Cowboy Husband

Will is staring down at me, the look on his face something like awe. He doesn’t speak as I help him back into his pants and stand. “Why, Mr. Herrington, I think you might be speechless.”

“You could say that.”

I wink. “You should try it more often.”

He laughs, opening the door for us and leading me back into the garden. “Keep doing that and it won’t be a problem.”

We hold hands as we cross the grass back toward the party, and it feels normal. Natural. “I don’t think anyone would really mind if we left,” I say.

“Getting into a fight with the hosts of the party does tend to do that.” The smirk on his face tells me he’s reliving the fight with Wyatt. “Would you like to go to dinner with me before I take you home?”

“That would be very nice,” I say. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Herrington.”

9

“You sure you don’t need a chaperone?” Anna asks over the phone.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure I don’t need you to chaperone me on a date with my husband.”

“Well, you never know,” she teases. “But seriously, I’m glad it’s going well.”

It is going well. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but so far, being in a relationship with Will has felt like I always thought being in a relationship should feel like. Mutual respect and attraction, fucking amazing sex, and fitting into each other’s lives in a way that’s natural. We’ve spent almost every night at each other’s places, either my apartment or his ridiculously gorgeous apartment on the Upper West Side, or like tonight, his mansion in Westchester. Marrying rich does have its perks. I’m in the car now with Simon, driving to the house, and I’m wearing the outfit that Will had messengered over earlier. If any other man has asked that I wear certain clothes for him, I would throw a fit. But his taste in clothes is actually better than my own, so I don’t mind all that much.

Anna’s voice is quiet. “Are you falling for him?”

My heart thumps in my chest at the question. Against all odds, I am. It doesn’t seem real that someone I thought would be a one-night stand would be someone I could fall in love with. I barely kept it from spilling out in bed the other night, and now it’s in my brain. It’s on the tip of my tongue when we say goodbye and right after he kisses me.

“Maybe.”

She laughs. “This would only happen to you, you know.”

“Marrying a one-night-stand?”

“That, and falling in love with him. Let me know if you need a chaperone and a rescue.”

I stick my tongue out at her even though she can’t see me. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

We’re not far from the house now, and I’m getting those butterflies of anticipation that I always get right before I see him. It’s like my body knows what’s coming and can’t wait. Either that or it’s had the whole ‘falling in love’ thing figured out way before my mind did.

Will’s house is gorgeous and sprawling, with a view of a valley in the back that goes for miles. It’s almost easy to forget this kind of scenery exists when you live in the city, but it’s so close. I’ve only been to this house one other time, and I spent most of it naked. I’ll be happy to actually explore the house a little this time and see if Will is as good of a cook as he claims.

It’s not every day that your millionaire husband offers to cook for you.

Simon opens the door and I step out into the early evening heat. Only Will would have chosen these shoes. As fabulous as they are, I’m just barely able to walk in them. “Thanks, Simon.”

“My pleasure.”

Simon has been my driver ever since we got back from Vegas, and it sure beats riding the subway. Will opens the door, and he’s dressed in slacks and a button down that’s rolled up to his elbows. I like it when he’s a little more casual, he seems more carefree when he is. I smile as I approach the door. “You should be a stylist instead of a CEO.”

He smirks. “My father would have had a field day with that, but it’s fun to help people from time to time.”

“Get a good look at my legs in these heels because they’re coming off.”

He makes an over-exaggerated sad face. “That’s too bad, Mrs. Herrington, because your legs look damn good in them.”

“Sweet talk me and maybe I’ll put them back on later.” I use him for balance as I slip off the shoes and lose six inches of height. Will sweeps in for a kiss that leaves me hungry for more, but he pulls away just as I’m reaching for him. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says as he leads me into the kitchen. “I’m trying to impress you, so I may have gone overboard.”

The kitchen is a mess, but the smells coming from the oven are divine. “What are we having?”

“Parmesan crusted chicken, stuffed tomatoes, and if you’re willing to help a little, frozen sangria cocktails.”

I stretch, preparing to dive in. “What can I do?”

“All the stuff but the sangria is over by the blender, if you want to start there.” He whistles as I turn around, “I didn’t remember the back that dress had until just now.”

The dress drops off my shoulders in the back, revealing way more skin than I’m usually comfortable with. But it’s just the two of us, and he’s already seen it all. Will probably see it all again tonight. I toss in strawberries and ice and wine and some raspberries into the blender. “Is ‘how was your day, honey’ a thing we’re doing yet?”

He thinks about it for a second. “We can if you want. I’ve always thought of it as something for people who live together. But when you’re seeing each other as much as we do, I think it still counts.” He looks me up and down when he talks about seeing me as much as he does, and I blush, my body heating up. I remember the last time we were in this kitchen together. There was a lot less food and a lot more chocolate, and the counters were used in several …interesting ways.

“How was your day, honey?” I say.

“You’re thinking about the chocolate,” he says.

I look away quickly. “No, I’m not.”

“It’s okay,” he says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around me. “I think about it every damn day.”

“Did you think about it today?”

He chuckles, lips against my skin. “Yes, I did. I was in the middle of a meeting with the president of our French chains, and the image of you spread out right here on this counter popped into my head. You don’t want to know how difficult it is to talk about international business when your cock is rock hard.”

“My poor husband,” I say too sweetly, “that must be hard.”

“It was,” he says, feigning hurt, “I had to wait hours until I could slip away. And touch myself, thinking about you. Thinking about all the things I still would like to do to you. With you.”

I turn to face him, looping my hands around his neck. I’m thoroughly aroused now, and I am wearing underwear even though I’m not sure how long they’ll last with him. “I think I’d like to hear more about those things. Maybe you can show me exactly what you did.”

My hand strays down to his belt, and he grins, slipping away from me before I can get a good grip on it. “Not yet. Dinner first.”

“You’re a tease,” I say, pouting.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

He laughs, and so do I, and I turn on the blender. Fruit and wine explode everywhere, raining down after being hurled towards the ceiling. I scream, dodging ice cubes as they fall and turn off the blender as quickly as possible. I was so caught up in Will that I completely forgot to put the top on the blender. I’m covered in juice and berries that have been violently torn apart. Will and I stare at each other, frozen in horror, and then he bursts out laughing. I don’t.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Why? It was an accident.” He’s still laughing, “But you look adorable covered in fruit.”

I scramble to pick the scattered ice

and berries off the floor, piling it into the sink and the trash, whichever is closer. “I ruined the dress.”

Will shrugs, picking up a few stray bits off the oven. “It’s a dress, not the end of the world.”

“Still, I feel terrible. Do you have paper towel?”

“Over on the island where I breaded the chicken.” He points in their direction.

I pick my way over to the island, which is half covered in piles of papers and Will’s briefcase, and half in the remnants of breaded chicken. The paper towels are sitting on the table, but I miss them. I slip on a piece of ice and catch myself on the table, but the papers go flying. “Shit.” Behind me I hear Will laughing even more.

“It’s really fine, Sandy.”

“I’ll clean it up, just give me a second.”

I grab the paper towels and clean my hands before scooping up the papers so they’re not damaged by stray ice or berries. One of them is our marriage license. Another one is a letter, and I don’t mean to read it, but my name pops out at me and suddenly I find myself scanning part of the text.

Per your wishes and the requirements stated in the contract, I have married Sandy Nelson, C.P.A., within the time allotted. Included is a notarized copy of the marriage certificate so you can be sure that I’m not faking it. Now that I’ve done as I’ve been told, please remit the remaining balance of my inheritance so that this can be finished.

My entire body goes cold, and suddenly everything clicks. Will—Wilcox—needed someone to marry so he could get the rest of his inheritance. What better place to find someone quickly than Vegas? And he was so invested in us staying together. No matter what, even though it didn’t make sense. He romanced me, made me think that we were a real couple. Made me fall in love with him. And it was all for money.

“How much?” I ask.

“How much what?”

My body is stiff, and I can barely move, but I turn, the papers still in my hand. “How much was the rest of your inheritance?” He freezes, turning to look at the papers in my hands. “I want to know how much I’m worth.”

“Sandy, let me explain—”

“How. Much.” My voice echoes through the kitchen.

Will swallows. “Three hundred million.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s a lot. Sorry you won’t be getting it. Because this is over.”

I toss the letter and the license on the ground and head for the door. I grab my bag and my heels. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Simon will still be around. Doesn’t matter, I can always call a cab.

Will is following me. “Please just let me explain,” he begs.

“Why should I? After everything you know that I went through, I actually meant nothing to you. I was just a pawn. A means to an end.”

“That’s not true,” he says, catching my arm at the door. “It’s not.”

I glare at him. “Let me go, Will. You can’t force me to stay married to you. I wasn’t sold on it in the first place, and now that I know the whole thing was fake my decision just got a lot easier, so thank you for that.” Will drops my arm, and I put distance between us, walking onto the grass and looking to see if I can spot Simon.

“I had to. I swear that I did. The inheritance isn’t just the money, it’s my life. It’s the company, it’s my homes. If I didn’t get married, I was going to lose everything.”

“So I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?” My voice rises. “The poor little millionaire?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not that, I just want to explain.”

I laugh, even though nothing about this is remotely funny. “Go ahead. Explain. It seems like all you’ve ever had to do is explain. Explain what happened that night. Explain why us staying married is a good idea. Explain like you had to use me to get all your father’s money.” I push him away from me and head out onto the grass.

“Sandy, please.” He sounds desperate, and I suppose he is. Three hundred million dollars is a lot to lose.

I’m about to turn around and tell him to once again go to hell when there’s a shrill, piercing noise from behind us. Turning back, smoke is pouring out of the doorway, and the smell of something burning suddenly becomes overwhelming. “Shit,” Will says, pulling his cellphone from his pocket.

I should probably stay and help. I should probably make sure that he’s okay. There are a lot of things I should probably do. But fuck those things. They’ve never done me any good. So, while Will is watching his house catch fire, I turn and walk away.

10

Anna doesn’t even say anything when she opens the door; a single, once-over glance is enough to tell her everything. Or at least for her to go get the vodka and the ice cream. It’s always been this way with us, we know what the other needs.

It takes half a drink, half a pint of ice cream, and half a chick flick for me to be ready to say anything, but I do tell her. Everything about how I really am falling for him and how he used me for his money. It sucks.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I ask her. “Is there some beacon over my head that only attracts men that are going to massively screw me over?”

Anna steals a spoonful of ice cream. “It has nothing to do with you. Some men are just assholes.”

“Yeah.” I stab the ice cream with my spoon. “Well, the amount I’ve run into that are assholes seems to be a lot.”

She makes a face. “I can’t exactly argue with that. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Me too.”

We watch the rest of the movie in silence, and at the end, when the couple kiss and seem like the happiest couple alive I can’t even pretend that I’m not a mess. Anna hands me a box of tissues. I feel like there’s a hole blown through my chest. Just a ragged space where grief and anger are swirling, and now that I’ve started crying, I don’t feel like it’ll ever stop. “Sorry,” I say to Anna.

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you apologizing? I’m amazed you haven’t had a breakdown before this.”

This is what I love about Anna. She’s not afraid to let you feel, and so I lean into the pain. I take the tissues and curl up on the couch next to her and let myself cry while she turns on another movie and strokes soothing circles on my back.

We’re halfway through movie number two when Anna clears her throat. “Okay, I’ve got to tell you something, and I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“Okay…” I say.

“When Wyatt disappeared,” she says, “you were pissed, and you had every right to be. I still think if I saw him again I’d chop his balls off.”

That makes me smile a little, even though I’m sniffling and can barely breathe.

“But even though you were angry, you weren’t this,” she says, gesturing to me, “you weren’t heartbroken.”

My stomach drops. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t think I need to spell it out for you, but you weren’t sobbing on my couch over Wyatt the fuckwad.”

I sigh. “You may be right. But that doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

We finish watching the movie, and I drift off to sleep wondering if I really am heartbroken.

The loud knocking on the door is what wakes me up. I almost fall off the couch because it startles me.

“Morning, sunshine,” Anna says from the kitchen.

The loud knocking sounds again and I wince. “Who in their right mind is knocking like this so early?”

She snorts, heading for the door. “It’s not that early, and I’m guessing that would be your estranged husband.” I cover my face with a pillow and flop back onto the couch. “Do you want to see him?”

“Not really,” I say, “but we got interrupted last night, and if I hear him out then maybe we’ll be done with it.”

She nods. “Get it out of the way.”

The knocking sounds again and Anna answers it. Will is standing outside, looking harried and less put together than his normal self. Like me, he’s still in the clothes that he was wearing last

night, though they’re wrinkled now and there are a couple of places that look like they’re smudged with ash.

Anna waves him inside, and the minute he steps into the room his eyes are on me, looking me up and down. I see him register my face and what is likely the remnants of a night spent crying.

“Did the house survive?” I ask.

Anna whips her head around to me. “You didn’t tell me you set his house on fire!”

“She didn’t,” Will says, voice rough. “But it did survive.”

We’re staring at each other now, and I don’t want to be drawn to him. I hate him. I hate him and his stupid perfect face and perfect body and the way he played me like a fool. I look away because I think I might start crying again, and I desperately don’t want to.

Will clears his throat. “I’d like to speak to my wife alone, Anna.”

She doesn’t respond to him, and instead directs her question to me. “You okay?” I nod. “I’ll be close by if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

We both wait until she’s left, and the closing of her bedroom door behind her leaves a gaping silence.

Will takes a few steps closer toward the couch. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

Anger flies up and out, warm and familiar. “Why should I do that? I’m not particularly interested in the blow-by-blow of how you singled me out to manipulate.”

“That is not what happened?”

“And why should I believe anything you say when our whole relationship is a lie?”

“Because, Sandy, I love you.”

My body locks into place, like those words shut it down. The words I’ve wanted him to say, that I’ve wanted to say to him. How can he possibly use them now? I fight against the tears that rise to my eyes. “I love you,” he says again, his voice closer.