“We just wanted to thank you in person,” James said, tugging his wife’s hand. “Now, we’ve got to run. Annie’s mom is watching our two little monsters, and she’s probably ready to tear her hair out by now.” Nodding, he said, “It really is good to see you, Hunter.”
“Right. Thanks.” Hunter stood stock-still on the sidewalk as the happy couple hurried off, and Margie felt the tension in him through the heavy arm he kept firmly around her shoulders.
“Well,” Margie said softly, trying-and failing-to peel herself off Hunter, “I suppose we’d better go on to Carla’s Dress Shop now.”
“In a minute,” Hunter said, tightening his arm around her until she could have sworn she could feel every one of his ribs, every ounce of muscle, every drop of heat pouring from his body into hers. “First, I want you to answer something for me.”
She swallowed hard, tipped her face up to his and found herself caught in his gaze. “What?”
“Why’d you do it?” he asked, features stony, eyes giving away nothing of what he was feeling. “Why’d you let everyone think that it was my idea to do all these things around town? Why didn’t you just do whatever it was you do without dragging me into it?”
“Because I’m your wife, Hunter,” she said. “It only made sense that you be a part of all of the decision making.”
“But I never asked for this,” he argued, his eyes going icy as he looked at her. “I didn’t-don’t-want to be responsible for this town.”
Margie shook her head and saw more than she guessed he would want her to. Whether he would admit it or not, he loved this place, too. She’d seen it in his face as they walked along the familiar street. She’d heard it in his voice when he greeted old friends. And she’d felt it from him as the Drakes offered their thanks for everything
“Don’t you see, Hunter,” she said softly and reached up to cup his cheek, voluntarily touching him for the first time. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what they need. The people in Springville need to feel that they’re important to the Cabots. And like it or not, you
Five
“Nonsense,” Simon said. “There’s no reason for you to leave, and I won’t accept your resignation.”
Margie sighed. She’d known that telling Simon she’d be leaving at the end of the month wouldn’t be easy. But after spending several hours in Springville with Hunter, she’d realized that she’d never be able to stay once her “marriage” was over. How could she?
Once Hunter left, every time she went into town, she’d have to see pity on the faces of her friends. They’d talk about her and speculate about what had gone wrong in her “wonderful” marriage.
She just couldn’t stand the thought of it. This place had been a refuge for her. A place where she’d found friends and a sense of belonging she’d never known before. She didn’t want any of that to change. So to protect herself and her memories of this place, she had no choice but to leave.
“You have to accept it, Simon.” Margie shook her head sadly. “I’ll be leaving at the end of the month. I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” the old man said, lips pinched as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “Hunter’s not an idiot, you know. He’ll open his eyes. See you for who you are. Everything’s going to work out fine. You’ll see.”
If a part of her wished he were right, she wouldn’t admit to it. Because her rational mind just couldn’t believe it. She and Hunter hadn’t exactly gotten off to a smooth start. “Simon, he thinks I’m a gold digger.”
The old man barked out one short laugh. “He’ll get past that fast enough. I told him I had to force the money on you.”
“About that,” she said, wincing inwardly. Margie had never wanted the five million dollars, but Simon had been adamant about her accepting it. All she’d ever wanted was an honest job and to be able to support herself.
She hadn’t married Hunter for the money. She’d done it for Simon. And, she admitted silently, because she’d liked the idea of being married. Of being wanted.
Stupid, Margie, really stupid.
She should have known that she had been walking into a huge mistake.
“Don’t you worry about my grandson, you hear me?” Simon said, pushing up from the chair behind his desk. He walked slowly toward her, linked his arm through hers and headed toward the door. “I’ve known Hunter all his life, and I’m sure he’s going to do the right thing.”
“According to him, the right thing is to have me arrested.”
He laughed again and patted her arm. “Just trust me, Margie,” he told her, ushering her into the hallway. “Everything’s going to work out.”
“Simon-”
“Not another word, now,” he admonished, holding up one hand to still anything else she might have to say. “You just be yourself and let me worry about Hunter.”
Then he closed the study door, shutting Margie out and leaving her to wonder if he’d even heard a word she’d said. Probably not. She’d learned in the two years she’d worked for Simon that his head could be every bit as thick and stubborn as his grandson’s seemed to be.
For the next few days, Hunter suffered through oceans of gratitude. Stoically, silently, he accepted the thanks from people he’d known his whole life for things he hadn’t done.
Margie had been right, he knew. The people in Springville did need to know that their jobs, their lives, were safe. And around here, that meant having the Cabot family take an interest. Be involved.
And his “wife” was the Queen of Involved. She was on a half dozen committees, spent some of her day with Simon, taking care of business matters, and then what time she had left, she devoted to being the Lady of the Manor.
Hell. Hunter rubbed one hand across his face and told himself to knock it off. Yes, he resented all of the time and effort she was putting into Springville, but this was mainly because he still hadn’t figured out why she was doing it. And why was she giving him so much credit for everything she’d done? What the hell did she care if people in town hated or loved him? What did it matter to her if the Little League field had been replanted and new dugouts constructed for the kids who would play there this summer?
Why was she so damn determined to carve a place for herself in this little town? And why was she dragging him along with her?
Those words of Margie’s kept repeating in his mind, and he didn’t much care for it. He’d never thought about the town and his attachment to it in those terms, and a part of him was ashamed to admit it, even to himself.
“But damn it, I don’t need a teacher. Don’t need this woman who’s not even my wife making me look good to a town I don’t even live in anymore.” He shook his head, glared out at the wide sweep of flowers spread out in front of him and muttered, “I didn’t ask her to do it, did I? I didn’t ask to be the damn town hero.”
“You talking to yourself again, Hunter?”
His head snapped up, and his gaze locked on the estate gardener watching Hunter from behind a low bank of hydrangeas. How much had the man heard? How much did he know? This pretending to be something he wasn’t was driving him nuts. Just as being married to a curvy, luscious redhead he couldn’t touch was beginning to push him to the edge of his control.
Sleeping beside her every night, waking up every morning to find himself holding her close only to jump out of bed and rebuild her damn wall before she could wake up and discover his weakness.
Since when did he have a damn weakness?
Taking a breath, he told himself to play the game he’d agreed to play. To get through the rest of the month and reclaim his life. When the month was over, he’d find a woman. Any woman, and bury his memories of Margie in some anonymous sex. Then he could get back to the base and do what he knew best.
“Just what planet are you on, Hunter?”
