by Liz Isaacson
“Because the marriage isn’t going to be real,” he said, actually leaning closer to see how the words affected her.
She blinked quickly, almost a flinch. Could she want the marriage to be real? “Right. I’m going to keep the house so I can come back here after we….”
Jeremiah didn’t finish her sentence either. He didn’t want to break-up with this woman. He might not know everything about her yet, but what he did know was enough to know he wanted her in his life. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to fall in love again.
And as if someone had entered his mind with a duster, all the cobwebs inside his head were suddenly gone. He gazed at Whitney and leaned down to kiss her. He kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her, because he had a lot to say and no way to vocalize the words.
A few hours later, he let her lead him into another house, this one on the other side of town and with considerably more cars parked in front of it.
All evidence of their make-out session had been erased from his face. His cowboy hat perched neatly on his head, and he’d even caught forty minutes of sleep. Whitney had edited her pictures with the door closed, and Jeremiah hadn’t minded the pure peace in her house. She had a nice couch that he thought he could take many naps on, and it had just been nice to be away from the ranch and in the presence of his fiancée.
His fiancée.
He couldn’t believe those words, but he better get used to them, because one step through the front door of Whitney’s brother’s house, and Jeremiah would be enduring a lot of introductions.
The door opened up to one big room, and someone had pushed all the couches against the walls. A couple of tables had been set up next to the dining room table, and they filled the space in the dining room and living room. Adults stood in the kitchen, sat at the tables, or lingered on the couches.
Jeremiah froze, taking in all the chaos. He supposed his family could be a bit overwhelming too, especially when all the brothers were together, and especially now that they were starting to get married and have children too.
There were no babies here, though. All of the kids seemed to be older—maybe eight or nine years old and up. He reached for Whitney’s hand, all of the names they’d talked about completely abandoning him.
Whitney dropped his hand to hug her sister, and then she stepped back. “Patsy, this is Jeremiah Walker.”
No label. He couldn’t help glancing at her left hand before looking into Patsy’s face. She had the same light skin, same dark hair, but the similarities between her and Whitney stopped there. Patsy had a more square face, with lighter eyes and bushier eyebrows.
“Ma’am,” Jeremiah said.
“Nice to meet you,” Patsy said with a warm smile. “I mean, I’ve met you around town, of course. The light parade.” She cut a look to Whitney, who just smiled. So Jeremiah did too, and he asked her about her kids.
“Oh, Billie’s over there, and Dalton is around somewhere. Probably in the backyard.” She rolled her eyes, and Whitney said she’d make sure he came in for everything important.
They moved on, and Jeremiah met her brother, the one with the daughter turning seven. She, apparently, was the youngest of the nieces and nephews in the family, and Jeremiah wondered if Whitney wanted children. They hadn’t quite talked that far ahead, and he realized how much he’d put the cart before the horse.
“My momma,” Whitney said. “Molly. But you know her.”
“That I do,” Jeremiah said, sweeping his cowboy hat off his head. He felt sweaty and hot, and he sure hoped he didn’t look it. “Good to see you again, ma’am.”
Molly looked at Whitney and back to Jeremiah. “You two make a mighty fine couple,” she said, smiling for all she was worth.
“Momma,” Whitney warned, but Jeremiah had already put the ring on her finger.
“What?” Molly asked anyway, completely ignoring the danger in her daughter’s voice. “You called the other day about a possible wedding date.” She spoke the last two words as if they were scandalous.
Jeremiah looked at Whitney, who looked right back at him. She had called her mother after the hike, and she was wearing the ring. Anyone could see it, if they only looked down a couple of feet.
They seemed to be able to communicate without words at all, and Whitney lifted her left hand so her momma didn’t have to look anywhere but straight ahead. “He asked me to marry him this morning.” Whitney squealed, and it sure sounded like she was excited. Positively thrilled to become his wife. “We’re engaged!”
“Engaged. Oh, Dear Lord in Heaven.” Molly reached for the countertop and braced herself against it. Her eyes filled with tears and she laughed as she hugged Whitney tight. Then she turned to Jeremiah, and he just kept his smile plastered on his face as she embraced him too.
“Oh, I can’t even…this is so wonderful.”
Guilt filled Jeremiah, and he hated that Molly Wilde didn’t have the whole truth. But he hadn’t lied. He had asked Whitney to marry him that morning, and she had said yes. They were engaged.
“Larry, get over here,” Molly yelled over her shoulder. “Your daughter is engaged.”
Those words stopped the whole party, all the chatter, everything. Everyone came over, and Whitney showed the ring to her siblings and in-laws as if they wouldn’t believe it was true without diamond proof.
Everyone immediately looked at Jeremiah after that, and he held up his hands as if to say, What choice did I have?
He put his arm around her and pressed his lips to her cheek. She leaned into the pressure, and a collective, “Aw,” went up from her family members.
And now that Whitney’s whole family knew about the engagement, it wouldn’t be long until his brothers did too. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping over to a set of sliding glass doors and going outside.
He pulled out his phone and hesitated. Rhett had just had a baby yesterday, and Jeremiah didn’t want to burden him with the task of spreading the word about his engagement. The twins had always buddied up, and Skyler and Micah had the youngest sibling bond. Wyatt was the odd man out in the group of seven brothers, and while he had a thing going with Marcy Payne, he denied he was dating her.
“Waiting to date her,” he’d said. “When she’s ready.”
Jeremiah texted him, as he’d be the least likely to call and the most likely to have time to text everyone else.
Hey, he thumbed out. I’m at a birthday party for Whitney’s niece, but I wanted to tell the family something before they heard from someone else. Would you text or call around? I’ll call Momma later, so don’t tell her.
He read over the text a couple of times and then sent it, his pulse ricocheting between his ribs. Drawing in a deep breath, he started typing again.
Tell em what? Wyatt asked.
I’m engaged. He stared at the words, still having a hard time believing them. Whitney and I are getting married in August.
He sent the message zipping through cyberspace, and he turned to survey the lawn. A teenage boy laid in a freestanding hammock, and their eyes met.
“You must be Dalton,” Jeremiah said as the teen took out his earbuds. “You’re the smartest one in the family, you know that?”
A slow smile spread across Dalton’s face, but he made no move to get out of the hammock. “You’re Whitney’s boyfriend.”
“That’s right,” Jeremiah said. “Jeremiah Walker. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Ditto,” he said.
“Oh, and since I just told my brothers, and Whitney’s inside relaying all the details of it, you should know, I’m your aunt’s fiancé.”
Dalton’s eyes widened as pure shock crossed his face. “Really?”
“Really.” Jeremiah chuckled, hoping the engagement between him and Whitney wasn’t so ridiculous that even a teenager wouldn’t believe it.
“Wow, that’s great,” Dalton said, getting out of the hammock. He was a skinny, tall kid, but he embraced Jeremiah like they’d be best of friends. “I knew she rea
lly liked you.” He released Jeremiah and sat back in the hammock.
“Did you now?” Jeremiah pulled up a chair and sat down. “What exactly does your aunt Whitney tell you?”
Chapter Nineteen
Whitney ignored Jeremiah’s third text, her stomach a writhing mess of snakes. Life had gone back to normal after a couple of days of holding out her hand, smiling, and saying she and Jeremiah were simply mad for each other and would be married in just a few weeks.
It was more like two months, but that hadn’t stopped Momma from calling her four times a day and texting about every hour.
Jeremiah’s texts were normally the balm to her weary soul, but not when she had a newborn shoot on her calendar she hadn’t told him about. He literally never asked who she was shooting, though they had often agreed to meet after her shoots, so he sometimes asked her where.
And tonight, he wanted to take her to dinner afterward. She hadn’t told him that her shoot was after dinner, nor that she was trying out some of the lighting techniques she’d learned in her workshop. She never shot indoors, and she didn’t want him to show up at her house while she still had apples and pears on her dining room table.
She could move Bea and Wendall to earlier, use the natural light that spilled through her big back windows….
Whitney shook her head. No, she’d moved the couple and their eight-day-old newborn a couple of times already. She didn’t want to lose the business, and there was no real reason she couldn’t shoot them that evening.
Just Jeremiah.
And he did not like it when she didn’t respond to his texts. She stewed as she sat at her computer, her mind going round and round itself. The machine in front of her chimed, and she looked to the bottom righthand corner to find someone had chatted her through her Lake Winters website.
Just had a baby a few days ago. Wondering what your schedule is like? Your website says you like babies to be less than ten days old.
Whitney’s hopes shot up to the stars. Another baby! She hadn’t had one for a month, and now she might have two in one week. She smiled, already planning the second baby’s shoot.
She put her hands on the keyboard and typed. Younger is better, she said. They’re more pliable and sleep longer. Do you have something in mind for flowers, vegetables, fruits…?
My husband is a real cowboy, the woman said, adding a smiley face. He’d probably like more rustic stuff for our son.
Whitney’s heart began to pound. Can I get your name and phone number? Then we can chat easier.
She pressed her eyes closed, praying with everything she had that it was not Evelyn Walker on the other side of that screen. “Please, please,” she muttered to herself.
The computer dinged, and Whitney’s eyes flew open. Evelyn Walker and a phone number sat there.
Whitney fell back in her office chair, numbness spreading through her. At least Jeremiah’s assessment of her work had fallen on deaf ears. She supposed she should be happy about that.
But would Evelyn keep her secret?
All of her other clients had, but they didn’t have to potentially lie to their brother-in-law that they saw every week. Sometimes several times a week.
She didn’t know what to do. Now she was avoiding two Walkers, and as another message from Evelyn came in, Whitney knew she couldn’t just go silent. That would be bad for business, number one.
So she picked up her phone and keyed in Evelyn’s number. “Is now a good time to talk?” she asked when the other woman picked up the line.
“Yes, the baby is asleep,” she said.
“Will your husband come to the shoot?” Whitney asked.
“Yes,” Evelyn said. “I’m actually hoping to do two….”
“Two shoots?”
“One here at our house, and one at my family ranch. That one would be fun with corn stalks and cattails and eggs. My sister has chickens that lay the most beautiful, blue eggs.”
Whitney pressed her eyes closed, because the brown and blue and beautiful baby shoot materialized right in front of her eyes. “That would be lovely,” she said through a closed throat. “Unfortunately, my schedule—”
“Oh, don’t say no,” Evelyn said, a plea of desperation in her voice. “I’ll come anytime, anywhere. I love your photos, and this might be the only baby I get.”
How in the world could Whitney say no to that?
She sighed and hoped she wasn’t about to ruin everything. “Evelyn,” she said evenly. “It’s Whitney Wilde.”
“I—what?”
“I’m Whitney Wilde. Lake Winters is a pseudonym I use exclusively for the infant photography. I don’t want Jeremiah to know…yet.” She drew in a deep, deep breath, trying to find what she wanted to say. “I mean, I’m going to tell him. I just haven’t yet, and I want to be the one who does.”
Evelyn said nothing, and Whitney cursed herself for using her real name before the disclosure forms were signed.
“Why haven’t you told him?” Evelyn asked. “It’s not a bad thing, right?”
“No,” Whitney said. “He’s…made some comments about the baby photos I have hanging in the store, and well, he doesn’t like them.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t like you.”
“I know.” Whitney pressed her eyes closed. She didn’t want to talk about this, not with Evelyn Walker. She knew the woman, sure, but they weren’t best friends. “What’s your schedule like?”
“I’m wide open,” Evelyn said. “Rhett and I can be discreet.”
“Is there another road to your ranch?” Whitney asked. “Or will I have to drive right by Seven Sons to get there?”
“Oh, well, there’s only the one road….”
Whitney clicked on her calendar, and it was as if the Lord Himself had turned on a spotlight. All she could see was Thursday, and she’d recently learned that Jeremiah had ranch ownership meetings on some Thursdays.
“I’ll call you back,” she said. “Okay? Five minutes. I’ll call you back.”
Evelyn protested, but Whitney hung up anyway. Her fingers flew across the screen as she said the shoot was an “experimental indoor shoot” at her house until nine, but he was welcome to stop by before then. You’d have to leave at seven-thirty at the latest, she said, and even that was cutting it close. But she’d practiced with the fruits already, and she could get the scene set up in thirty minutes.
I’ll bring steak sandwiches and be gone on time, I promise, he said, and relief poured through Whitney. He didn’t suspect anything. But she hated that she was even worried that he suspected something.
When’s your next ranch owners meeting? she asked, her brain firing as it tried to come up with a reason why she needed to know.
Thursday, he said, and Evelyn felt all the stars aligning.
“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. She ignored his next message and called Evelyn back. “Thursday morning,” she said. “It’s then or not at all. And I have disclosure forms you and anyone else there will have to sign.” She changed her mind on the spot. “Actually, only you and your husband can be there.”
“My sisters….”
Things spiraled in Whitney’s mind. If all the Foster sister’s knew…Jeremiah had told her he was good friends with Callie. No way Whitney could keep Lake Winters a secret from Jeremiah if she booked this shoot.
So she just needed to tell Jeremiah before Thursday.
“Everyone has to sign the form,” Whitney said. “And two shoots will take all morning. How early is too early for you?”
“We can start whenever,” Evelyn said. “I live on Quail Creek Road.”
“I think we should start at the ranch,” she said, thinking that Jeremiah would be at his ranch ownership meeting in the morning. “How about eight?”
“Eight is great.”
“If you have ideas for what you’d like to do, text me some pictures.”
“I’m so excited,” Evelyn gushed, and Whitney smiled. She hung up and leaned back in her chair. She had the feeli
ng that she was in very real trouble.
“Put that light over there.” Whitney pointed to the kitchen countertop, and Dalton did what she said. Jeremiah had said Wyatt could come with him that night, and Whitney had immediately called Dalton to invite him to be her photography assistant.
Her nerves rioted, but she was going to tell Jeremiah she was Lake Winters. She was. She’d gone to Wilde & Organic and bought all the fruits she needed. She’d polished them up, and the ruby red skin on the apples gleamed under the lights.
Jeremiah would see the fruit. The lights. The baby blanket. All of it.
“I’m so excited,” Dalton said. “I’m going to go comb my hair again.”
Whitney shook her head and smiled. “You look fine, Dalt.”
Her nephew scurried down the hall anyway, and Whitney turned in a circle in the kitchen. She was ready for this. There were dishes on the table, which she would clear and clean before the newborn and her parents showed up.
The doorbell rang, and Whitney drew in a deep breath and wiped her palms down her jeans. Dalton came barreling down the hall, his eyes wide. “He’s here.”
“He sure is.” Whitney wished he wasn’t so nervous, because she was feeding off of his anxiety. She stepped over to the door and opened it to find a pair of cowboys on her front steps. Their shoulders touched, and they both grinned at her.
“Heya,” Wyatt said.
Jeremiah stepped inside and drew Whitney into his arms. He kissed her quickly, and they made room for Wyatt to come inside too.
“I won’t kiss you,” he joked, laughing. He handed a white bag that smelled like salt and steak to Jeremiah.
Heat ran through Whitney’s face. “Wyatt, this is my nephew, Dalton. Dalt, come meet Wyatt Walker.”
Her nephew took a step and nearly went down as he ran into the end table. His whole face turned bright red, and Whitney smothered a giggle. Jeremiah wore a playful smile, but thankfully, he didn’t laugh either.
“Nice to meet you, Dalton,” Wyatt said, and he definitely made his tone swagger a lot more than Whitney had ever heard it. “Where’s your cowboy hat?”
