Page 4 of Stuff My Turkey
"I was a theater kid in high school," I informed him, lifting my chin defiantly. "I can be very convincing."
Heath snorted. "Good, because we've got less than 24 hours to prepare before they arrive." He gestured toward my car. "Now let's get that bird back where he belongs before he ruins your upholstery."
"Too late," I sighed, glancing down at my jeans.
The trek back to my Prius felt surreal – me trudging beside a cowboy with a rifle, heading to retrieve a stolen prize turkey. The feathered captive had settled in, making soft cooing sounds as it nestled into my back seat, seemingly untroubled by its brief kidnapping adventure.
"So," I ventured as we approached, "should I call you 'babe' or ‘pumpkin’ or what?"
Heath winced like he'd bitten into a lemon. "Let's start with getting through introductions without giving away that this is a sham, shall we?"
"Fine, but just so we're clear, this is extortion," I pointed out as he opened the car door, releasing the faint aroma of barnyard into the night.
"And what you were doing is agricultural theft," he countered, expertly scooping up the Bourbon Red before it could escape. "So I guess we're even."
He cradled the plump bird with unexpected gentleness, his large hands careful and sure. Something shifted inside me as I watched the tenderness in his movements while he murmured to his prized breeding tom. For all his gruff exterior, there was an undeniable softness in how he protected his animals.
What had I gotten myself into?
The night had grown still as Heath returned the turkey to its flock. My car now sat in his driveway, looking comically small and out of place next to his massive pickup truck. I hugged myself tightly as we climbed the steps to a charming white farmhouse that resembled a Country Living magazine cover. The porch light cast a warm glow that contrasted with my inner turmoil.
"You can take the guest room tonight," Heath said, fumbling with his keys. The lock clicked open, and the scent of cedar and coffee wafted out from the warm interior. "We'll move your things to my room tomorrow before they arrive."
"Your room?" My voice cracked embarrassingly.
Heath removed his hat, running a hand through his flattened hair. "Relax, I can take the floor," he added with a sigh. "But they need to think we're sharing."
Right. Because we were supposed to be a couple. A couple who'd apparently been dating long enough for me to be staying at his ranch during a holiday week with potential backers.
This was insane. I was insane for agreeing to it.
But as I followed Heath into the warm house, tired to my bones, I couldn't think of a better alternative. One week of pretending versus the end of my career? No contest.
Besides, how hard could it be to fake being Heath McGraw's girlfriend? We'd barely have to interact. Just smile, hold hands occasionally, and convince the Vickerys we were a happy couple.
Easy peasy.
I sneezed loudly, startling us both.
Heath turned, his features softening as he took in my bedraggled state. "You should change into something comfortable," he suggested, his voice rougher than before. "Bathroom's down the hall. I'll find you something to sleep in."
"Thanks," I managed, feeling like something the cat dragged in. Heath's gaze lingered on my face for a beat too long before he looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
Strictly business, I reminded myself firmly. This was strictly business.
But as Heath disappeared down the hallway, his broad shoulders and quiet confidence unmistakable even in the shadows, a treacherous little voice in my head whispered that this was going to be the longest week of my life.
And not necessarily in a bad way.
Chapter Two
Heath
I woke at the first hint of dawn, my body clock set to rancher time no matter how little sleep I'd gotten. Last night's chaos—the turkey theft, the downpour that had soaked us both, and the strange deal I'd struck with Honey—still felt like some bizarre dream. But the sound of movement from the guest room down the hall confirmed it was all too real.
After our late-night agreement, I'd shown her to my spare room around three a.m., tossed her some McGraw Ranch sweats, and retreated to my bedroom to stare at the ceiling for what remained of the night. Now, as Sunday morning light filtered through the curtains, the full weight of what I'd done hit me.
I'd backed my brother's ex-girlfriend into a corner with an offer she couldn't refuse.
