Marry Me

by Cheryl Holt

"Why would he behave that way? I don't believe it."

  Brittney shrugged. "I didn't want to believe it either, but I'm not stupid. I can understand plain English."

  "He was crazy about you! I'm positive he was."

  "It was all a game to lure me into their lives. I liked them so much, and I thought they were…" She let out a heavy breath. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

  She was wearing her bathing suit, a cover-up over top. She grabbed the hem and tugged it off.

  "I'd like to be by myself for awhile," she said. "Would you mind heading to the house on your own?"

  "Okay."

  "And why don't you check out those reservations to Colorado."

  "I will."

  "Maybe you could book a flight for tonight."

  Without another word, she waded into the water until she was past the breaking surf. She stood, bobbing in the waves and staring out at the horizon.

  Amy watched her, expecting her to turn around, to rejoin Amy on the beach. But when she gave no indication that she'd be getting out anytime soon, Amy walked on to the house as Brittney had asked her to do.

  She climbed up onto the verandah and sat in a chair, still nervously watching Brittney, still hoping she'd come out of the water.

  Now that Amy had seen her, now that they'd spoken, she was more concerned about her than ever. She went inside, found her phone, and dialed Dustin.

  It was the only time they'd been apart since the wedding, and he answered on the first ring.

  "How's it going?" he inquired.

  "Your sister is a mess."

  "That's not news. She's always been a mess."

  "I need you to find out something for me."

  "Anything, you know that. What is it?"

  "I want you to talk to Matt Monroe."

  "Matt Monroe?"

  "Yes. I think he broke her heart."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Just some of Brittney's comments. She claimed Ken Scott was lying about being her father, that Matt was scamming her for money, but—"

  "I'll kill him," Dustin interrupted. "I will absolutely kill him."

  "Calm down, big boy."

  "I won't calm down. That guy and his father-in-law are a menace. I wish to God I'd handled this weeks ago. The minute she told me about it, I should have driven over there and busted some heads."

  "I like Matt."

  "You would," he snorted.

  "He's not the type to swindle somebody, so we have to figure out what's really going on."

  "Oh, I'll figure out what's going on all right, and when I'm done with him, Monroe better pray that all his limbs are still attached."

  * * *

  "How's your eye?"

  "Stop asking me about my damned eye. It's fine; it's completely healed. You can't even tell I was injured."

  Ken glared at Matt. Ever since the day Matt had been arrested, he'd been on a rampage. There was no reasoning with him. There was no living with him. Ken and Jeremy ducked into corners and kept out of his way.

  His perpetual bad mood was annoying. Matt wasn't the only one who was devastated. He wasn't the only one who was grieving.

  "You shouldn't mouth off to the cops," Ken scolded.

  "Thank you for reminding me for the thousandth time."

  "You're lucky Brittney bailed your ass out of jail. If it had been up to me, I'd have left you there."

  "Thank you again, and don't mention Brittney to me. I'm sick of hearing about her."

  "Why shouldn't I talk about her?"

  "What good does it do?"

  "I miss her," Ken said.

  "You miss a fantasy."

  They were in the kitchen—Ken at the table, Matt washing the dishes—and bickering like a pair of angry housewives.

  School was out, summer vacation started, and Jeremy was off playing ball with friends, for which Ken was grateful. Ken liked to poke and prod Matt about Brittney, liked to needle and offend, but he couldn't pester him when Jeremy was listening.

  He'd been so sure that Matt and Brittney would wind up together, but maybe Matt was right. Maybe it had all been an old man's stupid fantasy.

  "Do you think she'll ever come back to see us?" Ken hated the plaintive tone in his voice.

  "Why would she?"

  "Or call me? Would it kill her to pick up a phone? I realize you were a total jerk to her, but what did I do?"

  Matt trudged over and pulled out a chair. He slumped down into it.

  "She didn't leave because of you," he said, admitting what he'd revealed weeks earlier. "I told her to go away. Blame me, not her."

  "Prick."

  "She didn't even argue, Ken. She just went. That's how much she cared about you."

  "Don't you dare say she didn't care about me!"

  "She probably cared—in her own detached Merriweather way. But so what? There wasn't any reason for her to hang around. I warned you. You were being crazy, expecting a different ending."

  "You're wrong," Ken insisted. "There was every reason for her to stay. If she doesn't belong with me, where does she belong?"

  "With her rich, powerful family. With her own kind. We couldn't give her anything she needed, and you were a fool to suppose we could."

  Weary and drained, Matt sighed. They'd been debating the issue forever, and neither would yield on any point.

  Ken had been so sure about Brittney. He'd convinced himself that their blood bond would provide a magnet that couldn't be severed. Yet she'd trotted off without a goodbye.

  He still couldn't believe it.

  "She was happy with me," he tried to claim.

  "She was here five days, Ken." Matt circled them back to the spot where they always landed. "It was a game to her. She could have been acting out a part in a play. How did it go? Let's review: We were raided by the police, with me beat up and in jail. Jeremy upset. Her brothers throwing their weight around. News trucks in the yard." He scoffed. "And you wonder why she left."

  Ken sighed too, with regret and remorse. He'd thought it would be so simple to bring her home. He'd planned it for years, but plans and reality often collided.

  "I can't imagine what her mother said about me," Ken lamented.

  "I can. She's such a witch. What possessed you to sleep with her? I can't picture it."

  "She was lonely; it was easy to persuade her."

  "Next you'll tell me it was her idea, that she couldn't resist you."

  "She couldn't. If you'd ever met her husband, you'd understand."

  "I'll never understand. Not if I live to be a hundred."

  Ken knew that Brittney had talked to her mother about him, because a couple of high-powered lawyers had shown up at their door.

  They'd slapped a bunch of legal documents into Ken's hand. He'd been accused of slander, had been ordered to cease and desist, had been threatened with lawsuits that would seek massive damages, which was silly. He didn't own any property worth taking, and Jacquelyn could have it all, if he could just have Brittney in his life for awhile.

  But Jacquelyn had made her point. She had no intention of meekly admitting the truth. She'd fight him to the bitter end, and apparently, she'd won the war.

  It was clear she'd told Brittney that Ken was a liar, and Brittney had never come back to ask Ken for his side of the story, hadn't given him a chance to counter Jacquelyn's horrid version.

  He'd been positive she would. They could have arranged a DNA test, could have proved her mother wrong.

  Because he'd spent five days with her, he'd assumed he could predict how she'd act. He'd been certain she'd have a little faith, but as Matt kept mentioning, she'd abandoned Ken at the first hint of trouble.

  "I just wish you hadn't been so mean to her," Ken said. "She didn't deserve it."

  "I couldn't figure out how else to make her go."

  "If you hadn't been so darn mean…"

  She might have visited before she left. She might have called or written. She wouldn't be feeling so betrayed and angry. He couldn't
stop obsessing over all the ways he might have engineered a better conclusion.

  There was a knock on the front door, but neither of them rose to answer it.

  Ken leaned over and yelled, "It's open. Come on in."

  Two men entered, and when Ken saw who it was, he grimaced.

  "Crap."

  Dustin and Lucas Merriweather strolled in—looking furious and aggrieved and ready to punch somebody.

  "Obviously," Ken sneered at Matt, "they're here to see you."

  Matt stood and glared at them. "What the hell do you two want? There aren't any cops around today to protect your rich, sorry asses, so don't even think about stirring up any trouble."

  "Shut up, Monroe," Lucas Merriweather said.

  Dustin Merriweather approached Matt until they were toe to toe. He was eager to brawl, and Ken rolled his eyes.

  "No fighting in my kitchen," he sternly warned. "If you're planning to throw some fists, go outside."

  "I don't want to fight," Dustin tightly asserted. "I want to talk about my sister." He narrowed his gaze, studying Matt as if he was scum on the floor. "What did you do to her?"

  "What did I do? She wanted to stay with us, but I wouldn't let her. You should be glad. You should be thanking me."

  "You broke her heart, you bastard."

  "I couldn't have. She'd have had to care about me for me to break her heart."

  "You broke it," Dustin insisted, "and nobody hurts my sister and gets away with it."

  "Oh, please…" Matt snorted. "Save your outrage for someone who believes you."

  "He was an absolute shit to her," Ken unhelpfully supplied.

  "That's what I hear," Lucas Merriweather said.

  "Tell me why you were so awful," Dustin Merriweather said to Matt. "Tell me all of it, and don't leave anything out."

  "I've explained what you need to know: She wanted to stay here with Ken and me, but I refused to let her. What else would you like me to say about it?"

  Dustin Merriweather peered over at Ken. "Are you Brittney's biological father?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you prove it?"

  "Yes."

  Dustin whipped his irate attention back to Matt. "How about if we start with that little discussion? We'll move on from there."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Matt sighed, glad that he was almost home. He'd been up in the high country, had been on the road for hours driving back, and he was relieved that the trip was about finished.

  The past week, Brandon Talbot had had him on a distasteful job, watching the airport in Aspen on behalf of a faithless husband who was partying with his girlfriend. The guy had been worried that his wife's brothers—a couple of gangsters from Vegas—might show up and do him bodily harm.

  Matt had mixed feelings about the entire charade. He wasn't keen on adultery, so he wouldn't have minded if the two brothers had caught up with his client. But Matt had recently suffered through his own visit by a pair of concerned brothers. Though no bodily harm had been inflicted, it wasn't an experience Matt would wish on anyone.

  He was still seething over Dustin and Lucas Merriweather and their unwelcome appearance in Ken's kitchen.

  Matt had been ceaselessly and exhaustively explaining himself. To Ken. To Jeremy. To himself. It was galling to have the Merriweather brothers added to that list.

  He'd done what was best for Brittney, and he wouldn't apologize. He wanted people to quit barking at him. He wanted people to quit telling him he was an asshole. He wanted to be left the hell alone.

  Brittney's former fiancé was in jail, unable to make bail, and permanently out of the picture. For whatever part he and Ken had played in preventing that farce, Matt was extremely grateful.

  Now, she needed to hook up with someone worthy of her, someone who would love her as she deserved to be loved. Surely, there was some rich, obnoxious prick out there who fit the bill.

  If it killed him to imagine it, if it killed him to think of her with another man, that was simply the price he had to pay for letting her go. He would not spend the rest of his life regretting that he was disabled, broke, and absolutely unsuitable for her.

  Except that he thought about her constantly, wondering where she was, what she was doing, if she was okay. She was like a bad rash that kept popping up at the most inopportune moments.

  When he was feeling particularly low, he'd wish he had a time machine so he could travel back and change the ending. It would be so sweet to come home and find her in the kitchen. It would be so sweet to hear that none of his terrible words had been spoken, that they'd never argued, that he'd never hurt her.

  "Get a grip, Monroe," he muttered.

  She was better off without him. She'd always be better off without him, and he had to stop pretending that he could have meant something to her.

  He made the last turn that would take him down their street, and when he did, he hit the brakes and lurched over to the curb.

  There was a moving truck in front of the house, and several burly laborers were lugging his ratty, worn couch down the sidewalk. They tossed it into the truck, which was partially full of a jumbled pile of other items that had been haphazardly pitched in. He studied the heap, seeing a familiar lamp, an old coffee table, his…bed and dresser?

  "What the hell…?"

  He slammed the car into park and stomped into the yard. The driveway was covered with ladders, tarps, and other paint supplies as if somebody was painting.

  He stared down to the corner, checking the street sign, worried that he'd finally lost it, that he'd arrived at the wrong address by mistake. But no. He was at the right place.

  Scowling, he went up the steps and into the living room. He shook his head to clear his vision, but it didn't help.

  The house had been totally transformed. He felt as if he'd fallen into the pages of a magazine, as if a TV makeover crew had visited.

  The walls were freshly painted, a warm peach shade that completely altered the ambiance. There was new furniture, new rugs, new drapes, lots of pillows, knitted throws, and potted plants. Their dreary bachelors' digs had vanished, and he should have been aghast, but it all looked so comfortable and inviting.

  Jeremy bounced down the stairs. "Hey Matt, when did you get back?"

  "I just pulled in."

  His son gestured around at the appealing decor. "Pretty cool, huh?"

  "Way cool."

  "Want to see my room? It's the best one of all."

  "In a minute, kiddo. Where's Ken?"

  "Out in the backyard, talking to the bricklayers."

  "Bricklayers?"

  "They're putting in a stone patio so we can have parties and stuff. And guess what?"

  "What?"

  "There'll be a Jacuzzi—so you can soak in it when you're sore. Isn't that great?"

  "Yeah, great…" Matt murmured. "Did we win the lottery?"

  Jeremy grinned. "You could say that."

  Matt stumbled away and headed into the kitchen. As he entered, the door opened, and Brittney waltzed in, Ken directly behind her.

  "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow," Brittney said to Matt.

  "What's going on?"

  Instead of answering, she slipped an arm around his waist and kissed him on the mouth.

  "Glad you're home safe and sound."

  She was smiling, acting as if they'd never been separated a single day. Matt was so disoriented that he felt dizzy. He shifted away from her so he could balance himself against the counter.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "What does it look like?" she replied.

  "It looks like you bought us off and moved in."

  "That about covers it." She rose on tiptoe and kissed him again. "I forgive you. Now stop being such a grump."

  "She came back." Ken smirked. "I knew she would, and it gives me enormous pleasure to inform you that I was right about her and you were wrong."

  "Has she been here all week?" Matt inquired.

  "Yup. She arrived
the minute you left for Aspen."

  "We were hoping," Brittney explained, "to have everything finished before you returned. We almost made it."

  "She wanted to take us over to live in that mansion of hers—"

  "My brothers said I could have it," she interjected. "Lucas isn't selling it after all."

  "—but I told her," Ken kept on, "that I'd just as soon stay here. She swore she'd only stay with me if I let her fix up this dump."

  "Isn't that special," Matt sarcastically chided.

  "She's rich," Ken retorted. "She won't miss a penny."

  "I won't," Brittney agreed.

  "I wasn't about to tell her no," Ken declared.

  Matt glowered at Ken. "You've been planning this for awhile?"

  "Yes," Ken blithely admitted.

  "Behind my back? Do I live here too or don't I? Doesn't my opinion count?"

  "No."

  "Considering what a jerk you've been," Brittney added, "it wasn't as if we'd beg your permission."

  He frowned, his confusion growing by the second. "I didn't ask for any of this."

  "I know, but I'm giving it to you anyway," Brittney said. "So shut up, be gracious, and quit complaining."

  He glared at her, at Ken. They were smug, grinning like a couple of kids who'd pulled off the best prank ever.

  He wanted to shake them. Why was he the only one able to assess this situation in a realistic way? Why was he the only one who saw disaster looming?

  He didn't want anyone to be hurt. Not her. Not Ken. Not Jeremy. And most particularly not himself. He couldn't bear to be hurt by her.

  "We need to talk," he told her.

  "Okay, but you have to promise not to shout."

  "I'm not promising anything."

  He grabbed her arm and led her to the backyard, but it was full of masons who were laying the new patio. He spun and dragged her to the living room, where two guys were bolting a big screen TV to the wall.

  Wasn't there a quiet spot where a man could have a private conversation?

  He started up the stairs, his fist still gripping her arm so she couldn't escape.

  "Just so you know," Ken called from the kitchen, "she's staying. For good."

  "We'll see about that," Matt grumbled.

  "Yes, we will," Ken replied, "and if you don't like it, you can leave. 'Cuz I want her here more than you."