Page 137 of Cruelest Contract
Half an hour passes before I hear footsteps and hushed voices in the hall. The meeting must be over. They are all returning to their rooms now. Grim and mentally sore, I roll to my side and close my eyes just as the bedroom door creaks open.
Julian takes pains to be very quiet as he shuts the door and crosses the dark room. He approaches the bed and I know he’s staring down at me. I hear him breathing and imagine his coldly blunt appraisal of his sleeping wife.
He’s convinced I’m really asleep and eventually retreats to the bathroom. When I hear the shower switch on, I finally open my eyes and stare at the strip of light under the door. My husband’s words echo back to me. The ones he spoke the day he proposed.
“As my wife, you’ll get my protection, my loyalty and my dick. I think you’ve got more intelligence than to consider this a fairy tale.”
Of course we’re not living a fairy tale. There is no such thing.
I should have reminded myself of this every day instead of getting swept up in foolish wishes and emotions.
Julian did warn me not to fall for him.
I just failed to listen.
31
JULIAN
The radio clipped to my belt crackles and Miguel’s voice rumbles through the static with an update that the whole herd has been moved to the bottom of the coulee. The weakest animals have already been relocated to the big barn to wait out tomorrow’s storm.
I press the side button on the radio. “We’ve got this,” I assure the foreman. “You go ahead and catch your plane.”
From up here on higher ground, I spot Miguel below on horseback. He lifts a hand in acknowledgement. I wave back.
“I’d place bets that weather report is bullshit,” Getty grumbles while checking out the sky, which is still a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight.
This winter has gotten off to an unusually warm start. Here we are two days before Christmas and it’s not even cold enough to need gloves. But there’s no screwing with blizzard forecasts, especially with most of the staff taking off within the next few hours.
Since daybreak, every available man has been working on storm prep. If the most dire forecast for Christmas Eve comestrue, the herd will be much better off here in the shelter of the coulee.
Fort and Tye have already headed back to the big barn to check supplies. We watch as Miguel and the cowboys trot out of sight. Usually it’s no big deal for the staff to leave for the holidays. Most of them have people they like to visit now and then. Even Mel is leaving today to go see her sister in New York.
“Let’s take one more lap around the area,” I say to Getty. “I just want to make sure we’re not leaving anything to chance.”
He blows out an annoyed breath but doesn’t argue. The horse I’m riding is an easygoing mare named Trixie. Since we’re scrambling to prepare for the blizzard, my father saddled up Omerta this morning to help. Last I saw of him, he was riding alone on the far side of the coulee and then he disappeared behind a rock outcropping.
“When does our guest arrive?” Getty asks.
“A few hours,” I say, with little enthusiasm now that a new complication has been added. “Gabriel won’t be alone. Sonny gave me a heads up that Angelo has decided to tag along.”
A few days ago, Gabriel suddenly called his sister and said he wanted to visit her for Christmas. He never mentioned anything about Angelo joining the travel plans.
Getty snorts. “Figures. The Grimaldi boys never could take a hint when they’re not wanted.”
“Play nice,” I warn him. “We’ll keep an eye on Angelo in case there’s any hard feelings but he’s probably just scheming to see what he can get out of us. As for Gabriel, we all know what a useless weasel he is. Still, I’m hoping that having her twin around for Christmas will cheer Cecilia up.”
There’s more worry packed into this comment than I let on. Cecilia has been quiet. Guarded. Over the last couple of months I can feel her retreating from me and I don’t understand why. I know I’m gone a lot but I have good reasons. Everything I do isfor her, for the security of the family we’re building. She stays on my mind constantly. I worry that the pregnancy is taking a toll on her but all the reports I get from her doctor indicate she’s in great health.
Whatever is wrong, I’ll fix it. All she has to do is tell me what she wants. I’ll give it to her.
When Getty doesn’t respond with a typical wisecrack, I swivel around to see what his problem is.
He has stopped his horse and stares at the tree line with a strangely tense expression.
“Do you have something to say?” I ask. It’s not completely far-fetched that he might have some insight. After all, he’s here at home a lot more often than I am.
He shakes his head. “There’s plenty of shit you can’t control, Julian. You never seem to learn that.”
