Page 26 of Married With Lies

Fine by me. But I’m not leaving until I get in at least one dig of my own. I select half a dozen cucumber slices and arrange them on a clean plate.

“Try putting these over your eyes. They might temporarily smooth out some of those new wrinkles.”

She’s still trying to think of a comeback when I dash out of the room and hurry to the other side of the house. I shouldn’t doubt my mission. Asher Wingate is a difficult man but he’s not evil. I’m still his daughter even if he isn’t always pleased with me.

The thick oak door to his study is partially open. My father is a stickler for formality so I formally knock and wait for an answer.

“Come in,” commands the voice of Asher Wingate.

As a small child, I was awed by my father. If I’d been asked who was more powerful – the President of the United States or Asher Wingate – I would have struggled to answer.

Over time, the awe gave way to a more uneasy feeling. I feared him and I wanted to impress him and yet I realized he wasn’t a very nice person.

He stands in the middle of the room and frowns at my entrance. “Mercedes.” He doesn’t even try to keep the irritation out of his tone.

I arrange my face into a pretty smile. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

For the first time I notice that we’re not alone. Baylor sits in a leather armchair beside the stone fireplace that has probably never once been lit. My brother stares into the cold fireplace with a pouty expression and doesn’t acknowledge my entrance.

My father clears his throat. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

Baylor finally quits examining the dark fireplace and looks over. His only greeting is a stiff nod. I return the nod, just as stiffly.

“Well, I did want to wish you a merry Christmas. And I’d also very much like to have a chance for us to speak in private when you’re free.”

His forehead pleats with disapproval. “If what you want to discuss is truly important to you then you shouldn’t be willing to let it wait. There are few qualities more admirable than boldness.”

He’s so full of it. If I’d come charging in here demanding his time on the spot then I would have been scolded for my lack of patience. It’s always a no win situation with my father. I may as well be blunt.

“I’m asking for a loan to save Bright Hearts Ranch. I’ve mentioned that my financial position is less than ideal. We do a lot of good work at the ranch and I can supply dozens of testimonials to that effect. I’ve put together a cost analysis for what we need to improve the grounds and remain open. The presentation has already been sent to your email but I’d be happy to send it again and we can go over all the details in person.”

Even though he doesn’t interrupt, my heart begins to sink. His expression becomes a combination of boredom and contempt. I can already tell he will refuse.

“Mercedes,” he says in the voice he uses when he’s about to deliver an unsolicited lecture. “You’ve made your own decisions and you’ve done so with a complete disregard for my opinion. Your future was all set and you chose to throw it all away on a whim.”

“It wasn’t a whim, Dad. It was my dream.”

“You are no longer eight years old. It’s time to behave like an adult. One minute your dream is to marry a good man and settle down. The next minute you’re running off to open an animal farm. What does that say about your sense of responsibility?”

What a crock. He never gave Hadley this level of grief over her failed marriages and her trail of lost careers. Meanwhile, my brother the golden boy just sits there like a toad on a rock even though my father’s checkbook is no doubt wide open to satisfy his political ambitions.

The tightness in my throat warns that tears aren’t far behind.

I can’t cry in front of them. My father will sigh with disgust. My brother will turn away with embarrassment.

I lift my chin and keep my voice even. “I am not irresponsible. If you could just fly out for a day or two and visit the ranch-”

“Out of the question,” he says. “The Dukes are in the middle of the season. And now there’s also Baylor’s campaign to consider. None of us have the time for a vacation to play in the dirt.”

If I’d eaten breakfast then I might feel like throwing up right now. I know I’m not at the top of my father’s priority list. If anything, I’m more like a footnote. His words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. Swallowing hard, I force the tears away and stare down at the tips of my boots.

“He wasn’t a good man,” I whisper.

“If you want to make a statement, Mercedes, then don’t mumble.”

I lift my head. “Grant wasn’t a good man.”

My father’s brows furrow and his handsome face darkens to a frown. For a second I think he’s going to ask what I mean by that.

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