Focus!
“Morning,” I smile wide. I might look deranged.
Pull it back some, Iris.“I’m…Miss Clarke. Glad to finally meet you.” Silence. Bewilderment? “I brought pie,” I hold it up, hoping he can’t see my unsteady grip. “May I come in?” I ask when he still doesn’t say a word or move from blocking the door.
“No,” he grunts.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not Raven Clarke.”
Right.
“Well. Yes, I’m not Raven Clarke, per se.”
“You’re either her or you’re not. There’s no…per se. Fuck. I need to call the agency.” He reaches into his pocket.
“Wait!” I rush, holding my free hand over his phone screen. “Hear me out.” I place the pie on the ground with my oversized purse.
“Okay. Let’s start over.” I wipe my sweaty palms over my sundress, which he glares at, and straighten my shoulders.
“Good morning. My name is Iris Clarke. Yes, Raven is my sister. This is not a trick. No one is getting catfished. Per se.” His left eye twitches. “Right. Not using that term ever again. Sorry.”
His file said his name is Ellis Michaels. He looks over his shoulder before closing the door at his back, faces me, and crosses his arms over his very wide chest covered in a thin, well-loved jean button-down.
“Why is your sister not standing here instead of you?” he plainly asks.
“Great question.” I glance at the two rocking chairs on the right. “May we?” I ask.
“No time. Make this quick. My daughter is finishing her breakfast soon. I don’t like having her out of sight this long.”
That’s good. He’s a good father then. Check.
“My sister…she?—”
“Is she even widowed?” he asks, narrowing those dark green eyes further.
“Yes,” I insist. “We lost Jed last year. Equipment accident. Out on the field. He got to the hospital too late. Lost too much blood.” That late day in May was an all-too-familiar pain all over again.
The intense stare eases a fraction. “I’m sorry for that loss.”
“Thank you.” I nod. He’s not unkind. Check. “As you can imagine…having…lost?—”
“Yes,” his voice rasps.
“The last year has been very difficult for Raven. Life hasn’t been kind to the Clarke sisters,” I attempt to joke, but my heart is heavy. I shake it off. “Mr. Michaels,” I begin.
“Ellis,” he grunts.
“Yes. Ellis. Nothing has to change. You still get a Clarke sister for the same reasons. I’m not a widow. I get that was one ofyour specifications, but consider that, while she was a hundred percent committed to this arrangement, the reality must have hit her as the day grew closer. But I’m here. And I am fully aware of what is expected.”
“How old are you? You look like a baby yourself.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do not patronize me, Ellis Michaels. I am an adult woman who manages a home and farm, as well as my sister does. I cook,” I gesture at the pie, “and clean, and mend fences, ride and care for our horses, and have babysat the farm's kids since I was fifteen.”
“How long ago was that?” he sasses.
“Seven years ago.”
