Page 12 of Stuff My Turkey
"Quarter million," I said, sinking onto the couch. "Enough to expand, build a new barn, maybe hire a full-time specialist."
"They seem interested?"
I gave a noncommittal half-nod. "Hard to tell with Earl. He plays his cards close."
"And Dottie plays with a loaded deck," Honey added.
That startled a genuine laugh out of me. "You're not wrong."
We sat in companionable silence for a moment. Then Honey turned to me, her expression serious.
"I think I can do this," she said earnestly. "It's just acting, right? And they'll be gone after Thanksgiving."
"Right," I agreed, ignoring the strange twist in my chest. "Just acting."
She yawned, the day's events clearly catching up with her. "But I need sleep if I'm going to face another round with those two tomorrow."
I nodded, feeling the weight of the day myself. "Go ahead. I'll lock up."
"Thanks." She hesitated at the hallway entrance. "This is really happening, isn't it? Playing house for a quarter million dollars."
"Afraid so." I gestured toward the bedroom. "Your new sleeping chambers await, Counselor."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide her smile. "Don't forget—floor duty for you, Rancher."
"As agreed," I said with a mock salute.
After she disappeared down the hallway, I took my time securing the house, giving her privacy to get ready for bed. When I finally entered the bedroom, she was already tucked under the covers. Her clothes were neatly folded on the dresser, next to my family photos—the juxtaposition oddly intimate.
I grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and made a makeshift bed on the floor, listening to her steady breathing from the other side of the room.
I was in trouble. Because fake girlfriend or not, there was nothing pretend about the way my blood warmed just being in the same room with her.
This was going to be one hell of a week.
Chapter Three
Honey
I woke up to the sound of water running and a muffled curse from the bathroom. I blinked groggily at the unfamiliar ceiling. It took me a moment to remember where I was—Heath McGraw's bedroom, playing the part of the doting girlfriend to help him land a business deal.
God, my life had taken a weird turn.
I stretched, wincing as my back protested. Despite having the bed to myself, I'd barely slept. Every tiny noise—Heath's steady breathing from his makeshift floor bed, the distant lowing of cattle, the unfamiliar creaks of the old farmhouse—had kept me on high alert. That, and the knowledge that I was sharing a room with six-foot-three of irritatingly attractive cowboy.
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. Heath emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets still clinging to his broad shoulders. I quickly shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep, but not before getting an eyeful that sent my pulse racing. The sight of water trailing down the ridges of his abdomen made my mouth go dry, and I suddenly understood what "thirsty" meant in the modern sense.
"I know you're awake," he said, voice gruff with morning. "Bathroom's free."
I cracked one eye open. "Do you always parade around half-naked in front of houseguests?"
"Only the ones pretending to be my girlfriend." He crossed to the dresser and pulled out clothes. "Besides, if the Vickerys happen to come by, it would look strange if I was being overly modest around my supposed long-term girlfriend."
He had a point, though it didn't make the situation any less nerve-wracking. I sat up, keeping the blanket pulled to my chin like some Victorian maiden.
"I'll..." I gestured toward the bathroom, then realized I'd need to cross the room. Even in the flannel pajama set from yesterday's shopping spree, I felt somehow exposed. My hair looked like I'd been electrocuted, and I was pretty sure my morning breath could fell a small animal. The chill of a Texas November morning seeped through the old farmhouse windows, making me shiver slightly as I contemplated the dash across the hardwood floor.
Heath seemed to understand my dilemma and turned his back. "I'll get dressed in the closet. Take your time."
