Her Dirty Billionaires

I looked up from my book and stared directly into the eyes of Miss Mabel.

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it,” I said. “It wasn’t a bad accident. The car runs just fine. The water just took me off the road a bit.”

“Do you know what road you were on?” Miss Mabel asked.

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I was so frantic and there was so much rain pouring down that I didn’t get a chance to look at any signs,” I said.

“That makes sense. You were probably up in those mountains anyway.”

I stiffened at her response as she sat down in the chair next to me.

“Don’t worry about it. No one’s gonna tell your father. He’s a sweet man, but we know he rules with an iron fist,” Mabel said.

“My father is a decent man,” I said.

“Spoken like a true robot,” she said with a giggle. “I’m familiar with men like your father. Mine was one of them, too.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Abides by tradition. Looms over your every move. Expects you to look and act a certain way. I hated growing up with my father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“My favorite game was to swing around the columns of our porch out back and fantasize what it would be like to live without my father. I used to dream of owning my own home, buying my own clothes, and going to the school I wanted.”

“At least you got to go to school,” I murmured.

I swallowed hard and looked up into Miss Mabel’s sparkling eyes. Mabel was a force in the community of Kettle. Her father had been the mayor for quite some time, which was a position her grandfather and her great grandfather used to occupy. Her family was well-known, well-off, and well-spoken in their manners. Her eyes were comforting and her smile was knowing. I felt that I could trust her, even though I’d only ever had a few conversations with her. She seemed to understand my circumstance more than most, and as she settled back into her chair, I drew in a deep breath.

“I was never really in any trouble anyway,” I said.

“So you did get lost up there in the mountains,” Mabel said. “Don’t worry. I’ve done that more times than I could count.”

“There was a man that helped me. Travis Benson. He’s the one that got my car up and running the next day so I could get home,” I said.

“Travis Benson?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Quiet man? Big beard? Light brown eyes?”

“No, no. I know who he is. I’m just shocked he helped,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“First off, I’m shocked you don’t know the name. The Bensons own half of Kettle. Travis lives in the part of the mountains they own. But he’s been a recluse ever since that disgusting woman broke his heart.”

“What woman?” I asked.

“Alicia Burnheart, and her last name suits her perfectly. A gold-digging, good-for-nothing woman who had that man wrapped around her finger. Those two were all over one another, and when they announced their engagement, no one was shocked.”

“Engagement?” I asked. “I don’t think I can see Travis engaged.”

“Maybe not now. But back then? In his early twenties? He was a stunner. Still is, if he’d trim himself up a bit. They planned the wedding of the century.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“She never showed up. Left him standing at the altar making excuses for two hours before Travis accepted the fact that she wasn’t showing up.”

“What?” I asked flatly.