Page 39 of Married With Lies

Tomorrow I can look forward to another rewarding day at the ranch. Gus will be here in the afternoon to give the puppies their shots and check on a few minor medical issues. I’ve already made a mental note to ask her to check the front left leg of our newest horse, Wylie. He’d been underfed and chained to a post for months. Finally, after a lot of pleading and a fine from the county, the owner relinquished him and allowed us to bring him to Bright Hearts.

Whenever I see evidence of an animal being mistreated, my very soul crumbles. I know that I can’t help them all but I’ll never stop trying.

After a quick check on all the door locks and one final glance out the living room window at the quiet outbuildings, I climb the creaky steps to my bedroom at the top of the stairs. As expected, I find two oversized hounds stretched out on my bed atop the rag quilt sewn by Peggy.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap, boys.” I kick off my cruddy work boots before sitting on the bed where I’m instantly swamped by sloppy dog kisses and smacked with wagging tails.

Apollo and Zeus were the very first dogs taken in by Bright Hearts. They’d lived their whole lives outside, their only shelter an unheated shed. Then when they got older their owner brought them to Gus’s veterinary clinic in town and wanted them euthanized. Gus waited until the man left and then brought them here. I’d barely moved in and the outbuildings hadn’t even been cleaned yet. Apollo and Zeus didn’t mind. They made themselves right at home in my bedroom and became part of my family, along with Gus and Peggy and our lovely volunteers.

Back in those early days I struggled with self doubt, still reeling over the fallout from my broken engagement and all the humiliation that came with it. I was positive I’d done the right thing in ditching Grant and fleeing New York. Yet there were moments when my father’s disapproving face would swim in front of my eyes. Then my chest would tighten with fear that I’d fail everyone I’d grown to love here.

I haven’t failed. I’ve had a lot of help along the way and I’m lucky beyond words.

Once the dogs are satisfied that they’ve received enough of a greeting they resume their sleeping positions and I’m free to escape to the shower. One the way to the bathroom I shrug out of my fleece-lined flannel and then switch on the water in the pink-tiled shower stall. Whoever invented indoor plumbing and hot water heaters will forever be my hero.

When I stand at the vanity mirror, I expect my reflection to look tired and it is. There’s a smudge of dirt on my cheek and my skin, free of makeup, is reddened from exposure to the wind. The callouses on my hands make some of my fingers look swollen and my nails, trimmed down to the skin, would horrify a manicurist.

Steam begins to drift from the shower and I peel off my white t-shirt. Now that I’m standing here in my bra, there’s something else I need to deal with. The silver chain around my neck is intentionally long, easy to tuck beneath my clothes. If it wasn’t, I’d have a little bit of difficulty explaining why there’s a five carat diamond ring dangling from the end.

Cale has kept his promises to me and I have kept my promises to him. He wanted me to wear his ring and so I’m wearing it. He insisted that no one could know the truth about our sham marriage and no one does. In fact, I haven’t told anyone that I’m even married.

I dislike lying. I really really dislike lying to the people I care about. Peggy was satisfied with my mumbling explanation that I solved our financial crisis by making a deal. Gus was more suspicious. For four months I’ve kept the knowledge of my secret fake mafia husband from my best friend. It’s not a great feeling.

At first, I didn’t see how I’d pull off the charade. The only reason I’ve been successful is because my New York family and my Bright Hearts family don’t collide in any way. No one with the last name Wingate will be showing up here anytime this century.

I waited to return from my ‘honeymoon’ before sharing the news with the Wingates. To say it didn’t go over well is like saying the Joker doesn’t like Batman.

My father was incensed. He announced that I was a disgrace to the family name and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he immediately called his lawyer to erase me from the will. My sister said she was in the middle of getting waxed and hung up on me. My brother demanded an immediate annulment. My stepmother, Arlena, was the only who even tried to be polite. She sent me six brand new pairs of designer high heels in various shades of pink. They were all the wrong size and I don’t wear heels unless forced but it’s the thought that counts.

Nothing about my relationship with my family has improved in the last four months and we are currently at a stalemate. I have to search online for updates on my brother’s political campaign. The fact that the Dukes are in the playoffs should have improved my father’s attitude but he’s holding a grudge. This bothers me, my family’s rejection. Even if I’m used to the feeling, it still bothers me.

I slip the chain from my neck and deposit it, ring and all, into a small tumbler beside the sink where it will stay until tomorrow morning. Then I spend a good chunk of quality time with a hot shower. It’s when I’m toweling off that my thoughts drift to Cale.

This is Friday night and I have no clue what he might be doing. His work schedule is a mystery. His personal life is a mystery. Cale himself is a mystery.

At least once a week I’m tempted to call him for a real conversation to put an end to some of those mysteries. Like what does he like to do in his free time? What’s his favorite animal? If he could choose one fantastic thing to see in his life, what would it be? Maybe we could be friends.

Yet I always chicken out. I have my reasons.

In Vegas, Cale made it pretty clear how friendly he’s willing to be. Not very friendly at all. Aside from a kiss that practically liquefied my kneecaps, Cale kept his distance. He still keeps his distance. I’m grateful for the regular deposits to my bank account and I keep sharing the progress on the ranch. He rarely responds with more than a few words. Cale Connelly doesn’t want to be my friend.

I’m tying the belt of my comfy terrycloth robe when my phone starts buzzing. As I bend over to yank the phone from the back pocket of my discarded jeans, I have the crazy thought that Cale is calling.

He’s not calling. My sister is.

I can imagine the look on my face. Not pleasant, I’m sure.

Then a bolt of terror strikes. Hadley never ever calls just for a sisterly chat. What if my father’s sick? Or hurt? I can’t bear the thought.

Thank goodness I don’t need to.

“SCRAPS,” Hadley wails, “you’ll never believe what happened to me!”

“Are you okay?”

“NOOOOOOO.” Sniff. Sniff. Hiccup. “You know how Kylie was supposed to be my maid of honor?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Because I don’t even know who Kylie is. But at least my heart is no longer pounding as I take a seat on the bathroom floor. Nothing is really wrong. Hadley is just being Hadley. To her, real tragedies that happen to other people are never a big deal whereas every speed bump in the road of her life is cause for a meltdown.

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