by HELEN HARDT
“No,” I said.
Zee’s lips dropped into a sad frown.
“It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you, Zee,” I said.
She dropped her gaze. “You don’t have to explain. We barely know each other.”
“It can be a temporary solution,” Zach said. “You can have the marriage dissolved once this has all come out with the wash.”
I took Zee’s hand. “Would you be up for it?”
“I don’t know.”
“If it means protecting you,” Reid said, “I’ll do it. I promised I’d protect you, Zee.”
“You don’t need to protect me,” she said. “I’m not a suspect. We’ve determined that.”
“He means protect you from this ceaseless questioning Morgan seems to want to put you through,” Zach explained.
She breathed in. “I can take it.”
I squeezed her hand. “But you shouldn’t have to. Not after what you’ve already been through. You shouldn’t be punished for coming forward to tell your story. You shouldn’t be punished for trying to help us.”
“Okay,” she said softly. “If you both think it’s best.”
“Good enough.” Zach closed the file folder in front of him. “Let’s head to the courthouse and get this done. The sooner the better.”
I stood and smiled at Zee, still holding her hand. “I guess we’re about to be married.”
She rose, her pallor kind of yellow. “I guess so.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “Just say the word, and we won’t go through with it.”
She shook her head. “I want what’s best for all of us. I’ve come this far to help you, and I won’t stop now.”
With a little help from Benjamin Franklin, I was able to get a license and an appearance in front of a judge by one p.m. Zach stood as witness, along with Judge Brady’s court clerk.
“Do you wish to be married?” Judge Brady asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“And you, miss?” The judge nodded to Zee.
“Sure. I guess.”
“Good enough.” He scrawled his signature. “Both of you sign here, and you’ll be married.”
Zee stiffened next to me.
“Wait,” I said. “What about the vows?”
“That’s just a formality,” Judge Brady said. “It’s not necessary, and I’ve got a full docket this afternoon.”
Zee dropped her mouth into an O while my stomach did a somersault.
Without vows, it didn’t feel like a real marriage.
Then again, it wasn’t a real marriage. It was a marriage of convenience to keep us from having to testify against each other.
So why did a giant lump form in my throat?
The judge handed me the certificate. I signed my name and handed it and the pen to Zee.
Her hand shaking, she signed and handed it back to me.
“Now the witnesses,” Judge Brady said.
Zach and the clerk each signed, and Brady handed the certificate back to me. “It’s done. I assume you’ve already paid the requisite fees?”
His clerk nodded. “They have, your honor.”
“Good enough. Have a lovely life, Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe.” Judge Brady smiled.
Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe.
I didn’t hate the sound of it.
In fact, I kind of liked it.
“Off you go,” the judge said, still smiling.
Why shouldn’t he smile? He was a thousand dollars richer for ten minutes’ work.
Zee didn’t look happy. She didn’t look unhappy either.
She looked, simply, stunned.
No reason for me to be unhappy. I’d just married the woman I love.
But clearly she didn’t feel the same way.
No matter. I could still woo her. Still make her fall in love with me.
We just had to settle my father’s murder first.
My brother’s wife had been arrested. Arraignment shouldn’t be until tomorrow morning, but Rock was working on that.
Yeah, money talks.
Bail would be set, probably at a million dollars or more.
Which we’d pay, and Lacey would be free to go, awaiting trial.
We had to figure this out. Soon.
Tomorrow.
But tonight? I had a wife, and she deserved a wedding night.
51
Zee
I’d felt more with Reid Wolfe—now my husband—than I’d ever felt before.
More than I’d ever wanted to feel.
Yes, I’d fallen hard. But I desperately wanted a husband who loved me as much as I loved him.
My flesh still numb, I walked with Reid back to the Wolfe building. It was several blocks, and we didn’t talk.
We took the elevator up to his apartment. He gathered his staff in the dining room. “I have some news,” he said. “This lovely lady and I were married this afternoon, so you now work for her as well as for me. Whatever she wants, please see to her needs.”
Lydia and the others were clearly surprised, but they all simply nodded and then went about their tasks.
I followed Reid to his bedroom. “I’ll have your apartment packed up and your things delivered as soon as possible.’
“My job…” I began.
“I’ll see if you can get an extended leave of absence.”
“Mo. The others. They can’t afford the rent without me.”
“That isn’t anything for you to worry about. I’ll cover it until they can get a new roommate.”
“My job…” I said again.
“I promise I’ll take care of all of it,” Reid said. “But you’ll never have to go back if you don’t want to, Zee. I’ll see that you’re always taken care of, even after the marriage ends.”
After the marriage ends…
So the marriage would end, in his eyes.
My heart broke in two.
I was in love—married to the object of my affection.
And it was only temporary.
The story of the Wolfes concludes in Reckoning, coming soon!
Craving more Helen Hardt?
Read on for an excerpt from Reunited!
My flesh tingled, my tummy tightened, and my heart made a mad dash to leap from my chest. My fingers, seemingly of their own accord, pushed the button to replay the message I’d just heard.
“I’m calling for Mr. or Mrs. Abbott. My name is Brett Falcone, and it looks like Maya’s going to be on my soccer team. Practice will start next Monday at six o’clock…”
I let the words fade.
Brett Falcone.
His voice had deepened just a little, but it was him—the man from my past I thought I’d never see again. Yet that glimmer of hope, that flicker of desire, had always burned within my heart.
I hadn’t known he was still in town. Of course I’d only been back a few months. After my divorce from Danny, I’d moved back to my hometown of Columbus, Ohio. Danny still lived in Cleveland, close enough that Maya could see him on the weekends.
Twenty years ago, I’d left Columbus and vowed never to return. I met Danny in California ten years later. Five years after that, when he received a job offer in Cleveland, I’d agreed to return to Ohio. Cleveland was far enough away from Columbus that I didn’t have to think about my former life of heartbreak and humiliation.
When my marriage had crumbled, though, Columbus had seemed like the place to pick up the pieces. Sometimes, I’d said to myself, you just want to go home.
Home.
Amazing how, even after twenty years of telling myself I’d never set foot in Columbus again, it still felt like home. The townhome I’d rented had grown on me, and I enjoyed my pediatric practice at a local clinic. I’d even made a few friends, though I hadn’t contacted anyone from my high school days. I couldn’t.
Brett Falcone.
For twenty years I’d tried to erase him from my memory.
For twenty years I’d been unsuccessful.
What could I do?
Call the county sports association and ask that Maya be put on a different team? Maybe. I couldn’t withdraw Maya from soccer. She was only four, and she was excited about her first chance to play a team sport. I couldn’t take that away from my daughter.
I checked my watch quickly. Four thirty. My mother was picking Maya up at the sitter’s and taking her for the night. Danny would pick her up tomorrow morning and take her for the rest of the weekend. I had nowhere to go. Though it was Friday, someone would likely still be at the sports registration office until five. I shuffled the papers on my desk until I found the copy of Maya’s registration and keyed in the number.
“Tri-County sports.”
“Yes, hello. This is Kathryn Abbott. My daughter is registered for Pee Wee soccer, and I was wondering if there was any chance we could change her to a different team.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. All the teams are full. We didn’t have as many volunteers for coaching, so there aren’t any open slots. Unless you’d like to coach a team?”
I arched my brows. Avoiding Brett Falcone might be worth learning soccer. Unfortunately, I had no athletic talent whatsoever. The sheer unfairness of all this! Brett Falcone would be a great coach. He was a natural athlete, great at soccer and football. But his first love had been baseball.
“Ma’am?”
I jolted back to reality. “I’m sorry. No, I can’t coach, though I wish I could. I know nothing about soccer, about any sports. I really want my daughter to learn. To do what I never had the talent to do.”
God, I was babbling. The teenybopper on the other end of the line didn’t care about my lack of sports experience.
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“I understand. Thank you for your time.”
I set the phone back on the cradle.
Brett Falcone.
The Italian Stallion.
How he’d lived up to that name.
I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sat down in my recliner. I took a long sip of the crisp beverage, letting it float over my tongue and coat my throat. Then another. I needed to cool off. Just the name Brett Falcone had made my entire body blaze like an inferno.
I set the tea down on an end table, leaned back, and closed my eyes.
Brett Falcone.
Twenty freaking years. Well, in three days, I’d see him again.
What would happen?
I had no idea.
Twenty years earlier
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Phillips?”
“Yes, Kathryn.” The guidance counselor motioned for me to enter his office. “Close the door and have a seat.”
I complied. I’d never been in a counselor’s office. I was a straight A student, editor of the school newspaper, member of the orchestra, president of National Honor Society. I’d received early admission to Stanford, my dream school. Spring was here, the school year was nearly over, and graduation was just around the corner. Why was the senior guidance counselor summoning me? What had I done wrong?
I sat, quiet, and waited for him to tell me.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you in here.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”
He smiled. “No, of course not. You’re a model student.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”
Mr. Phillips chuckled, shaking his head, and part of his comb-over fell over one ear. “You weren’t really worried about that, were you?”
“No. Not really, but you never know.”
He nodded. “I called you here because I need your help, Kathryn.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“We have a student who needs a tutor. I think you might be the best fit.”
“Oh? Who is the student?”
“Brett Falcone.”
“The Italian Stallion?” I clamped my hand on my mouth. Not the thing to say to the senior guidance counselor.
Mr. Phillips, however, let out a laugh. “Yes. The Italian Stallion. He’s failing math, Kathryn. If he doesn’t get his grades up, he can’t play baseball. Our team needs him.”
“You’re kidding, right? I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but you want me to tutor Brett Falcone so he can play baseball? Why are sports so important, Mr. Phillips? Why isn’t it important that he learn math because it’s math? Math is a lot more useful in life than batting a ball.”
I was overreacting, but still I seethed. The emphasis schools put on athletics angered me. I’d never been good at sports, was always the last picked for any team in gym class, and I’d revered the day, sophomore year, when I finished the last required physical education class of my high school career. No doubt all the jocks and jockettes had revered that day too. No longer would they be saddled with the class nerd on any of their teams.
“Normally, I’d agree with that assessment,” Mr. Phillips said, “but he’s already been offered a scholarship to play baseball at OSU. If he doesn’t get his math grade up, he won’t keep the scholarship.”
“A scholarship?” I shook my head.
Brett Falcone would never make it in college. Clearly, he was barely making it through high school.
“So you want me to tutor him and get his math grade up so he can play in college?”
Mr. Phillips cleared his throat again and his cheeks reddened. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“I think I might be too busy. I have my own grades to think of, you know. And the newspaper and—”
“We all know you’ve already been admitted to Stanford. Your grades at high school level no longer matter.”
I opened my mouth, but Mr. Phillips held up his hand.
“You’re an incredibly gifted young lady, Kathryn. Your grades won’t suffer for helping another. You know that as well as I do.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Phillips, I cannot help Brett Falcone. He and I have a…history.”
“A history?”
Mr. Phillips’s bulgy eyes bulged out even farther. No doubt he was wondering what kind of history the Italian Stallion could possibly have with Kathryn Zurakowsky, nerd extraordinaire.
“Yes.”
“May I ask what kind of history?”
“Not a good one, and nothing I care to talk about.”
“How would you have a history? You don’t run in the same crowds. Do you even know Brett?”
Did I know Brett Falcone? Know was such an innocuous word. It didn’t describe my relationship with Brett Falcone. Granted, once we’d gotten to high school, he’d left me alone. Middle school, though, had been hell on earth, courtesy of the Italian Stallion.
But Mr. Phillips didn’t know that, and I had no desire to enlighten him.
“I’m afraid I have to decline,” I said. “I’m sure you can find another tutor for Brett.”
“Kathryn, there isn’t anyone else who can tutor him.”
“That’s ridiculous. How about Leon Bates? He’s as good in math as I am. Seth Connors might even be better. Or do you want a female tutor? How about Mary Beth Rogers? She’s pretty good. Or Amy Eckard.”
“All fine students,” Mr. Phillips said, “however none of them are acceptable.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—he sighed—“Brett refuses to work with anyone but you.”
I widened my eyes. “Me? That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Brett hasn’t said a word to me in four years.”
“Believe me, I’m as flabbergasted as you are.” Mr. Phillips nodded. “But Coach Henderson said Brett would only agree to a tutor if it was you.”
My jaw dropped open. What in the world was Brett Falcone thinking?
“Well, it just so happens that I don’t give a hoot whether Brett Falcone gets to play baseball in college, so the answer is no.”
“Kathryn”—Mr. Phillips rose and came around to face me—“there’s more at stake than that.”
“Oh?”
“His family has suffered a setback. His father was in
jured on the job a few weeks ago.”
“I’m very sorry, but—”
“A scholarship would be a great help to Brett and his family. Otherwise, if Brett doesn’t go to school, he’ll probably have to get a job and help support his family.”
“Maybe that’s his lot in life.”
“Maybe so. But he can have so much more. Brett Falcone is not stupid. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he scored in the ‘superior’ range in the state-administered tests. The boy just needs some guidance, some hope for a future. You can help him.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll have to live with that.”
“Mr. Phillips, I’m quite capable of living with that.” I stood and turned to walk out the door, but Mr. Phillips’s voice stopped me cold.
“Kathryn. Please.”
Reunited is available at Amazon!
A Note From Helen
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Rake! If you want to find out about my current backlist and future releases, please visit my website, like my Facebook page, and join my mailing list. If you’re a fan, please join my street team to help spread the word about my books. I regularly do awesome giveaways for my street team members.
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Helen
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Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to the following individuals who helped make Rake shine: Christie Hartman, Martha Frantz, Karen Aguilera, Angela Tyler, Linda Pantlin Dunn, Serena Drummond, and Marci Clark.
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