Trust Fund Fiancé (Texas Cattleman's Club: Rags to Riches 4)
She just managed not to snap, Don’t make promises you can’t keep, trapping the sharp words behind her clenched teeth. Of course he would leave. Whether it was at the end of this evening if it didn’t go well or at the termination of their “marriage.” All men left, at some point. Gavin had. The affectionate, warm father she remembered from her childhood had, replaced by a colder, less forgiving and intolerant version.
As long as she remembered that and shielded herself against it, she wouldn’t be hurt when Ezekiel eventually disappeared from her life.
“We should go in. They’re expecting us.” Stepping back and away from his touch, she strode toward the front door of her family home. A moment later, the solid, heated pressure of his big hand settled on the small of her back. “So it begins.”
“Did you just quote Lord of the Rings?” he asked, arching a dark brow. Amusement glinted in pale green eyes.
“The fact that you know I did means we might actually be able to pull this ‘soul mate’ thing off,” she shot back.
He gave an exaggerated gasp. “What kind of animal doesn’t know Tolkien?”
“Exactly.”
They were grinning at each other when the front door opened, and her father appeared in the entrance.
“Reagan.” He paused, studying Ezekiel, his scrutiny inscrutable. “Ezekiel.” He stretched a hand toward him. “This is a nice surprise.”
As the two men shook hands and greeted one another, Reagan inhaled a slow, deep breath. I can do this. I have to do this.
Because the alternatives—a parade of m
en, more disappointment as she turned them down, trapping her in this half life—were hard for her to stomach.
“Well, come on in. We’ve held up dinner to wait on you.” Her father shifted backward and waved them inside. “I’ll have Marina add an extra setting for our guest.”
“Thank you, Douglas. I appreciate you accommodating me on such short notice,” Ezekiel said, his hand never leaving Reagan’s back, his big frame a reassuring presence at her side.
“Of course.”
Douglas led the way to the smaller living room where her mother waited. As soon as they entered, she rose from the chair flanking the large fireplace. At fifty-five, Henrietta Sinclair possessed an elegance and beauty that defied time. Short, dark hair that held a sweep of gray down the side framed her lovely face in a classic bob. Petite and slender, she might appear on the fragile side, but to play mediator and peacemaker between Reagan and her father for all these years, she contained a quiet strength that was often underrated. Admittedly, by Reagan herself.
“Well, you said you had a surprise, and this is definitely one,” Henrietta said, crossing the room toward them. “Welcome, Ezekiel.” She held both her arms out toward him, clasping his hands in hers. He lowered his head and kissed each cheek. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too, Ms. Henrietta,” Ezekiel said. “Thank you for having me here.” He gently extricated his hands from hers and returned one back to the base of Reagan’s spine.
And her mother’s shrewd gaze didn’t miss it.
“None of this ‘Ms. Henrietta’ stuff. Please, just Henrietta,” she admonished with a smile. “And you look beautiful this evening, Reagan.” She scanned her daughter’s purple sheath dress and the nude heels. “Any special reason?”
“Very subtle, Mom,” Reagan drawled, shaking her head. Relief tiptoed inside her chest, easing some of the anxiety that had resided there since she and Ezekiel had left his home. Maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d imagined. “Actually, Zeke and I would like to talk with you and Dad before dinner.”
Her father moved to stand beside her mother, and his impenetrable expression would’ve made the Sphinx cry in envy. Reagan’s nerves returned in a flood, streaming through her so they drowned out the words that hovered on her tongue.
Jesus, she was a grown woman. Why did her father’s approval still mean so much to her?
Because it’s been so long since you experienced it.
So true. In ten years, she’d tasted disappointment, glimpsed censure, felt his frustration. But it’d been so very long since his eyes had lit up with pride. A part of her—that sixteen-year-old who’d once been a daddy’s girl—still hungered for it.
Maybe Ezekiel sensed the torrent of emotion swirling inside her. Or maybe he was just a supreme actor. Either way, he shifted his hand from her back and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her farther into his side, tucking her against his larger frame. Like a shelter.
One she accepted.
If only for a few moments.
“Douglas, Henrietta, as you know, Reagan and I have been friends for years. Since we were younger,” Ezekiel said, his deep voice vibrating through her, setting off sparks that were wholly inappropriate. “In the last couple of months, we’ve rekindled that friendship and have become even closer. I’ve spoken to her, because it is ultimately her decision, but I also wanted to obtain your blessing to marry your daughter.”
Silence reigned in the room, deafening and thick. Reagan forced herself not to fidget under the weight of her father’s stare and her mother’s wide-eyed astonishment.