She was still troubled by Garrett’s earlier comment about lying. The cynicism in his voice had made her wonder if he’d had a bad experience somewhere along the way—perhaps with a woman.
On the whole, she thought of herself as honest. Lies, she knew, complicated a person’s life. As far as she could recall, throughout her adult life she’d only told one lie. A big one of omission.
She had the troubling feeling it was about to catch up with her.
Garrett maneuvered his checker out of harm’s way. Or so he thought. Three moves later, Donnie had both of Garrett’s remaining pieces trapped in a corner.
“What kind of brain pills have you been feeding this kid?” Garrett lifted his hand and gave her son a high five. “Good job, Donnie. I’ll get you next time.”
“Off you go, son. And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He hopped down from his chair. “See ya tomorrow, Garrett. If you want, I’ll teach ya how to dribble a soccer ball. Coach says I’m the best dribbler around.”
“That’d be great.”
In spite of his much touted soccer skills, Donnie was not always light on his feet. He thundered down the hallway to his bedroom.
“No modesty there, huh?” Garrett commented with a smile.
Giving up her photography book as a waste of effort, she set it on the table. “I think a child should feel confident about his abilities.”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s smart. Does he get that from you? Or his father?”
“Both, I imagine.”
He opened her book and flipped to the title page. A slight frown pleated his forehead. “If I asked you who Donnie’s father is, would you tell me?”
Her stomach did the equivalent of a high dive off a thousand-foot cliff in the Sierras.
“No,” she said, recovering from the plunge. She couldn’t tell him. She’d promised a long time ago never to reveal that information. Particularly to Garrett.
“None of my business, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her, the look in his green eyes unreadable. “So what do we do now?”
Good lord! Did he know? Or even suspect the truth? “I d-don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.
“I mean, do you want to take me on in a game of checkers? Or should we watch TV?”
“Oh.” She nearly fell out of her chair with relief. “I guess we could watch TV.” She wouldn’t be able to concentrate for a minute on a checkers game—not with Garrett as her opponent.
“Great. Have you got a satellite dish?”
“Not at the prices they charge for one. My budget doesn’t have a lot of room for extras.”
He looked surprised. “You support yourself entirely from the pig farm?”
“Bud pays most of the household bills from his job at the candy factory.” And that source of income might now be in jeopardy, she realized with a start. Garrett’s father owned the place. He was unlikely to be pleased one of his employees had eloped with his son’s intended bride.
She swallowed hard. “And I work part-time for the Grazer Gazette taking photos of newsworthy items like the garden-club ladies, new babies. That sort of thing. Plus any wedding jobs or portrait work I can get. And I’ve got the contract for Grazer Unified High’s annual and senior pictures. That pays some of the bills.”
“The pig farm doesn’t turn a profit?”
“Not much.”
“Then why don’t you dump it?”
“This is my home, Garrett. It’s where I was raised. In spite of how you or others might feel about pigs, I love living here.” Charity’s mother, on the other hand, had had a far different view. She’d been more than eager to get out of town as fast as she could. And look where it had gotten her. Into a relationship with a man who’d left her to raise two young children alone with no way to support herself, and without a lick of good sense. She’d nearly starved. They all had. And then she’d put her children, her own flesh and blood, on a bus for Grazer’s Corners and proceeded to vanish. She’d turned up later. In a morgue.
The memories tightened in Charity’s throat, and she swallowed hard, fighting back tears of abandonment as painful as those she’d shed almost twenty years ago.
Garrett’s fingers tapped a restless beat on the tabletop. “Have you given any thought to our sleeping arrangements tonight? For my wedding night,” he mocked.
His question—out of the blue—nearly drove the air from her lungs.
No, she hadn’t considered that small detail.
Dammit all! If Garrett didn’t kill Bud when he got back home, she just might do it herself—beloved brother or not.
Sleeping with Garrett Keeley was the last thing on earth she wanted to do.
NOT FOR THE FIRST TIME that day, Charity was totally mortified.
The chain that linked her to Garrett was barely long enough to allow some small bit of privacy in the bathroom. Of course, she couldn’t close the door all the way. Nor could he when it was his turn.
Sighing, she slipped her nightgown on over her head. The oversize T-shirt came to her knees, the most modest sleeping attire she owned and far too warm for a summer evening. But any other choice would be beyond foolish.
She gave her hair one last stroke with the brush and opened the door. “Your turn.”
With an amused smile, he looked her over, starting at the top of her head and moving slowly, leisurely downward, lingering on her breasts—making her nipples pebble—and taking in the sacklike fit of her gown. Her flesh heated under his intense scrutiny.
“Mother Hubbard, I take it.”
“I didn’t think a suit of armor would be required to protect my honor.”
His lips quirked. “Trust me on this, sweetheart. If I decided to enjoy my honeymoon with you, you’d enjoy it, too. You’d be shedding whatever you were wearing faster than I could—”
“You wouldn’t!” He was teasing her. She hoped.
“Haven’t you heard? Honor has never been my strong suit.”
She’d heard the stories all right; she hadn’t always wanted to believe them. “But you wouldn’t force yourself on a woman.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and shook his head. His eyes darkened as he perused her again. “I’ve never had to—and you damn well know it.”
That was a good reminder—as good as a slap across the face. He hadn’t forced her into anything she hadn’t wanted eight years ago.
She squared her shoulders. That wasn’t going to happen again. “I’ll get you a pair of Bud’s pajamas. They ought to fit.”
“I prefer to sleep nude.”
Her eyes widened, and forbidden images popped into her head. Fascinatingly masculine images.
“Unfortunately, with this shackle around my ankle, I won’t be able to get my pants off.”
“What a pity,” she said dryly.
“I knew you’d be disappointed.”
What she was was a nervous wreck.
By the time they got into bed, her mouth was dry and her heart was beating like she had a severe case of old-maid palpitations. She could barely draw a steady breath.
He was impossibly large in her double bed, his broad shoulders and enticingly bare chest taking up far more than his half of the space. Her mind kept cycling over the awareness that this was—or should have been—his wedding night.
And the foolish, impossible fantasy of her being his bride.
She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the persistent images she mentally snapped with the camera of her imagination.
Leaning on his elbow, Garrett looked down at Charity. She certainly wasn’t the woman he’d expected to share his bed with tonight The fact that Hailey had obviously been lying to him for the past several months grated on him more than he cared to admit. He’d been honest with Hailey. Honorable, as Charity would say. He and Hailey had known each other a long time, off and on since high school; he’d thought their relatio
nship was easy, comfortable. Maybe too easy. Not enough zing to last until the wedding day.
Damn, he’d never figure out women.
He still didn’t know why Charity hadn’t returned his phone calls after that night at the lake. He’d tried several times to reach her. He’d never gotten any further than leaving a message with her grandfather.
He frowned. “You did know I tried to call you?”
Her eyes opened slowly, and she focused on his face. “When was that?”
Like she didn’t remember? And he’d thought the sex had been pretty damn good. “After the picnic. At the lake. You never called back.”
“Oh.” She tugged the sheet up to her chin. “I can’t remember. I guess I got busy.”
“Yeah. Right.” With the backs of his knuckles, he skimmed a path down her cheek. Warm, soft velvet with the scent of cinnamon. “If you’ve forgotten, maybe I ought to try to help you remember. You aren’t busy now, are you?”
“Very. I’m trying to sleep.” Her quick intake of air that raised the sheet over her breasts suggested she wasn’t entirely immune to his touch. “Why don’t you turn off the light?”
He ignored her suggestion. “It wouldn’t take long.” He let his thumb drag across her lips. The lower one was slightly pouty and very kissable. “Maybe an hour.”
“An hour?” Her voice cracked.
“Longer if you’d like.”
“No!” She tried to scoot away from him, but of course she couldn’t. Not the way they were shackled together.
To emphasize her inability to escape, he tugged her leg over to his side of the bed. She jerked it back where it had been.
He chuckled. “I think this is going to be a very long night for both of us. We could make it a pleasant one.” The fact was, in this compromising position, Garrett was becoming aroused. He hadn’t intended to. It was just a game, teasing her. His libido seemed to think otherwise.
She flopped onto her side, her back to him, and curled into a ball. Like a golden brown waterfall, her hair draped over the pillow.
Lowering his head, he placed a kiss beneath her ear. Such a small, delicate ear, he mused, the swirls perfectly formed like a fragile seashell.
“Garrett...don’t.”
“If I’m making you uncomfortable, maybe you ought to tell me where the hacksaw is. Then we can both end our misery.”
He thought for a moment she was going to give in—or else roll over and make love with him. Instead, a single tear escaped from the corner of her eye.
“I can’t, Garrett. My brother...” Her throat worked convulsively. “Besides Donnie, he’s the only family I have. He’s counting on me.”
Aw, hell!
Garrett flopped onto his back, causing the bed to creak, and stared up at the ceiling. It was white and had a maze of tiny cracks running through it like the paint was old or the house had been shaken by one too many California earthquakes. How the hell was he supposed to deal with Charity’s stubborn loyalty?
And how the hell was he going to lie here all night next to her and not make love to her? He’d never claimed to be a saint. Given the way he’d been stood up at the altar, he was as free of obligations as the next man.
Except Charity had given him the brush-off.
First his bride. Now his bedmate.
Days didn’t get any worse than this!
THE NIGHT SOUNDS DRIFTED in the open window, a chorus of crickets chirping and frogs croaking at the pond that lay at the edge of the property. But all Charity could hear was Garrett’s steady breathing.
She’d been listening for hours.
No way could she go to sleep. Not with him in her bed.
He would never know how much she had wanted him to make love to her. The lonely ache she’d ignored for years had exploded into a painful throbbing deep in her midsection, racking her body with a need she’d denied but couldn’t quite forget.
He wasn’t the man for her. She’d known that eight years ago. Nothing had changed. Even if they hadn’t had a past, there wouldn’t be a future for them.
Unlike Hailey, she wouldn’t be accepted by his family and wouldn’t fit into his career. She was as far from the trophy wives pro athletes sported on their arms as a woman could be. A pig farmer! She could hear the sports commentators now. Talk about proving to be an embarrassment.
And her son. Where would Donnie fit into Garrett’s life? Douglas Keeley, Garrett’s father, had already rejected the idea that any relationship existed. She’d agreed. The deal was notarized and in writing—with penalty clauses.
She closed her eyes against her burning tears and swallowed a sob. She’d committed the ultimate betrayal of her son’s birthright. She’d had to. For the love of her family.
The next thing she knew, the sun was glancing off the top of the bedroom window and the heavy weight of a man’s arm rested across her middle.
Her eyes flew open. She was spooned against Garrett, her bottom nestled against his firm and very obvious arousal. Her whole body reacted in an instant. Wanting. Needing. Melting into him.
Groaning, she jerked away.
He wouldn’t let her go.
“Sweetheart, you’re killing me. If I swear I won’t leave the farm till Bud gives the okay, you suppose we could find some way to get these shackles off?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a hoarse croak. If she had to, she’d cut off her own foot to escape the one thing she wanted more than life and could never have.
“DONNIE, I’VE TOLD YOU not to ride Rambo like that.”
Straddling the pig like a cowboy riding a bronco, the youngster swatted the animal’s rump with his baseball cap. “He doesn’t care.”
Charity rolled her eyes. “He’s hopeless.”
“I’d say he was all boy.” Standing some distance away, Garrett raised his leg and planted his foot on a low rock wall that surrounded a small flower garden. It felt strange not to be attached to Charity. They hadn’t gotten rid of the cuffs but at least they’d been able to snap the chain on both ends. The bolt cutter that had been in the toolshed all along had worked just fine.
“More likely he’s showing off for you.” She hefted a wheelbarrow filled with grain sacks and pushed it toward the pigpens.
“Let me,” Garret said.
“I can manage.”
“I know. But it hurts the male chauvinist pig in me to watch you work while I’m standing around doing nothing.” He’d found a short-sleeved shirt in Bud’s closet to wear, though it looked damn odd with his tuxedo pants. Charity was wearing faded denim jeans and a blouse she’d tied up around her middle. He tried not to think about how her bare skin would feel.
Relinquishing her grip on the wheelbarrow, she stepped out of his way.
“I thought Bud was in charge of feeding the pigs,” Garrett said.
“He handles it on the weekends. During the week, he’s got to be at work pretty early, so it’s my job.”
Charity wasn’t a particularly delicate woman. But Garrett didn’t like the idea of her having to do so much physical work. She ought to be pampered, not worn to a nub by farm work. “Guess your grandparents have passed on?”
“Uh-huh.” She indicated he should stop by the pen with the sow and her babies. “Gramps had a stroke about eight years ago. After that he couldn’t do much of the work himself, and Grandma had her hands full trying to take care of him. Bud and I pretty well took over running the farm then. You get used to it.”
“You couldn’t have been very old.”
She ripped open one of the feed sacks. “That was my senior year at Grazer Unified.”
As Garrett recalled, Charity had just been entering her senior year at high school that time at the picnic. She’d been one of the youngest kids in the crowd. Facing his own senior year at college, he’d seen her around town a time or two, and had been drawn to her that day. He wasn’t quite sure why. There’d been prettier girls at the picnic. College coeds who fawned over him and the chance that he might win the Heisman Tro
phy. Charity hadn’t seemed all that impressed with football.
He grinned. Her son wasn’t, either. Soccer was Donnie’s game. Or playing cowboy on a pig.
“You could have sold the place when your grandfather couldn’t handle the work anymore,” Garrett said, taking the feed sack away from her to pour the contents into a feeding bin.
“He would have died if he’d been forced to leave. His grandfather settled this part of the country before the Grazers ever thought about coming west.”
“I thought the Grazers founded the town.”
“That’s what they’d like everyone to believe.” She gave a toss of her long hair, which she’d pulled back and looped around on itself. “The Ardens know better.”
He chuckled. The Grazers had always been a little uppity, demanding their due at Founders’ Day events and touting their daughter, Jordan, as better than anybody else in town. Despite her parents, Jordan hadn’t quite bought into all the hype. She was a good kid. He hoped to goodness no great harm had come to her at the hands of the man who’d kidnapped her from her own wedding on a motorcycle. The guy had looked vaguely familiar....
“At any rate, Gramps died two years ago. Six months later, Grandma went. She’d been in failing health, and I think she was so lonely without him, she simply didn’t want to go on living.”
“So you carried the burden of running this place and taking care of your grandparents on your own for all those years?” She’d barely been more than a kid, Garrett realized, and had her own child to raise.
“Bud does his share. And without his job at the factory, we never would have made it. He gave up an agricultural engineering degree to stay home.”
Garrett had emptied one bag of feed and shouldered the next one. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. When our mother got tired of playing at being a parent, Gramps and Grandma took us in without blinking an eye. Frankly it was the best thing that could have happened to us.”
That revelation rocked Garrett back on his heels. He’d never given any thought to why she’d been living with her grandparents. Now he suspected there was an ugly side to her past. And that she was a survivor.
The Hog-Tied Groom (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #3) Page 4
