Page 53 of The Marriage Deal
I hardly got a wink of sleep.
I’d woken before the sun, tossing and turning all while I watched it climb into the sky. I threw back the covers, stealthily cracked my bedroom door, and crept with Senior into the kitchen where I found a pot of freshly brewed coffee and a used mug left by the kitchen sink.
My heart slams in my chest as I prepare myself to see my fake fiancé first thing in the morning. I have bed head and wear my little pajama set of silk shorts and tank top. I prefer nighties but…
Movement catches my eye, and I gaze out through the large window over the sink to see a man on a horse. Briggs.
Relief wheezes from my lungs like a pinhole in a balloon, slow but steady. I make myself a coffee, grab the book I’d bought the other day—I’m already over half finished—and slip with Senior out the back patio doors.
He boogies down the stairs to the land below for his morning business as I settle on the patio sofa with my book and coffee. Only, my gaze keeps moving to the man on the horse in the distance. That’s where my gaze stays when he guides the horse to a stop over a cliff. The backdrop of desert mountains burns a pretty golden color as they stretch high on the other side of the river that surges between cliff and mountain.
What is he thinking about out there? And why do I care?
I force my gaze down to the book, and even though it was a really great book I’d hardly been able to look away from while at my parents, my gaze keeps dragging itself to the man in the distance.
Even with all the distance between us, I can see his power. Can practically feel it.
Hunger I have no business entertaining gnaws at my core. I tell myself it is because of the romance I’m reading. Perhaps I need to pick up a thriller while I stay with Briggs.
I read a sentence and then read it again twice more. Why can’t I retain the words?
My eyes lift again to the spot I’d last seen Briggs, but it’s empty. He’s gone.
My heart starts to strum unsteadily in my chest, because that means he’d turned back for the house.
I’m not dressed, and suddenly I feel panicked at the thought of him seeing me like this. I feel overexposed and a thread away from naked.
“Senior,” I call, leaping to my feet with my coffee and book.
Senior looks up at me from his snoop of the yard, and because he’s a darn good pup, he instantly starts his trot over to the stairs. It’s not long before he’s up on the deck with me, but my heart is still a thundering mess in my chest.
Why hadn’t I thought to at least put a housecoat on?
“Come on, boy.” I slide the patio doors open and step into the house. It’s as I’m hurrying to set mycoffee on the island countertop that my attention is snagged by the stack of cream-colored cards on the countertop.
I don’t know how I missed it first thing. I’m grateful I already set my coffee on the countertop, or I might have spilled it.
Invitations. Wedding invitations.
For my wedding.
A chill overtakes every inch of my body as I stare down at the cards, unblinking. They’re pretty. The font is curly and romantic and foiled gold. The design is simple and lovely.
There’s a noise to my left. I look that way to find Briggs rooted to the floor, his eyes darker than usual as they pin me to the spot.
There’s at least a whole minute of silence that stretches between us.
Then I break it with a squeak when Senior’s wet nose brushes my bare thigh. My eyes break away from Briggs to look down at my old guy, and I see big amber eyes fixed on me. He’s checking the pulse of the situation.
Gosh, what a good pup.How could anyone abandon him?
How is no one looking for him? Madelyn has scoured all the missing animal social media groups, and nothing. Not a single ‘missing’ post for this old guy. I stroke my fingertips over the soft hair on his head, and he scoots closer on his rump until theflyaway hairs on his chest tickle the bare skin of my legs.
Briggs brings me back to the here and now with a rough, “Morning.”
My heart kicks back into high gear. My eyes whip to him. I squeak again, “Morning.”
“See you found the coffee.” I watch him as he rounds the island. He swipes the used mug he’d left beside the sink before his morning ride and carries it back to the pot. He glances at me. “Ready for a refill?”
