Cinderella's Big Sky Groom (10 page)

“Heard anything?”

“Rumors. About me. And Ross Garrison…”

“No, not a word.”

“Well. It's early yet.”

Danielle sighed. “This doesn't sound good.”

“It's not. I've been…really stupid. And thoughtless. And…actually, I think I hate myself right now.”

Danielle squeezed her arm. “Come on, it can't be that bad.”

“It's bad enough. Believe me.”

Sara appeared in the doorway to the coat nook. “Mommy! I can't find my snack box.”

“Keep looking.”

“But I—”

“Sara. I'll be right there.”

With a little grunt of irritation, Sara vanished again.

“Come to my place,” Danielle said. “Tonight. After Sara goes to bed. We can talk then.”

Lynn thought of Trish's angry green eyes. “I think I could end up being real busy tonight.”

“When you're ready, then. My door is open.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

 

Lynn stayed in her classroom until five. She rearranged supply closets and cleaned out her desk, worked on her lesson plans and made turkeys and Pilgrim hats out of construction paper as examples for class projects, since the Thanksgiving season was coming up soon.

She found some crackers and a little box of raisins
in a desk drawer and ate them as the lunch she hadn't had time to pack.

She was hiding, and she knew it. Putting off facing people—her sister and the rest of her family, especially. But it was legitimate hiding, she rationalized. Because it was all work that really did have to be done.

The janitor came in at four to empty the waste-baskets. Lynn greeted him and he grunted a hello at her. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

The school secretary, Mrs. Parchly, stuck her head in the door at four-thirty. “My. You're working late….” Was that a knowing gleam in those slightly bulging eyes of hers?

“I…had a few things to catch up on.”

“I brought you those new attendance forms.”

Lynn took the forms and thanked her, then Mrs. Parchly left.

Lynn decided to stop at the market on her way home. It was only more avoidance of Trish and the bleak confrontation that waited at home, and she knew it. But she went anyway.

She thought that the checker looked at her strangely, but maybe that was just her own guilt and nerves talking. She saw several people she knew and all of them smiled at her and greeted her kindly.

She got home at six.

And found her stepmother's car parked in the driveway.

 

They were waiting for her in the kitchen, sitting at the round maple table in the breakfast nook: the women of her family. Trish and Arlene. And Jewel.

She stepped into the room with her two bags of
groceries and longed only to drop them and run. Run and run and never look back.

They knew.

She could see it on their faces. She had to force her legs to carry her the few steps to the counter opposite the stove. She slid the bags onto it.

Jewel spoke first. “Well,” she said, her small pink mouth as tight as the string on a miser's purse. “You finally decided to come home and face us.”

It went downhill from there.

Jewel had her accusations ready. “You just weren't satisfied, were you? Taking my house just wasn't enough for you.”

Lynn bit back a defensive retort.

The house had belonged to Lynn's mother, and Lynn's father had left it to her when he died. He'd been fair. Fair about everything. He'd left the house to Lynn and the hardware store, since sold, to Jewel—and generous cash bequests to both Arlene and Trish.

But what good would it do to point that out now? The issue of the house was old ground. After the house became Lynn's, Jewel had moved in with Arlene and Arlene's husband, Clyde, and their children. But Jewel had refused to really let go of the house she still considered hers. They'd had more than one family conference about it, with Lynn's stepmother and her stepsisters acting resentful and injured, as if she'd stolen something from them. And with Lynn unwilling to give in and put their names on the deed with hers, but still trying to placate them, to make them see that she loved them and her father had loved them and they all ought to just let it be and go on.

Jewel wasn't letting anything be. She shook her head. “Oh, no. Taking my house wasn't enough. Scaring me to death last night, worrying over you, aggravating my heart condition, that wasn't enough, either. You had to steal Trish's lawyer, too. You're a snake in the grass, that's what you are.”

Trish started wailing then. “We
trusted
you,” she cried. “We
counted
on you. And look what you've done. Look how you've treated us. I found out at lunch. At the Hip Hop. Everyone is talking. Everyone knows what you did. And when I went back to work and tried to tell Ross how shocked I was about it, he looked at me with that cold, mean look he can get and he said it was none of my business. He said he'd asked you to
marry
him, and you had said yes. He said you're his
fiancée!
”

Lynn knew she must not have heard Trish right. “What? His…fiancée? He said—?”

“You heard me. You know you heard me. And don't try to act surprised. Ross Garrison
proposed
to you. Like you could forget that. Like it could just slip your mind that he asked and you said yes.”

“He didn't—”

“Don't you do that. Don't you go playing innocent on top of everything else. Oh, how could you do this to me? To
me?
You knew that Ross Garrison was supposed to be mine!” Trish let out a long, passionate cry. Then she folded her arms on the table and buried her head in them. Her sobs filled the room.

Lynn stared at her sister's shaking shoulders and wondered if perhaps Ross Garrison had gone mad. They had talked about a lot of things last night, but
marriage hadn't been among them. Why in the world would he have told Trish such a lie?

Arlene, who was six months pregnant with her third child, reached over the mound of her own stomach to stroke Trish's black hair. “Now, now, baby. Calm yourself. Calm yourself, now.” She looked up at Lynn and a snarl curved her pretty lips. “Look what you've done to her. You're just…trash, that's what you are.”

Trash. The ugly word echoed in Lynn's brain.

And Arlene wasn't finished. “We should have known, the way you started losing all that weight. We should have known that now you had the house and your teaching credential and your job at the school, you wouldn't need us anymore. You'd be ready to show your true colors at last.”

Lynn couldn't let that pass. “That's not so. You're my family and I—”

Jewel was the one snarling now. “Your family. Hah. What you did a person doesn't do to her family. You have treated us like we were dirt.”

Trish's head shot up. “That's right. Leenie and Mom are right. You always acted so good and pure, like you didn't even care that you were too tall and too fat and no boys ever asked you out. But we know the truth about you now. We know how you really are. And I won't stay in the same house with someone like you. I'm moving in with Mom and Arlene and Clyde and the kids. I have packed some of my stuff and it's in the car already. I'll come back for my other things later, sometime when you're not home.”

The three tiny, furious women stood as one. “And I've quit that stupid job, too,” Trish announced with
a defiant shake of her head. “I can't stand to see Ross Garrison ever again in my life.”

Three sets of green eyes glared at Lynn.

Then Jewel said, “Well. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Lynn scoured her mind. She could not think of a thing.

“Well,” huffed Jewel. “I guess there's nothing you
can
say.” She turned to her two daughters. “Come on, then. Let's go.”

Lynn waited until she heard the door slam behind them. Then she carefully pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it. She sat there for a good ten minutes, staring blindly at the cheerful yellow café curtains that draped the breakfast-nook windows, wondering if her stepmother and stepsisters would ever speak to her again. And also wondering in a vaguely defiant sort of way why she should care if they did.

Eventually, Lynn pushed herself to her feet and went to the counter to put her groceries away. She had just emptied the second bag and was carefully folding it to save for reuse when the doorbell rang.

Lynn let out a long, tired sigh. She didn't want to talk to anyone else. Not tonight. She wanted to fix something simple, eat it and climb the stairs to a hot bath and the welcoming warmth of her own bed.

But the bell rang again.

“Just let it be a salesman,” she muttered under her breath as she trudged to the front hall. “Someone to whom I can just say ‘No, thanks,' and then shut the door.”

But it wasn't a salesman.

It was Ross Garrison. He said, “We have to talk.”

S
he'd managed not to look directly at him that morning, in front of the house. But now she couldn't stop herself.

He was wearing a different jacket than last night, this one of butter-soft leather. A different jacket. A different shirt and sweater, different slacks and different boots. Same watch, though.

And the same dark, knowing eyes.

Eyes she really did not want to meet.

But she was meeting them.

And in them she saw…the night before. All of it. Every last tender word and sweet, erotic caress.

“I looked all over. I couldn't find that shoe of yours.”

“It's all right.” Was that all he wanted to tell her? Well, fine. He had told her. She could shut the door.

She started to do that, but he put out a hand and stopped it from closing. “Let me in.”

“Ross, I really don't think we need to—”

“We need to. Let me in.”

“I don't want any more trouble. My family has just walked out on me. I've had enough for one night.”

“God.” He gripped the door tightly enough that his knuckles shone white. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your problem. Honestly.” She gave the door another push.

But he kept the pressure steady. The door didn't move. “Look. I won't give you any trouble. I just want to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes. Talk. And that's all.”

Reluctantly she led him to the living room and gestured toward the sofa. But he didn't take a seat. He stood across the flowered rug from her and looked at her long and hard.

Maybe he was still upset about the way she'd run off that morning. She apologized again. “I'm sorry about this morning. I truly am. It was…really stupid of me, to take off like that. I lost my head. Then, by the time I came to my senses, Winona Cobbs came along.” She thought of the older woman, clutching the red shoe and humming, chanting strange, disjointed things….

Lynn shook her head to banish the uncomfortable memory. “I hitched a ride with her.”

“And you're…all right?”

“Yes. I am.” It took considerable effort, but she managed to inject a modicum of sincerity into the words. “I'm exhausted and…what? Depressed, I
guess, in a numb sort of way. But I'll get over it. I really will.”

“I should have taken you home, at midnight, when you wanted to go.”

She waved a hand. “Let's not go into all that. Please. Last night was…last night. It happened. It's over. We can't go back and fix what we did wrong.”

“Maybe we can. To an extent, anyway.”

That made no sense. The damage was done. She waited for him to explain himself. But he only stuck his hands into his pockets and looked down at the rug, as if it suddenly required his intense scrutiny.

She prompted, “Ross?”

He lifted his head. “I told your sister that I'd asked you to marry me. And that you had accepted my proposal.”

“I know. She told me. I couldn't believe you would have said something so insane as that.”

“Well, I did. It just slipped out.”

Anger rose inside her, hot and prickly, making her voice tart. “Oh, come on. You are not the kind of man from whom things just slip out.”

Ross had no trouble picking up her hostility. And he couldn't blame her for it.

But the lie about their engagement really hadn't been anything he'd consciously planned to say. That damn Trish had been ranting at him. And he'd been thinking of Lynn. Worrying about her. Hating himself for taking advantage of her, a self-loathing made even more intense by the realization that last night hadn't been enough for him. He'd seduced an innocent.
Kept on
seducing her, all night long. He'd done enough to her. A lot more than enough.

Yet he couldn't stop himself from wanting to do it again.

And the way she'd run off really had scared him, reminded him too much of what had happened to his wife.

Elana had hardly been an innocent. But he
had
taken advantage of her. He had used her to get what he wanted. And when
she
had run off, stormed out of their house in a final hot rage, there hadn't been any sweet, old Mrs. Cobbs to come to her rescue.

Lynn was glaring at him. He ordered the bleak memories of Elana from his mind. “Your sister was yelling at me. Accusing me. Accusing you. Calling what happened a one-night stand. And I…just said it. I told her it wasn't a one-night stand, that I'd asked you to marry me and you had agreed.”

Lynn's anger drained away. She felt weary again. And her feet were still sore from the abuse they'd taken during her silly flight down the long driveway that morning.

A pair of wing chairs flanked the coffee table. She edged over to one and sat down. “Well. I guess it really doesn't matter what you said. It's just one more outrageous rumor that will have to make the rounds.”

“Maybe. But then again, maybe not.”

She let her spine slump back in the chair. “Ross. I'm too tired to play word games. What are you getting at?”

He took a step toward her. “I've been thinking, that's all. Thinking that maybe we ought to just go along with what I said.”

She wasn't slumping anymore. She was sitting up straight. And her heart had just done a forward roll.

Silly, silly heart, she thought. What's the matter with you? “Go along?”

“Yes. Pretend that we really are engaged.”

Her heart settled down again as she picked up on the operative word. “Pretend?”

“That's what I said.”

“But what good will that do?”

“A lot. Think about it. What are you worried about—besides your sister finding out, which she already has? You're worried about the fact that you're a teacher. That you're expected to uphold certain standards, right?”

That was true, way too true. “Right. And I didn't uphold those standards. My sister said it. As ugly as it sounds, I had a one-night stand. With you.”

“You're not a one-night-stand woman. We both know that. And so does this town. And all I'm asking you to consider is, what if it wasn't a one-night stand?”

“But it
was.
” She rested back in the chair again. “Oh, Ross. This is silly. Silly and sad. As well as unnecessary. I have to tell you, as far as I'm concerned, the worst is over. The town of Whitehorn is not going to be nearly as hard on me as my own family has been.”

“You're sure about that?”

“I'm as sure as I need to be.”

He gave her another of those long, probing looks. Then he grunted. “You know, you may be right. Everybody in this town seems to adore you. You're almost as popular as little Jenny McCallum. It's probably not you they'll be blaming for what we did last night.”

“You're saying they're going to blame you?” That thought hadn't even occurred to her.

He was nodding—and that rueful smile was tipping up the corners of his beautiful mouth. “After all, I'm the outsider. The lawyer. Since Wendell Hargrove got himself shipped off to the slammer, lawyers seem to have a bad name around here.”

“Maybe they won't blame anyone. Maybe they'll just gossip for a while, and then get over it.”

The rueful smile was still there. “Maybe you're right.”

She stood.

Ross got the message. “So. No fake engagement, then?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Bad idea, huh?”

She let a shrug answer that one.

And Ross knew it was time to go. She looked beat. Shadows of fatigue marred the tender skin beneath those wide blue eyes. He shouldn't have come in the first place. He should have called her concerning the missing shoe and let it be at that.

“Sorry,” he heard himself say. Then he swore. “I seem to keep saying that—as if it might help.”

“It's all right.”

“Listen, if there's anything—”

“There's not. Honestly.”

“Well, then…” He cast about for something else to say. He was stalling, plain and simple. It was time to go.

But he didn't want to go.

She fixed that. “I'll walk you to the door.”

Damn. He wanted…more. Wanted things he had no right to want. More nights like last night. More
time in her company, to listen to her laugh, to watch her smile. To pretend…

Yes, all right. To pretend. That he was a different kind of man than he really was. That the world was a better place than he'd ever found it to be. That someday, more than an empty, expensive house would be waiting when he got home.

Well, he wasn't going to be allowed to pretend. He might as well quit stalling and get used to the idea. “It's all right. I can find my way out.” He started walking.

She fell in behind him as he went past. He had known that she would. He had taken her innocence and apparently created all kinds of havoc between her and her family. But she was still the kind of woman who wouldn't make a man find the exit on his own.

In the small foyer she slid around him and opened the door. “Goodbye, Ross.”

It sounded final. Way too damn final.

He looked at her mouth, thought,
One more kiss. That's all I want. Just one final kiss.

He must have possessed some last flimsy shred of integrity, because he didn't reach for her.

He said, “Goodbye, Lynn,” and he walked out the door.

Lynn shut it behind him. And then she just stood there, staring toward the stairs, but not really seeing them, wishing he had gone ahead and kissed her as she'd known he wanted to.

Oh, she couldn't help it. Her heart went out to him. He'd looked so grim. So determined. Determined to save her reputation with a lie.

A lie.

What had Winona chanted that morning?

A ring and a lie,
that was it. A lie that would bring truth.

Could Ross's suggestion that they fake an engagement be that lie?

No, that was foolish thinking. Hopeful, mad, crazy thinking.

Only a lawyer would have come up with an insane scheme like that.

And only a hopeless romantic would consider going along with it because of something Winona Cobbs had chanted during an impromptu early-morning trance out on Route 17.

Only a hopeless romantic who had gone and let herself fall in love in the space of one night.

Lynn drooped back against the door she had closed on Ross Garrison.

Was that it? She brought up both hands and rubbed her tired, grainy eyes. Was she in love with Ross Garrison?

Oh, Lord, it did feel like it. It truly did.

And, hopeless romantic that she was, she just couldn't stop herself from wishing for more. Wishing for the impossible.

That Ross Garrison might have fallen in love, too.

Lynn dropped her hands to her sides and looked down at her aching feet.

No.

He was a sophisticated man. He wasn't going to decide he was in love just because he'd spent the night with her. He was wary of loving. She could see it in his eyes, that coldness—a coldness that seemed to mask a deep hurt.

She let out a small, tortured laugh and cast her
gaze toward the old-fashioned tulip-shaded chandelier overhead.

Only a hopeless romantic, she thought again. Only a hopeless romantic would find suffering hidden in a pair of cold eyes.

But then again, if they were to pretend to be sweethearts, they would have to spend time together, wouldn't they? And, over time, maybe she could break down the wall he'd put around his heart—maybe, deep down, he was hoping she would do just that.

Now,
that
was a crazy idea.

To let herself even imagine that—

But wait just a darn minute.

Why shouldn't she imagine?

Why shouldn't she dream?

Why shouldn't she just be what she was, a hopeless romantic, willing to take a psychic's advice?

To teach her prince—and to believe in the magic of love.

Energy seemed to flow back into her body. She straightened, turned—and yanked open the door.

He hadn't left. The Mercedes was still there, a dark, imposing shadow at the curb.

That was a good sign, wasn't it? That he was still sitting there in that fancy SUV of his, that he hadn't yet managed to turn the key in the ignition and drive away?

She could see him in there. He had turned his head. He was watching her.

Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill in the night air, she walked out the door and down the front steps.

The window on the passenger side slid down. Ross leaned across the console toward her.

She said, “Would you come back inside, please?” And then she turned and marched right back to the house without giving him a chance to say a word in reply.

She led him to the living room again, gestured at the sofa as she had before. This time he sat down. And then immediately demanded, “What is it?”

“I've been thinking.”

“About what?”

“I have a few questions.”

Those cold eyes narrowed marginally. “Questions about what?”

“Well, say that we did what you suggested….”

He shifted impatiently. “We're not going to do it, so what does it matter?”

“Bear with me. What if we did what you suggested, pretended that we really were engaged? Then what? How would it end? Did you think about that?”

“Lynn. I don't see what—”

“Just humor me. Did you think about that?”

“Yes,” he confessed. “I did.”

“And?”

“I thought that you'd break up with me. In a few weeks, or a month. You'd decide I wasn't the right man for you, after all—which is only the truth. I'm not the right man for you.” His eyes had darkened, making her wonder what secrets they hid from her.

She dared to inquire, “So you're telling me I shouldn't get my hopes up, is that it? There's no chance you might decide you really do want to marry me, after all?”