Jeremiah's Bogus Bride

by Liz Isaacson

  She ducked her head, smiling. “Maybe that’s true.”

  Several beats of silence passed, and Jeremiah finished his cheeseburger. “Look, I didn’t mean to say anything about the baby photography,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I mean, that lady who does the vegetables and babies? She must be a friend of yours.”

  “She…is.”

  “I didn’t mean to say anything mean about it. It’s good photography.”

  “Was that your photography question?” she asked, leaning forward onto her elbows, a flirtatious look dancing across her face now.

  He laughed and shook his head. “No. I didn’t actually have a photography question. You knew that, right?”

  Whitney nodded, oh-so-slowly. “I need to apologize too.”

  “Yeah? For what?”

  “Not answering you.” She swallowed, those big, dark eyes almost swallowing his whole soul when they were mournful. “When I called you earlier, and you didn’t answer. Wow.” She shook her head, her dark hair swaying slightly. “That hurt, and…I’m sorry if I made you feel like that.”

  Jeremiah experienced the tightness in his chest, the helplessness, the anger that had come when Whitney hadn’t picked up his calls or answered his texts. He nodded, the only acceptance of her apology he could muster.

  He got up and picked up her plate, then his. He slid the trash into the garbage can and set the plates in the sink, his mind telling him to confide in her about where he’d been that morning, but his heart screaming out a warning to keep his secrets.

  Secrets.

  How he hated those.

  “How about a deal?” he asked.

  “A deal?” Whitney got up and joined him, the island separating them.

  “You want to walk around the ranch? See what spring is like out here?” He rounded the island and extended his hand toward her.

  She put her fingers through his, and all the things in Jeremiah’s life that had been skewed suddenly aligned. A sigh physically passed through him, and he couldn’t help smiling. “Here’s the deal,” he said when they got to the back door. The air outside wasn’t super-heated today the way it would be in July, August, and September, and for that, Jeremiah was grateful.

  “I’ll tell you why I didn’t answer this morning, if you’ll tell me why you disappeared in January.”

  Whitney stayed silent as they crossed the deck and went down the steps to the lawn. She said nothing as they left the homestead behind and stepped onto the ranch. “All right,” she said. “You have yourself a deal.” She looked at him. “You go first.”

  Jeremiah suddenly needed a lot of steps to find the right words for her. He took her out to the horse pasture, where Lightfoot and Stony snacked on grass. “All right. I couldn’t answer, because I actually put my phone in a locker during my counseling sessions. It’s a device-free zone.”

  He looked at her, so many things now laid open, at least for him. “Your turn.”

  She blinked, clearly not expecting him to say that. “My turn? You’re in counseling?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “For what?”

  Oh, she didn’t get to know about Laura Ann and the failed wedding yet. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Will I get to find out?”

  “Depends on how long you stick around this time,” he said, not intending to be unkind. He still saw her face fall. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “No,” she said, her voice pitched a bit high. “No, I deserve that.”

  He took a butterscotch candy out of his pocket and unwrapped it, waiting for Whitney to take her turn and tell him why she’d cut him out of her life four months ago. She took a deep breath as if she’d start talking, but then she didn’t.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, withdrawing another candy for Lightfoot, who’d been slower than Stony in coming over to the fence for a sweet.

  Chapter Six

  Whitney wanted one of the treats from Jeremiah’s pocket. She reached over, palm up, and he placed a wrapped peppermint in her hand without comment. He really was too good for her. And what would he think when she told him the truth?

  She thought about making something up, but her brain spun, unable to land on any one story that sounded reasonable. Plus, she didn’t want to lie to him. She knew from experience that good relationships weren’t formed on a foundation of untruths.

  “There’s this guy,” she started, wishing she’d chosen any other way to begin. “My former boyfriend, I guess. He seems to come in and out of my life whenever he wants, and….” She shrugged. “For some reason, I let him.”

  Jeremiah said nothing, and when Whitney dared to look at him, she found him studying the horizon. His gaze centered somewhere past the horses she knew he loved, and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

  “It’s really over with Blake this time,” she said.

  “Is it? Or did he just leave town?” He sucked in a breath in tandem with Whitney. “I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I didn’t mean that. I apologize.”

  Whitney reached for his hand, somewhat surprised when he let her touch him. He might have flinched; she wasn’t really sure. His fingers curled around hers, sending warmth down to the coldest part of her soul. And while she’d just said her relationship with Blake was over, she hadn’t really believed herself.

  She did now.

  His touch was nothing like Jeremiah’s, which had fireworks exploding through every cell in her body. He was mature, several years older than Whitney, and she sure did like the silver which salted his sideburns. But her attraction to him was so much more than physical.

  “You know,” she said, sure this stream-of-conscious talking was going to land her in serious trouble. “When I first met you, I thought you were just this grumpy cowboy. Good-looking, sure. But with a huge ego, and all this land he didn’t want to share with anyone.”

  Jeremiah turned his head and looked at her, those dark eyes devouring her in less time than it took to breathe.

  “But I wanted to shoot on this land, and so I called you.” She edged closer to him, feeling wild and reckless and absolutely unstoppable. She’d always wanted a relationship where she could talk about how she really felt, and Blake had never allowed that. No one had. And here was Jeremiah, just waiting for her to say whatever she wanted.

  “And called you. And texted. And you weren’t all that nice.” She bumped him with her hip, glad when the tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly. “And then, sometime in between all the calls, and all the times you hung up on me, I started to like you. You know, like you.”

  She could see the sweeping romance before her, and she could only imagine telling it to her children one day. Whitney reminded herself that she was standing at the fence with Jeremiah and two horses. This was reality, not fantasy.

  “And then, one magical day, you called and asked me to come out to the ranch. I thought I’d maybe died and gone to heaven. Not only were you nice, but I got to come out to this beautiful ranch?” She sighed and shook her head at the beauty spread before her. “I love Texas, and Three Rivers, and you own a mighty amazing piece of it. You take good care of it, almost like you can feel the spirit of the land the way I can.”

  “I can,” he said quietly.

  “Anyway.” She exhaled, taking a moment to appreciate that he did feel things on a deep level. Of course he did. That was why he’d held her at arm’s length for so long. It was why he’d made this deal. He wanted to know what he was getting into if he offered her his forgiveness.

  Please, she prayed, unable to add more to the plea.

  “Anyway,” she said again. “The photo shoot was amazing. Holding your hand is life-changing. I had so much fun at the New Year’s Eve parade.”

  “And yet, you cut me off after that,” he said, the hurt right there in between every syllable, every letter.

  “I know,” she said. “I don’t know how to apologize enough.” She leaned her head against his bicep, wishing
he’d curl that arm around her and hold her against him. He remained as unyielding as she’d suspected he would. “Blake was only here for ten weeks, and now he’s off somewhere else. My mother and sister told me to get over him. Move on.”

  “How long have you been with Blake?”

  “Actual physical time? Probably over a year, spread out across two and a half. Blake always has some wonderful thing he wants to do. Some amazing job in another part of the country.” Whitney heard the bitterness in her words as it coursed through her whole body. She didn’t even try to bite it back. “And I’m not that wonderful, or that amazing.” She shrugged again, her mouth tightening as she fought back tears. “Maybe I should be in therapy.” A half-laugh, half-sob came out of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  Jeremiah nodded a few times and looked away from her. Without being able to see his face, she had no idea what he was thinking. Not long passed before he said, “I think you’re wonderful and amazing, Whitney Wilde.” He looked back at her. Right at her. “Would you go to dinner with me this weekend?”

  “Yes,” she said without any hesitation, the utmost relief running through her the way fast-moving water did as it flowed downhill. “Yes, I’d love to.”

  A smile touched that mouth she’d spent far too long dreaming about, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I can get you in with Doctor Wagstaff. He’s really good.” He tugged her away from the fence. “It’s way too hot to stand out here in the sun. I put a swing in the oak tree out front. Did you see it when you came in?”

  “No,” she said. “I was a mess when I got here.”

  “You were?”

  “Oh, come on,” she said, glad the mood between them was lighter. “Don’t tell me you weren’t nervous as you climbed my front steps and knocked on my door.”

  “Maybe a little,” he admitted.

  “Yeah, a little,” she said, grinning at the chickens as they passed. They walked in companionable silence through the yard to the giant oak tree that stood guard in the front yard at Seven Sons Ranch. She’d seen it in all its glory at Christmastime, and she almost wished the brothers decorated it for all the holidays. Red, white, and blue streamers or stars for Independence Day, perhaps.

  He held the swing still while she sat, and then he took his place beside her. He pushed them with his foot every time they moved forward, and he did lift his arm and curl it around her shoulders when she leaned into him this time.

  “This isn’t the whole reason I’m going to counseling,” he said. “But what prompted it was when Wyatt called me broken.” He cleared his throat. “So I apologize for hanging up on you last year. And laughing when you called. And anything else that may have upset you. I was a little broken, I suppose.”

  “The counseling helps?”

  “A lot,” he said.

  They moved forward and back, forward and back.

  “Will you cook for me sometime?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

  “I tried that once,” he said. “I ended up throwing all that food away.”

  Whitney pressed her eyes closed as a wave of pain cut through her. “I’m sorry.”

  “We don’t need to spend our time together apologizing,” he said. “And if your boyfriend comes back and you want to be with him, I’d rather you just told me. I’m not a baby. I can handle the truth.”

  “Deal,” she said, wondering how many more she’d make with this gentle, strong, gorgeous man. She hoped a lot, and she thought, Thank you, as he continued to rock them back and forth, the Texas sun shining down but the oak tree protecting them from the heat of it. And inside the circle of Jeremiah Walker’s arms, Whitney felt protected from everything that could possibly go wrong, ever. She felt safe. She felt cherished. And it had been a long, long time that she’d felt any of those things.

  “Hey, Dalt,” Whitney said as she walked into her sister’s house. “Where you at?”

  “He’s in the backyard,” Billie said from her spot in the giant beanbag. She held a screen in front of her face and didn’t look at Whitney as she walked by.

  “Heya, Bill,” she said.

  “Oh, wait, Aunt Whitney.” She launched herself out of the beanbag, an earnest look on her face.

  “Yeah?” Whitney paused before entering the kitchen, where she’d continue to the backyard. She should’ve gone straight there in the first place. She knew Dalton hated being in the house when his mother was home. Whitney wasn’t too happy with Patsy at the moment either, so she understood how her nephew felt.

  “Momma said I should ask you to come take some pictures at youth group next week.”

  Of course she did, Whitney thought. “What for?” she asked, keeping all the weariness out of her voice. People were forever asking her to take pictures for this or that or the other.

  “Just for group,” Billie said. “Head shots. It’d be an hour.”

  Plus editing. “What time?”

  “Seven.”

  “Indoors?”

  “Yeah.”

  Whitney could use some of the techniques she’d been learning about in her classes. “Tuesday?”

  “Yes,” Billie. “Could you?”

  Whitney wanted to say yes, surprisingly. But she had a zillion seniors right now. She pulled out her phone and looked at her calendar. “Tuesday…Tuesday….” She had a shoot with a boy named Zach Olsen.

  “I could, but I wouldn’t be able there until seven-thirty.” She looked up at her niece. “How many kids are in your youth group?”

  “Seven.”

  Whitney could shoot seven twelve-year-old girls in twenty minutes. “Ask your group leader if seven-thirty is okay.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  “Okay.” Whitney started through the kitchen. “Let me know, ‘kay?”

  “Okay,” Billie chirped after her, and Whitney slid open the door and stepped into the backyard.

  “Ready, Dalton?” she called to her nephew.

  Dalton laid on his back on the trampoline, perfectly still. Even the Texas air was deathly quiet. Whitney paused for a moment, looking for the earphones or some other indicator that he hadn’t heard her.

  There was none. She started across the lawn, recognizing the soft snores coming from him. She smiled fondly at him, wondering how her sister could see anything bad in him. Part of her wanted to leave him to his happy, evening nap. The other part of her knew he’d be upset if they didn’t get to go driving. He only had an hour left to complete his driving requirements, and then Whitney would take him to get his driver’s license.

  “Dalton,” she said again, this time reaching out to jostle the trampoline.

  Her nephew yelped as his eyes opened, his hands coming up as if to ward off any unwanted attackers.

  “It’s just me,” Whitney said. “Do you want to go driving, or should I let you go back to sleep?”

  He looked at her, recognition in those dark eyes, so much like Whitney’s own. “Driving,” he said with a groan. “And you can take me to get my license after school tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah, that was the deal,” Whitney said. “I’ll be in the car, okay? Don’t take forever, because I’m starving and you promised me barbecue from that stand on the east side of town.”

  “I can’t afford that place.” Dalton moved to the edge of the trampoline and jumped down.

  “Promised,” Whitney said as she walked away.

  Dalton came with her, smiling. “Fine, but you’re buying.”

  “I always buy,” she said.

  “I’ll be out in two seconds,” he said, veering toward the house while she opted for the sidewalk that led beside the garage. She waited in the car for only about thirty seconds before her nephew came out. He got behind the wheel and started his pre-driving check. Mirrors. Seat position. Radio. Cell phone on silent and in the console.

  “Ready?” he asked, turning the key in the ignition.

  “Ready,” she said. “And I think you were going to tell me about Lucy May.”

  �
�I was not,” Dalton said, putting the car in reverse. Whitney grinned as his neck and ears turned red. Well, the ear she could see anyway.

  “Yes,” she said, teasing him now. “You said Lucy was talkin’ to you at lunch, and you said—” She cut off, because that was where Dalton had halted the story too. “Then your mom called, and you never finished.”

  “Nothin’ to finish.”

  “Dalton,” Whitney whined. “I’ve been dyin’ to hear what you said to her.”

  He shook his head, though Whitney knew her insane desire to know everything he did at school, everyone he talked to—especially girls—everything he liked, pleased him.

  “Did you ask her out?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe!” Whitney started laughing. “Well, I’ll have you know that you’re not the only one with a date this weekend.”

  Dalton looked at her and then back to the road. Her again. “Are you kidding? You cannot go out with that loser again!”

  “I’m not—”

  “I’ll cancel my date, and we can hang out,” he said. “I’m not letting you go out with Blake again. Nope. Not happening.” He shook his head, his fingers clenching tightly around the steering wheel. “Aunt Whitney, he’s all wrong for you.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Then why are you goin’ out with him again? Didn’t he just run off to, to…I don’t even know where he went this time!”

  “Signal,” she said. “Turn right here so we can go out to the barbecue place.”

  “That won’t take us an hour,” he said. “I need another hour.” He put on his blinker, but it was to turn left.

  “Fine,” she said. “I suppose you want to go downtown.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I need the practice in traffic.”

  Whitney’s stomach threatened to claw itself out, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Call Lucy May,” he said, and Whitney jerked her attention to him.

  “Why you callin’ her?”

  “I ain’t letting you go out with that no-good lowlife again.”