, or he wouldn’t have let me stay.
Then again, was it all just to get me in a position where I’d have to accept some hair brained plan to be his fake fiancée? Is he really not the man I’d thought him to be? Is my judge of character that messed up?
Then again, what kind of man asks something like that? And why?
Why does he need me to pretend to be his fiancée? And if it’s a good reason, will that be enough to sway my mind on it? Because there’s no reason I can think of that I’d be okay with it or willing to even play along. I’m not a liar. And it’s not fair of him to ask me to be.
With all these questions going through my mind, I head toward my room. My heart thunders in my chest as I think about what it would feel like to be Mrs. Quentin. Clearly, he doesn’t recognize me, but this is more than I’d ever dreamed of.
I watch the hustle and bustle of the men as they lock up horses, clean up the yard, and head into a building that I’m fairly certain the farm hand house.
As I stand, I see someone glance my way and I duck back to the side. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I don’t want anyone to figure out who I am.
That would be very, very bad.
Clint
I wake and hear the sweet sound of laughter from the living room. It’s such a good sound, I slip out the door quietly and peek into the kitchen. Grace is on a chair and May is behind her with her hands over Grace’s guiding them with a sharp knife right through an onion.
“I’m crying!” Grace says, her voice filled with amusement.
May laughs. “It’s so sad we’re torturing this onion.” She places her chin on Grace’s shoulder and I’m struck by how normal this looks, and how incredible it feels. They slice through the onion and I hear Grace sniff.
And I realize I’m not worried. I know May won’t let Grace get hurt. It’s evident in her posture, in the easy way Grace leans back into her, trusting her with every motion.
“Rinse it with cold water,” I say and two sets of eyes meet me. Grace’s brown eyes are excited and happy as she sees me. May’s eyes are wide, troubled, yet wildly beautiful.
“Daddy!” Grace launches herself at me and I open my arms to catch her. With my arms around her, the world is suddenly okay again. I missed her more than I could ever imagine missing anyone.
My eyes meet May’s and I see something there. Perhaps it’s disappointment. But why? Because I asked her to be my fake fiancée?
Maybe I should talk to her.
“We’re about done with dinner prep,” May says, returning to cutting onion as I set Grace on her feet.
“Are you going to help?” Grace asks me and I look at May, who is ignoring me. Still, I can see her pulse in her soft throat and it’s much too quick. Perhaps the little miss is excited at the thought? My cock stirs but I tamp down those thoughts.
Gathering my thoughts, I ask, “Sure. What can I do?”
Grace lights up. But May shuts me down. “I think I’ve got this. Why don’t you two go catch up?” Grace nods, and I know she’s not sensing the tension mounting between May and I. But as my daughter takes my hand and leads me into the living room, I remember there’s something I wanted to talk to her about.
We sit on the couch and I start in quick. “Was Gertie hitting you?” I ask. Grace’s face falls a little and I hope that this betrayal of trust doesn’t come back on May.
“Yes,” Grace says, her face so very embarrassed I want to hug her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask gently. I don’t want her to think she’s in trouble, but I need to know why she didn’t trust me enough to come to me with this.
Her eyes find the floor and it’s all I can do not to tilt her chin up to look me in the eyes. “She tells me I’m not a lady.”
“Oh baby,” I say, gathering her into a hug. “You don’t have to be. You just have to be the best you you can be, okay?” I say, looking deep into her eyes as if I can convey the truth of my words.
“Promise?” she says, and I cross my finger over my heart.
She smiles and the cute expression lifts my heart. Everything in the world is better with her right here. And even the ugly moments manage to bring in good.
“Dinner,” May says, peeking her head in.
“Thank you,” I say as Grace bolts from my arms and into May’s grasp. I look at the two of them looking so much like a family it aches deep in the very depths of my soul. This is what I want for Grace. But it’s too much to ask of any woman. Even one as amazing as May.
***
“She’s asleep,” I say, a finger to my lips as I sneak out of Grace’s room and close the door behind me.
“She’s a light sleeper,” May says, a knowing look on her face. I nod in agreement and take her hand. Her skin is shockingly soft between my rough fingers as I lead her toward the front door. Still, it feels good to hold her like this. It feels right.
On the porch, we sit side by side on the swing. I notice the scent of her, sweet and floral. Her shining brown hair is bound up loosely, as if it wants nothing more than to escape. A few tendrils have and frame her face and cling to her neck in the fading heat of the Texas day.
“I need more time to think about it,” she says, and I nod. I didn’t expect a quick answer. It’s a huge favor.
“Did you have questions?” I ask, dreading the questions.
“Why?” she says, looking sideways at me as if she’s afraid to fully face me. I think a moment, trying to figure out the best way to tell her.
So I give her a short, sweet version. “My father and I don’t get along so well. He needs me to prove I’m a family man before he’ll really trust me.” It’s the reader’s digest version, but it’s not a lie. Her silence leaves me feeling like she’s thinking it over.
“But you are a family man,” she says finally, her voice filled with a sweet confusion. “You’re an amazing dad. All Grace does all day is sing your praises.”
“He means family man as in married man.” The words sting, even now, and I hate
them as I spit them out like something bitter and vile I can expel.
She is quiet again and I look at her. There’s a far way look in her eyes as she stares toward her car.
“You don’t have to,” I say, needing her to know I’m not giving her an ultimatum. “You’re fully welcome to stay on as Grace’s caregiver for as long as you’re willing. She really likes you. And if you were to leave, I’d be in a bind.” As I think about it, the thought of her leaving fills me with something akin to fear.
Still, she’s silent, and we stare out at the stars side by side as a gentle night wind cools us.
May
He’s quiet beside me. But it’s not a scary silence. It’s not one I feel I have to fill. He’s made himself clear. But not in a threatening way. I don’t’ feel pressured or guilty. And he alleviated my fear that it might change my being here if I decide not to. But still… what if his parents recognize me?
“I’d still like time to think about it,” I say and he nods in agreement.
“Take all the time you need,” he says, and I feel a curious warmth pooling in my belly.
Here, under the stars with him, I feel… safe.
“There’s something else,” he says, and my heart begins to pound as I glance at him and see a new intensity behind those warm brown eyes.
“Yes?” I ask, feeling breathless. His eyes study my face as he speaks.
“I need to know you’re safe here while I’m gone. Do you know how to shoot?” he asks, and I shake my head no. My father thought a lady had no place holding a gun or doing man’s work. I was there to cook, clean, and be pretty.
“I’ll teach you tomorrow. The shotgun over the door is real, and it’s loaded. Don’t aim it at someone unless you plan to pull the trigger,” he says, his voice so serious a shiver runs down my spine.
My own demons rear up, but I push them back to ask, “Do you get much trouble out here?”
He shakes his head. “But it’s a good idea for you to be able to protect yourself and Grace.”
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