Page 53 of A Montana Fake Marriage

He stared down at her, his eyes a mixture of hardness and… was that a glint of concern?

Sammie shoved that thought aside immediately. Her father had only ever been hard on her. He’d only ever judged her for the decisions she’d made. There was a reason she didn’t like being in the same house as him—especially after her mother had passed.“What are you doing here?” she demanded, hating the way her voice wavered.

Her father arched a brow. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you to speak to me.”

She snorted, turning away from him. “Caleb said to go through our lawyer.”

“He’s the one I want to talk to you about.”

That tickle of fear immediately wrapped around her neck, cutting off her ability to breathe. She didn’t want to talk about Caleb. She already knew what he was going to say. He’d tell her it was a bad idea to be married to a guy who didn’t have anything financially, and she didn’t want to have to argue with him—mostly because she knew she was going to lose. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she whispered.

He must have heard her because he gently touched her upper arm. “Sarah Ann,” he said. “Will you just have a coffee with me?”

She stilled. Perhaps if she agreed to speak to him, then she’d be able to get him to leave her alone. Slowly, she turned. “And if I do? Will you drop all this interview nonsense and let me live my life the way I want to?”

The planes of his face hardened once more. “I’m not going to let you make a mistake?—”

“Then I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Sarah Ann,” he said, firmer this time. “We need to have an adult conversation about what you’re doing and the danger you’re putting yourself in.”

She scoffed, turning to face him once more. “Danger? I’m not in any danger, Dad.”

“Well, you’re not being smart about any of this.”

A derisive laugh escaped her throat. “And that’s what this all boils down to, isn’t it? I’m not smart. I’ve never been smart enough for you. I’m well aware that you think you deserved a much better daughter than the one you got.”

A few people glanced in their direction as her voice rose a little louder than she’d intended. Her father took note and ducked his head. “This isn’t the place to?—”

“You know what? Fine. We can have a drink and move this conversation to where people aren’t judging you for being a bad father. But after we’re done, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

He stiffened. She didn’t know why she was surprised when he gave her a curt nod and motioned to a couple of tables that were over by the windows that lined the shop. “I’ll be over there.”

With each passing second, she grew more anxious. Part of her wanted to grab her coffee and escape. Another part of her screamed that this was wrong, and she should be calling Caleb or her lawyer to have them mediate such a conversation. In the end, she wanted to show her father that she was brave and strong. She wanted him to know she didn’t fear him anymore.

Sammie yanked out the chair a little too forcefully before she took a seat in front of her father. His flat expression didn’t change one bit even as she glowered at him. “You’ve got five minutes.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I doubt five minutes will be nearly enough to?—”

“Four minutes and fifty seconds.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “Fine. I’ve looked into your husband, Sarah Ann, and do you know what I found?”

She stiffened. Caleb wasn’t a criminal, so she couldn’t imagine that he’d find a record of any kind.

“While his extended family has done well for themselves, Caleb’s family has struggled at best. His grandfather lost his house about fifteen years ago—foreclosure. His folks moved here a couple years ago after they sold their house for far less than they’d paid for it. They were upside down on their mortgage and had to pay the bank the difference.”

Her mouth hung open. “You can’t seriously be telling me that you looked into their finances. I don’t even know how you did?—”

“If that young man comes from a family who struggled as much as they have… think about where he probably stands financially.”

Sammie folded her arms. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It should,” he snapped.

“Why?” she demanded. “As long as we have food on the table and clothes on our backs, what does it matter?”

He leaned forward, and his voice lowered. “Because you weren’t raised to live in squalor.”

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