To Have And To Hold
- -
- 100%
- +
No, Pops. That’s over. He never wanted me.
Travis’s grip became painful, but Lindy welcomed the discomfort, sure that without it, she’d have slid to the floor.
Turning her head to study Travis, she found him staring holes into Chester. She noted the muscle jumping again at his jawline. Angry waves rolled off him.
His anger didn’t have anything on hers. For him, this was just a bump in the road. She could lose everything.
“How dare he!” Lindy pulled her hand free from Travis’s iron grip and jumped to her feet. “How dare you write that fool thing up, Chester. You can’t really expect us to honor such drivel.”
“Trust me, girl, I did everything I could to talk him out of it, but you know how stubborn he was. I knew if I didn’t draft the papers, he’d find someone else who would. Someone less discreet.” Chester’s mouth folded into a grim frown.
Lindy stalked around the guest chairs, into the open space in the middle of the room. She needed to move before she exploded. One hundred and fifty-four days. She’d lose her mind, cooped up with Travis for that long.
And what the hell were New Zealand swamp frogs?
Lindy paced to the door and back, rubbing her fingertips against her throbbing temples. Her heart pounded against her chest hard enough to bruise the skin.
Travis remained frozen in his chair, narrowed eyes riveted to Chester.
“Why, Chester?” she asked. “Why did he do this? And such an odd time period? What’s the significance of one hundred fifty-four days?”
“Lionel felt the two of you gave up too soon. A marriage takes time and work, especially when you hit a rough patch.” The old man leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his rounded belly. “One hundred and fifty-four days is how long the two of you lived together as man and wife.”
Stunned, Lindy stopped pacing. The muscles in her legs went limp. She slithered into her vacant chair.
She’d been certain one hundred and fifty-four days was forever. But as a measuring stick for her marriage, it sounded pathetically short.
The desk chair squeaked as Chester sat forward. “Lionel figured if he forced you two together, you’d find a way to work things out. He didn’t want pride or fear to cause you to wait until it was too late.” His voice gentled. “He knew tying up the farm was the only way to get you to make a move, Lindy.”
Her grandfather’s best friend swiveled his chair, meeting Travis’s stare. After silently studying the younger man for several long seconds, Chester spoke, his gentle tone forgotten.
“Lionel spoke highly of you, young man. Felt certain you’d be there for Lindy if her dreams were threatened. I’d say the fact you haven’t already stormed out of here proves the old goat got a few things right, even if his method was a little off.”
“A little off!” Lindy leaped back to her feet. “He’s trying to control our lives. Did he really think we’d just roll over and say, ‘Oh, what the heck? The old man’s probably got a point. Why don’t we just ignore what we want and give this a shot?’”
Travis’s hand rested on her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him stand. She didn’t shrug off the contact, but she did resist the urge to lean backward. It would be so easy to lose herself in the temporary security of his arms.
“Lindy, calm down.” He tenderly squeezed her shoulder. “Your grandfather must’ve known he wasn’t well. What he’s done is meddlesome. And insulting. But I think it was his way of looking out for you.”
“Why can’t anyone see I can take care of myself!” Hands fisted, she itched to pace, but there was nowhere left to go. Dominating men surrounded her.
Travis’s other hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her so quickly she nearly lost her balance. She raised her face to his, shocked to see anger boiling in his eyes.
“That’s always been your biggest problem.” Travis’s voice was low, despite the way his chest heaved. His hands fell from her shoulders and he took a step backward, as if he didn’t trust himself not to take a swing at her. She’d never seen this side of Travis.
“Just because you’re capable of taking care of everything yourself doesn’t mean you’ve failed if you let someone else handle things sometimes. Or, God forbid, share the burden. You think your fears make you weak.” He pivoted with military precision, turning his back on her, stalking to the window.
“Being strong doesn’t mean doing it all by yourself,” he told her over his shoulder. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to trust someone than it does to go it alone.”
Tears burned Lindy’s eyes. “When you trust someone and they let you down, it hurts worse than going it alone!”
“Yeah, I know.” Travis turned and found her eyes. “You taught me that lesson.”
Travis stared out the study window, searching the clouds for answers, ignoring Chester Warfield’s perusal. An awkward, suffocating silence engulfed the room.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t let Lindy lose her home, her dreams. On the other hand, he didn’t think he could endure one hundred and fifty-four days of living with a woman who so obviously despised him.
Surely he could find a way to fix this. He needed a plan. First step, get his attorney involved. If anyone could find a loophole in the will, it was Brad Middleton. They needed a valid reason to contest the insane terms of the will.
Whoa. Maybe that was it. The terms were unquestionably insane. If they could claim—
“You’re thinking too hard, boy,” Warfield declared, breaking into Travis’s thoughts. “Say what’s on your mind.”
He turned and faced his wife. “How about having Lionel declared incompetent and ruling the changes invalid?”
“What!” Lindy’s cheeks bloomed with angry color.
Warfield ignored her outburst. “If you could convince a judge Lionel wasn’t in his right mind, you could probably get the will overturned. Only problem is, there isn’t a person in this county, hell, the whole state, that would say Lionel Lewis was anything other than ornery and stubborn. And those aren’t grounds for incompetency.”
“I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing!” Lindy’s fists balled at her sides. “There’s no way I’d do or say anything to ruin my grandfather’s good name.”
Trying to ignore his wife, Travis turned his concentration to the attorney. He needed all the facts before he took action.
“So, as things stand, in order for Lindy to inherit the farm, I’ve got to move in with her for a period of one hundred and fifty-four days?”
Warfield nodded. “Correct.”
Roughly five months. Long enough to earn her forgiveness? Maybe. Maybe not.
“Do we have to sleep together every night?” he asked.
“Ex-cuse me?”
Neither man acknowledged Lindy’s outburst, but Travis rephrased his question. “Do we both have to be in residence on the farm every night during that time period? I have a business to run. What if I need to travel?”
Warfield rubbed his chin as though contemplating the question, but Travis noticed the smile he fought to hide. Apparently the old man was beginning to enjoy Travis’s dilemma.
“While short business trips are a common component of married life these days, the intention is for the two of you to spend time together. Therefore, you must limit yourself to no more than three nights away per month.”
“Darned fool,” Lindy grumbled from across the room. Travis wasn’t sure exactly which one of them she referred to.
“Does ‘husband and wife’ imply anything other than living under the same roof? Presenting ourselves as a couple in the community?” Travis wouldn’t put anything past Lindy’s grandfather at this point. Not even manipulating their sex life.
“No. The wording was chosen to ensure you both reside at the farmhouse without any other live-in guests.” The attorney leaned forward in his chair, stacking his forearms on the desk. “I know this is hard for the two of you to believe, but Lionel thought he’d be doing you a favor by arranging this.”
“Bull—” Lindy reentered the conversation with a very unladylike comment. “If Pops thought I’d be grateful for this little scheme, he wouldn’t have kept it secret. He knew I’d be pissed. He also knew I’d consider it if it was my only way to keep the farm.”
“It’s not the only way, Lindy,” Travis said, but he knew it was. She’d never endorse petitioning for Lionel’s incompetency.
“Yes, it is. I won’t ruin his reputation. Not for anything in this world. And that includes the farm.”
“Final question.” Travis readdressed the attorney. “What happens after we serve the hundred fifty-four days?”
Warfield no longer bothered to hide his smile. The old man was definitely getting a kick out of this.
“That’s between you and your wife, Mr. Monroe.”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Lindy stood before her closet, surveying her wardrobe. Did she really own two dozen pairs of jeans? Yep. And five sets of overalls? Yep, again.
Where were her girl clothes?
Bypassing her extensive denim collection, she dug far in the back of her closet and unearthed the most feminine thing she owned, a periwinkle-blue dress with a full skirt and three-quarter-length sleeves. Ah, yes. This should do just fine.
Not bothering with the back zipper, she tugged the dress over her head and smoothed the fabric over her hips until the hem fell to her midcalves. The lightweight jersey knit clung to her curves. And the color certainly set off her eyes.
She fluffed her curls, dabbed on her favorite floral perfume, and pulled out her only tube of lipstick. Pursing her colored lips, she twisted in front of the mirror, surveying herself from every direction. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she looked ready to handle today’s mission.
She’d tossed and turned all night, struggling to find a way out of this mess. Around one in the morning, a crazy idea had popped into her head. By the time she got out of bed this morning at five-thirty, the idea had grown into a full-fledged plan. Now, she just had to find the courage to see it through.
Once she refused to honor the will, she’d be on her own. If she wanted to make a success of Country Daze without involving Travis in her grandfather’s crazy scheme, she needed cash.
This morning’s trip to the bank was the first step. She refused to let her dreams slip through her fingers again. Making Country Daze a reality had saved her sanity over the past year. She’d lost Travis, their child and now Pops. Her dream was all she had left.
Down on her knees, she rummaged through the boots and dirty sneakers on her closet floor, digging up a comfy pair of sandals. Before she lost her nerve, she slipped them on and dashed downstairs, ducking into the kitchen to grab her keys just as Alice Robertson let herself in the back door.
Her neighbor let out a wolf whistle that would’ve made any construction worker proud. “Lord Almighty. You look like a girl.”
“I sure hope so.” Despite the heaviness in her heart, Lindy put her hands on her hips and struck a runway pose. “Girls are the best bait for a manhunt.”
Alice raised one red brow. “Gracious, child, no need to set out the bait. You could have any man in Holcombe County with just the wiggle of one finger.”
Yeah, right.
“I think I’ll stick to my plan.” She bussed her lips across Alice’s cheek. “Wish me luck.”
“Whatever you’re up to, that dress oughta be all the luck you need.”
Lindy grabbed a sweater off the hall rack and raced outside to Pops’s old truck, anxious to get this charade behind her. Her stomach felt like one huge ball of nerves. At three o’clock this morning, she’d been sure her idea was foolproof. Under the bright lights of morning, though, doubts crept in. Pressing her foot against the accelerator, Lindy increased her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and did her best to block out her second thoughts.
At precisely nine o’clock, she parked her old truck in the front row of the People’s Bank Building. More than ready to escape the close confines of the cab, she snatched her purse off the bench seat and quickly hopped down.
Pretending to rummage through her purse, she stood at the curb for a minute, gulping in fresh air and willing her heart rate to settle. She hated this whole weak-kneed, churning-stomach feeling she got every time she forced herself to drive.
With a final loud exhale, she walked through the double glass doors and entered the bank’s lobby. Pinning a confident smile in place, she approached the woman who’d been the bank’s receptionist for over twenty years.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carstairs.”
“Good morning, Lindy dear. I sure was sorry to hear about Lionel.”
Lindy’s face curved into the same grateful expression she used every time she heard that sentiment. Pops had been such a popular man, she knew she’d still be accepting condolences a year from now.
“Thank you. How’s Lucy doing?”
“She’s carrying low. Sure sign the baby’s a boy.”
Lindy felt a twinge of envy, but pushed it aside. “That’s fantastic.” She rested one hand on the faux-marble reception desk and flattened the other over her twittering stomach. This was it. No more stalling. Time to do what had to be done.
“Is Mr. Harper in this morning?” No turning back now.
The receptionist’s penciled-on eyebrows rose. “Why certainly, dear. Have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Resisting the urge to make a break for it and forget the whole thing, she settled into an overstuffed chair. In less than two minutes, Mark Harper appeared from behind a wall of smoky glass. His ever-present pocket protector overflowed with pens and his thick glasses hung precariously on the tip of his nose. He was still too thin for his height and he needed a haircut. And he represented her only chance at escaping this predicament.
Hating herself for what she was about to do, Lindy imposed a fake wobble in her voice and extended her hand to one of the nicest guys she’d ever known. “Mark, thanks for seeing me.”
“N-no problem, Lindy. Come on in.” He placed his hand on her back and ushered her into his office. His perspiration dampened the material at her waist.
Yep. She was about to do a really despicable thing. But Pops had her cornered.
Fifteen minutes later, Lindy stormed out of the bank building, so angry she didn’t know whether to spit or cry. Unfortunately she could do neither in the middle of the town square.
Focused solely on getting the hell out of Dodge before she lost control of her temper and no longer cared about making a public spectacle of herself, Lindy blindly marched to her truck.
A creative string of curses dripped off her tongue as she dug into her purse for her keys. A familiar whiff of cedar drifting on a sea breeze distracted her. She raised her head, pointed her nose into the wind, and walked straight into the source of the smell.
Travis’s hands gripped her elbows to steady her. “Whoa. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right. Why do people keep asking me that?” Lindy threw back her head and tried to look him in the eye. The sun haloed his head, blocking his face. “Are you following me?”
He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “No, Lindy. I’m not following you. I just finished breakfast at Daisy’s Diner. But I was on my way to see you. I checked out of the Sheltering Arms this morning. If we’re going to honor the will, we need to make some plans.”
Well, she’d already made her plans, and they’d blown up in her face. Dolled up like some backwoods femme fatale, she’d embarrassed both herself and softhearted Mark Harper.
She’d been so sure she could bamboozle him into loaning her enough money to buy the old Roosevelt farm. At just under four hundred acres, it offered less property than her family’s farm, but was more than enough land for Country Daze.
But thanks to Pops’s wild stipulations, she wouldn’t have any collateral until she fulfilled the terms of the will and inherited her own farm free and clear.
She harrumphed at the fabulous-smelling man in front of her. “I’m sick to death of plans. Plans never work out.” She tried to sidestep him, but he refused to release his hold on her elbows. “Let go of me, Travis. I have to get out of here. Right now.”
She glared at him through eyes she knew were wet with unshed tears, uncertain how much longer her control would hold.
He leaned forward, bringing his mouthwatering scent with him. Without the sun directly behind his head, his expression became clear. The understanding in his green-gold eyes further threatened her self-control.
“Then let’s get out of here.” Stepping back, he waved his arm toward her old truck. “Lead the way. I’ll follow you.”
Tears and emotions back under control, Lindy drove under the Lewis Family Farm archway, one eye glued to the BMW tailing her. Now what?
Her brilliant plan to outsmart Pops had failed. That left her with only two options. Walk away from her home and her dreams or bury her pride and ask for Travis’s help.
“Talk about your rock and a hard place.” She turned off her old truck and sat for a moment, fiddling with the keys, delaying the inevitable. For the first time in over a year, she didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to escape the vehicle.
Stunned to realize worrying about Travis had blocked out her normal nervousness during the entire drive home, she climbed slowly from the cab. As her feet hit solid ground, a breeze caught her hem, whipping the dress around her knees.
Travis rolled to a stop. Pretending to ignore him while she smoothed her skirt back into place, she watched from under her lashes as he stepped from the car, first one expensive Italian leather shoe, then the next. Straightening, he shut the door and engaged his car alarm.
A sardonic grin twisted her lips. Was he afraid the chickens might try to make off with his fancy car?
He’s so out of place here. The hard truth sobered her, flattening her grin into a frown.
All those months she’d spent dreaming of Travis coming for her, putting their marriage before his family’s selfish demands, she’d never once considered what would happen after his arrival. Seeing him here, standing in the barnyard wearing a coat and tie, she realized this man would never fit into her life.
Raising her head, she caught him openly studying her. His eyebrows rose, waiting for her to make the next move. She strode onto the porch. His footsteps followed. She opened the front door, but paused on the threshold, once again meeting his gaze over her shoulder.
“You don’t fit in here.” A simple statement of fact, but saying it aloud brought an unexpected lump to her throat.
“I’m willing to try,” Travis said, following her inside.
“I’m not sure I am.” She slammed the heavy front door, automatically toeing out of her shoes, even though the sandals she’d worn to town were free from barnyard yuck.
Travis gripped her arm, spun her around. Even in the unlit entryway, she could see the angry pulse jumping at his temple. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth.
What he would’ve said, she’d never know.
“Lindy!” Shayna Miller, her assistant, neighbor and childhood friend, called out from the kitchen. “I thought you’d never get home!”
Fast footfalls echoed down the hallway. Travis growled low in his throat and dropped her arm, but didn’t move. Lindy did, stepping outside his aura of controlled energy, reestablishing her personal space.
“They’re here!” The petite brunette rounded the corner at full speed and skidded to a stop, barely missing a direct collision with Travis. “Wow, he is gorgeous.” Her soft brown eyes rolled in embarrassment. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.”
Lindy snuck a peek at her handsome husband. “Yeah, me, too.”
Travis extended his hand, gracefully ignoring Shayna’s faux pas. “Good morning. I’m Travis.”
Poor Shayna. At twenty-four, only two years younger than Lindy, she was totally unprepared for Travis’s well-honed charm. Or his sexy smile.
“Shayna Miller,” she gushed. Her blush deepened as she tentatively grasped his large hand.
“Nice to meet you, Shayna. Sounds like you’ve got big news.”
Amazing. She’d forgotten how easily he could avert social disaster with a smile and a handshake. She’d seen him do it hundreds of times on the cocktail-party circuit.
“Oh, yeah.” Embarrassment forgotten, Shayna turned to Lindy. “They finally came. The delivery van brought ’em this morning. Rufus barked like crazy.”
“Shayna?” Lindy asked when her friend paused for a breath.
“Yes?”
“What came?”
Shayna giggled. “Sorry. I’m just so exci—”
“Shayna!”
“The picnic tables and benches. Ooh, they’re so tiny and cute. It all looks pretty ratty now, but once we repaint them they’ll be so precious.”
Lindy plopped into one of the wing chairs just inside the family room. The picnic tables. Ten of them. And twenty benches. The prepaid, nonrefundable picnic tables and benches she’d bought at an online auction.
Ten picnic tables weren’t enough to accommodate her long-range plans for Country Daze, but her budget insisted she make do her first couple of years. This purchase had stretched her already burdened credit card to its limit.
Her mind spun with details. After so many years of hoping and planning, her dream was within her grasp. If she lost the farm, she’d lose everything.
“Lindy, what’s wrong?” Shayna stooped in front of her, worry lines etched between her eyes. “You’ve lost all your color. Are you sick?”
“No, I’m not sick. I’m stuck.” She rubbed her palm over her forehead, scraping her hair back. Tilting her head, resting her chin in her palm, she stared at Travis. He stood there, staring back, looking strong and reliable. But could she trust him?
I don’t have a choice.
“Shayna, why don’t you go on home for today? Travis and I have some things to settle.” She gave her friend a weak smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” The conviction in her voice pleased Lindy. At least she sounded like a woman in control.
Travis still leaned against the door frame. Lindy felt the pressure of his eyes, like a finger lifting her chin, demanding her full attention.
She met his gaze, calling on every ounce of her Lewis pride to hold his stare. Emerald and gold swirled together, offering understanding, threatening to break the seal on emotions she’d packed away months ago.
How would she get through this without sacrificing her pride? Or her heart?
Their gazes remained locked, their lips still, as Shayna gathered her things and let herself out. Neither moved until the back door snicked closed. Finally Travis straightened from his doorway slouch. “Should I sit?”
She noted the lack of humor in his voice, relieved to know he took this situation as seriously as she did.
Lindy lurched to her feet, bumping the upholstered chair against the wall. She was about to admit defeat, accept the terms of the will, invite Travis into her home.
She needed a moment alone before she surrendered.
“Make a pot of coffee first,” she ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
Travis stared out the window over the kitchen sink, studying the tiny green sprigs dotting the fields of dark soil. What did she grow here? Did she make a profit? Was she happy? There was so much he didn’t know about farm life. So much he didn’t know about his wife.
Behind him, the coffeepot chimed. Grateful for the activity, he pulled down two mugs and turned to the fridge for Lindy’s cream. Two cow-shaped magnets secured an August calendar page to the freezer door. An orange smiley face marked the second Monday with the words Opening Day written underneath. Each weekday block for the rest of the month contained the name of a least one school followed by the number of children in their group.
Intrigued, he lifted a bottom corner and found the page for September. Almost every school day was already booked.
A soft shuffling noise alerted him to her presence. “Looks like you’re going to be very busy this fall,” he commented without turning around.