Page 33 of Forty and Fighting Dirty
A scream escapedmy lips before I could stop myself. The numbers on the ticket I held with trembling hands began to swim. My eyes weren’t working right. But theywere, because that was my number the emcee had just called out!
Heart hammering, I stared at the big projector screen and squinted until I could double-check.
The numbers matched. The numbersmatched. We’d won!
I screamed again, brandishing the ticket as my boys began to yell with me. I put my hands on Nate’s cheeks and smacked a big kiss on his forehead, then did the same to Alec.
“Mom, is that our number?” Alec asked.
“Yes!” I screeched. “Yes!”
And then the emcee said, “…with the ticket belonging to none other than Mr. Rhett Baldwin!”
The words came at me as if I were underwater. I frowned atthe man onstage, watching the way his lips moved under his big white mustache, not understanding.
People around me had already turned to stare, and the surprise on their faces turned to confusion. Murmurs began to swell, and it was the coffee shop all over again. I was the outcast, the pariah, making a scene.
“Rhett, come on up here and claim your prize!”
Across the room, I saw Rhett smile, his good-guy mask solidly in place. He grinned a little wider, lifting an arm to wave at his adoring fans—uh, fellow townspeople—like he was a visiting rockstar.
And it was too much. He’d bullied me from the moment I started working for him, but I wouldn’t let him bully me out of this. This changed everything. This gave me stability and control and a tiny bit of power over my own life. If I had a house, I could stay here. I could find some remote work, maybe, or a job that didn’t pay much, because my housing costs would be nil.
Rhett Baldwin wouldnottake this away from me.
“No!” I screamed, lifting my arm. “It’smine!”
Mila darted around a portly man and his wife and came to a stop in front of me. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“Look at my ticket, Mila,” I demanded. “Those numbers match. Don’t they? Am I blind?” Anger and righteous fury turned to doubt. My hands were still shaking.
“Mom?” Nate asked. “Did we win?”
“Hang on, baby,” I said, and bent my head over the ticket beside Mila.
“Fourteen, two, double-oh, six—” She frowned, then started over to double-check. Then she straightened. “That’s your ticket number,” she announced, and another ripple went through the crowd. I could almost see the news moving through the assembled townspeople, and I saw the moment the words crashed into Rhett. He was at the base of the stairs leading up to the stage, one hand on the railing, and he paused with a foot on the bottom stair. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, said something, and pointed in my direction. The back of his T-shirt had the word “VOLUNTEER” emblazoned across his shoulder blades, the writing shifting out of sight as Rhett turned.
Our gazes collided. I bared my teeth. Rhett narrowed his eyes. The crowd parted between us, leaving a narrow aisle of electrified space connecting us.
Mila handed me my ticket again, and I clutched it in one hand before taking Alec’s hand with the other. Nate grabbed onto my belt loop, and the three of us marched toward the stage.
Rhett painted an open, baffled expression on his face, and I knew it was a lie. I could see the fire streaking through his eyes, the anger simmering just below the surface. I’d dared to challenge him again—this time in front of everyone he tried so hard to fool with his benefactor routine. I wanted to rip that T-shirt off him, and not because of the chest beneath it, but because it made him look like he belonged here, like he was such a good guy volunteering for the community. He belonged, and I was just a dirty interloper.
But he was a bully and an ass. He didn’t even care about injured cats! All he cared about was making money and protecting his precious reputation.
Yeah, I knew his type. I’d been married to a man just like him.
And I wasdoneliving a small life. Deep pockets or no, this man would not run me out of town. I’d just won a freaking house. I’d won ahome. I’d won stability for myself and my boys, and I wasn’t going to give it up.
The mustachioed emcee moved to the top of the short stairway and frowned at me. “Ma’am? What’s the problem?”
“The problem is you called my number with his name,” I said, jabbing my ticket at Rhett’s broad chest.
The emcee’s mustache trembled. “Well, now, let’s figure this out. Rhett, son, come on up here and let’s check the records here?—”
“Just look at this ticket,” I said, thrusting it at the man. “It’s got my information on it, and the number matches the number on the screen.” I pointed at the big projector screen for emphasis.
“Be that as it may,” the man said, “the ticket stub we’ve got has Rhett’s name on it.”
