by Maisey Yates
His words were a million times more galling than commentary about her figure ever could be. “Oh.”
“I told you, it’s ungentlemanly. And I didn’t want to go there. But, the fact remains, you lost. I was right.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. He was right. She had lasted all of twelve hours at his place without jumping his bones. Of course, there had been extenuating circumstances. But it was very likely there would always be some kind of circumstance. Something that was distressing or upsetting. And what would she do then? Would she always run to him? Seek shelter in his arms?
“It was an anomaly,” she lied.
“No,” he said emphatically, “it’s us. It’s always going to be messy, it’s always going to be intense, but it’s always going to be there between us. So, what’s the downside to getting married?”
“Bitter unhappiness and a potential ugly divorce?”
“I guess those are possibilities. But those are always possibilities when you jump into a relationship. I think we’re better off trying to make a family with each other than we are trying to make one with someone else, don’t you?”
The logic in his statement shook something loose inside of her. Probably the newfound insecurity that she felt over every little thing that she suddenly realized she couldn’t do. She had never noticed the dearth of skills in her possession because she had never been forced to confront them. But now, she was poised on the brink of being the responsible adult in the room, and she suddenly realized she didn’t know how to be a responsible adult.
“Pregnancy is not the right reason to get married,” she insisted.
“What are the right reasons to get married, then? Why did your parents get married?”
She shrugged. She honestly didn’t have the answer to that question. “I don’t really know.”
“We have a lot more between us than a hell of a lot of people do. The kind of attraction we have... That’s not normal. It’s also the problem. It’s why we can’t pretend we’re just going to be platonic parenting partners. Because you and I will get drunk one New Year’s Eve and screw things up royally for whatever relationship we’re actively trying to have. Give our child false hope of being together one Christmas when they catch us making out under the mistletoe. And they will. Because what we have is too strong to ignore. And it’s as good a foundation as any in my opinion.”
“Why did you marry your first wife? Because she was pregnant. And I assume you were attracted to her.”
He shook his head. “Not like this. I married her because it was the right thing to do. When I say that, I mean morally. I felt really strongly about it at the time. I can’t say that I don’t now. It’s pretty ingrained. In spite of the fact that I more or less walked away from what my father taught me, I still believe a lot of what the old man says. But it’s more than that with us. It’s common sense.”
“To you.” And to her. She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to admit that she was starting to think he might not be as crazy as she had initially accused him of being.
He lifted up one of the plates that was sitting on the tray. “Croissants?”
She eyed the offered treat suspiciously. “Did you make these?”
“I did. I mean, they were frozen, and I set them out overnight to rise but I baked them.”
“Wow.” She picked one up off the plate and took a bite of it. It was flaky and perfect. And she hated him for being more proficient in the kitchen than she was.
“We have a lot more going for us than most people,” he repeated. “Plus, I make coffee and croissants. I think we can make this work.”
She looked around his bedroom, at the complete matching furniture set. It was sparse, sure. The navy blue curtains totally practical and nothing more. The bedspread was the same flannel as the shirts that he wore, leading her to believe he’d gotten some kind of deal on the fabric and commissioned a seamstress to do the work for him.
The bed frame was large, made from natural wood, and the dresser and nightstands matched. It was very much a man’s space, but it was definitely lived in. Much more than the bedroom in the little house she was currently inhabiting.
“If we get married you’re going to have options,” he continued. “You won’t have to work. Especially if I get my brewery business off the ground. You can decide whether or not you want to be a stay-at-home mom. Or if you want to get a job. Start up a business. Go back to school for something else. If you have me to help support you, to help with the child, your options are a lot more open. I’ll pay child support if you aren’t with me, but that’s different than being part of the same household. It’s never going to be as much.”
He was dangling a very impressive carrot in front of her nose. She wished that she were a little bit stronger. That it wasn’t quite so appealing. That she wasn’t quite so afraid.
He was the biggest enticement he was offering and he didn’t even know it. She was afraid of being alone, and he was offering her someone to stand with. She didn’t know she was strong enough to refuse.
At the moment, she didn’t even know why she was trying to refuse. He was talking about giving her child a family. And, looking at the state of her own family, she didn’t really have all that much to bring to the table.
“Do you see your parents?” she asked. Suddenly, the answer seemed imperative.
“Not as often as I should. But I’m speaking to them, if that’s what you mean.”
“Did you tell them about the baby?”
“No. I didn’t. Because now, for the second time in my life, I have to make that phone call. And I can’t say I’m especially looking forward to it.”
“What was it like for them? When you came back. When you lost custody of Callie.” She felt almost guilty bringing Callie up again. But Callie was the driving force behind Ace’s actions and she wanted to fully understand all of it. Everything.
The far-reaching ramification it had on everyone she, and her own child, would eventually touch.
“They had come out to Texas to visit a couple of times,” he said. “They had only seen her twice. But that didn’t matter. They couldn’t have loved her more. And Hayley, my sister... She was a great aunt. Always so excited to hear about how Callie was growing. They’re going to be... They’re going to be thrilled. No matter what, trust me when I tell you they’re going to be happy to have a grandbaby to spoil. Especially one here in town.”
A sudden horrific thought occurred to her. “Oh my gosh. I’m pregnant with the pastor’s son’s baby out of wedlock.” She looked up at him. “Your parents are going to think I’m a scarlet woman.”
“My parents are under no illusions about my behavior. They know exactly who I am. They know exactly the kind of thing I do. To their credit, they don’t say much about it. But I’ve never been under the impression they approve much of me.”
She set her coffee on the nightstand and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry about all of this.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m not sorry, Sierra. And I know that may not be something you’re ready to hear right now. But I’m not. I was a good father. And I didn’t think that I ever wanted to be a father again. Not after the way things ended last time. It hurt. Nobody wants to subject themselves to that kind of thing twice. But, now that it’s happening, now that I have a chance again, I know that I want this. You’re giving me a second chance, and I kind of hate saying that to you. I know you didn’t ask to be my second chance.”
His words made her made her heart freeze into a little block in her chest. “I... No, I didn’t. But I don’t suppose you can help but feel that way.”
“I want this baby. I would like for us to be a family.”
“And as far as us not...loving each other?”
He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that ricocheted through her and hit her
little frozen chunk of heart, making it hurt. “I’ve been in love. I married Denise because she was pregnant, but you have to understand that I wanted to marry her. I had been wanting to marry her, but I thought it was too soon. But then there was the baby and...I was thrilled when she said yes. I wanted to spend my life with her. I chose her. She was the first woman I’d ever been with.”
“You mentioned that.”
“I used to be a good boy, Sierra,” he said, looking at her over his mug, looking like very much not-a-good boy. “I was a virgin until I was twenty-one.”
“Holy crap.”
“Yep.”
“You were...you were a very good boy, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t even cuss above a whisper until I joined the circuit. And the first time I did that...I waited for a lightning bolt. If not from God, direct from my dad.”
“You didn’t cuss?”
“Shit, no,” he said, his expression straight.
“I... You’re different.”
He grinned. “Well. Obviously my experience with love and marriage had a profound effect on me. In a few ways. I was naive then. I was blinded by the circumstances. I don’t want love, not now. I want someone who is committed to building a family. Someone I’m happy enough to come home to. Someone I’m happy to go to bed with at night, and who’s happy to go to bed with me. I think that sounds like a pretty damn good life, don’t you?”
The picture that he painted wasn’t the warmest one. It wasn’t a perfect fairy tale full of hearts and roses. But she couldn’t deny that it was warmer and rosier than the idea of her living across the property. Of their child having to choose between sleeping in the bigger, more beautiful house, or staying in the little one with her.
“I bought all that stuff for my house,” she said.
“And we can use it when we have guests. If you like it better than you like my dishes, we can trade dishes. This is going to be your house too when you marry me, Sierra, and you’re free to put your mark on it.”
Tears started to spill from her eyes again, sudden, unexpected. “Why do you keep having to be so nice to me?”
“Why are you so upset about it?”
“Because you make it harder and harder to say no. You make me feel like it’s stupid to say no.”
“Because it is,” he said, his tone unrepentant. “We’re in this together. So, let’s be in this together.”
She took another sip of her coffee and adjusted the blankets again. Then she swallowed hard and looked up, meeting his gaze. “Okay, Ace. I’ll marry you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ACE RARELY SHOWED UP at his parents’ house without calling beforehand. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had done so in recent years. But he was here now, before heading over to the bar, feeling as nervous as a high school kid who had been caught misbehaving.
Or what he assumed a high school kid felt like when he’d been caught misbehaving. Ace had never misbehaved in high school.
It was a Monday, so the church was closed, and that meant he was pretty sure his father was at home. Unless they were out at some friends’ house having an early dinner and playing cribbage. Which seemed like something like they might do.
He pulled into the driveway of the modest white house, and saw the same two old—but pristine—cars in the driveway. Which meant odds were both of his parents were home. He let out a heavy sigh and put his truck in Park.
He sat there a moment, then got out, making his way to the front door. He took his hat off and knocked. He heard footsteps, then the door opened. It was his mother. Her eyes—brown eyes that were exact mirrors of his own—rounded when she saw him.
She looked so small these days. So much older than when he pictured her in his mind. When he thought of his mom, he still thought of her as she’d looked about the time he’d graduated high school. It shocked him every time, how far removed from that she was. How many years had passed with him barely bothering to come by for a visit.
“Ace,” she said. “What a nice surprise.”
He cleared his throat. “Is Dad home?”
“No, he isn’t. He went out fishing with Bud today. Do you want to come in?”
He shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t. I just... I wanted to tell you both something. But I’ll just tell you.”
Her entire face fell. “You’re leaving again, are you?” Her voice was tinged with a kind of fear he wouldn’t have associated with her thinking he was leaving. He didn’t see them often enough for it to make a real impact, in his mind. But she was...impacted by the thought.
“No,” he said. “Not leaving. Actually, I’m opening up another business across town.”
His mother’s expression softened. “That’s really nice. What is it going to be?”
“Well, a brewery. So, still alcohol. But a restaurant, too.”
Her smile widened a little bit. “I imagine we’ll be able to come to that.”
Something shifted in his chest, cracking the wall of granite he kept built up nice and high. “I’d like that. Just let me know, anytime. You know I’ll save your table.”
“I know you will.” She let silence linger for a moment. “What else did you come to talk to me about? I don’t think it was the new business or you would have been by to tell me about it a lot earlier.”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m getting married.”
A look of pure joy flashed across his mother’s face and he felt lower than a bag of worms for not making it very clear right from the beginning exactly what kind of marriage it was. But why should he tell her? Why should any of them know? He and Sierra were going to make a relationship that lasted, based on their desire to do something good for their child. No one had to know the finer details about their feelings for each other. No one needed to know about the circumstances surrounding the conception of the baby.
“Yeah. I mean, there’s something else, too, though. And you probably won’t like it. She’s... She’s pregnant.”
He really did feel like a naughty sixteen-year-old. Or, like the embarrassed twenty-two-year-old he’d been calling thirteen years ago to tell his parents he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant.
“Oh, well,” she said, fighting a thread of disappointment in her voice. “It does seem to be the way people do things these days.”
Or at least the way he did things.
His mother must have caught something in his face, because she continued, “That other woman you married... The baby wasn’t even yours. So, don’t think I’m judging it as the same thing.”
“And you figure this time for sure it’s mine?”
“I figure you’re not the kind of man who makes mistakes twice,” she said. “At least, not the exact same mistakes.” She shook her head a little. “You do have your particular vices.”
She meant women, he knew that.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sierra is a good girl. A nice girl. You’ll like her.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “Sierra. Why do I know that name?”
“Sierra West. The West family.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh.”
“Yes. Imagine how thrilled her parents are going to be that she’s stuck with me.”
Her expression turned fierce. “She could do a lot worse. And spare few people can do better.”
The confidence in his mother’s voice, the certainty with which she paid him that compliment, was a hell of a lot more than he deserved from anyone, really, but most of all from his mother, who had never really gotten anything special from him.
Nothing other than an adult son who could barely deal with his own issues well enough to engage with his family.
A son who was ashamed to go over for dinner because he smelled like
whiskey. From pouring it all night and drinking it all night.
Somehow she still thought he was the best of something.
He wasn’t sure he was the best of anything.
“I appreciate that,” he said, the words coming out rough.
“It’s the truth, Ace. Whether you think so or not.”
“Well,” he said, “it’s your truth.”
She smiled sadly at him, stepping to the side in the entry. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
He shook his head. “No. I have to get to work. The town won’t send itself to hell in a handbasket. Someone has to give it a shove.”
“I’ve never once thought anything bad about what you do for a living,” she said, her tone soft.
For a second, her words struck him completely dumb. Made him question a whole lot of things. Question how much baggage he was bringing to their house every time he had dinner. How much of it he was unpacking and putting out on the table without even being asked to.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to you later, Mom. We’ll have to do another dinner sometime soon.”
“Do you want me to tell your father about your engagement?”
Ace nodded, taking a step back away from the door. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“And Hayley?”
“I’ll... I’ll give her a call.”
He turned away from the house and walked back to his truck, getting into the cab and slamming the door behind him. He watched as his mother closed the front door, and then he just stared at the house. At the familiar shape of it.
The small, rectangular lawn. The little brick pathway. The same faded curtains hanging in the windows that had always been there. It was like looking at a photograph he’d seen a million times before. But a photograph of a place he’d never been.
He felt so disconnected from this. So disconnected from the man he had been when he had first left this house in search of something bigger and better on the rodeo circuit. It didn’t feel like home, because he didn’t feel the same.
He damn well wished that it did. He wished that he could experience that rush of rightness, of homecoming, that he knew you were supposed to feel when you returned to your childhood house.
