Page 32 of His Fake Fiancé

No, this morning had turned into a nightmare pretty fucking fast. And he’d run away like a little kid being chased by the boogeyman.

He sighed, pushing away the negativity. This really was a great time of day. The hazy light of a late winter morning. He liked it, should make more of an effort to enjoy it more often. What he really wanted was his camera. But it was currently sitting in his bag on the floor in the passenger seat of his truck because he’d been out taking shots yesterday, before Claire had come over.

Normally, his equipment was tucked away in the back of his bedroom closet at the house. His infatuation with photography wasn’t something anyone in his family knew about, and he wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t need anyone criticizing his work, telling him he wasn’t good enough.

It was too bad he hadn’t brought his own truck because the way the fog clung to the ground over near the trees was amazing. His fingers itched to be snapping shots.

Unable to resist the temptation, he pulled out his phone. There was absolutely no service out here, but that didn’t matter. The camera on it was good, but he much preferred to be able to manually focus his shots. Play with the amount of light that filtered into the lens and shutter. But it was this or nothing, so he climbed over what was left of this part of the fence and started taking shots.

He wasn’t satisfied with the zoom on the camera, was really missing his various lenses, so he ended up jogging quite a way into the pasture. As he snapped picture after picture, he got lost the shots and stills. By the time he was done, a couple more hours had passed.

He hauled himself to his feet, his already sore muscles—thanks to the virtually sleepless night on the pullout—making him groan. Good thing no one was out here to witness him hobbling around like an old man. He walked back to the truck and stashed his phone inside. He’d managed some pretty good shots today. Hopefully they’d be just as good once he got them downloaded.

The sun was high in the sky and trying hard to break through the clouds. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm and grabbed his coat. His stomach growled, really loud, and he rubbed a hand over it. He was starving. Not surprising since he hadn’t eaten anything this morning. He’d been too busy freaking out to worry about food. He was paying for it now.

The trip back to the workshop went by in a blur. His time in the pasture had been distracting enough in the moment, but now that he was back in the truck by himself, that same weirdness from this morning popped up again. He had the feeling, deep down inside, he was missing something. Not that it was a new feeling. He’d spent most of his life feeling like he was the last one to figure things out. But this felt different. More personal somehow.

And it frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn’t quite put the pieces together to see the big picture. Fuck, he really was stupid.

He pulled into the workshop, which was thankfully empty. Honestly, he didn’t want the third degree, or any shit from either Owen or Sam. His trip out to bang fence posts together was supposed to calm him, clear his head. And yet he was still as wound up as ever.

He climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. It was somewhat satisfying, but not nearly enough, so he picked up a block of wood from the workbench and hurled it at the wall with a shout. The walls in the workshop were lined with T1-11 siding, so there was no chance of damage. The block made a thunk and then fell to the ground. It didn’t make him feel better. What he really wanted to do was beat the hell out of something.

His stomach growled again, the rumble bouncing through his whole body. Change of plans. Food first, then beat the hell out of something. Maybe after he ate, he’d take a trip into town. Stop by the gym and do a little kickboxing to work off this excess energy.

He hurried to the main house, letting himself in the front door. Silence greeted him, which was weird. Normally the place was a hub of activity, especially since Oliva came into their lives. He took off his boots and hung his coat in the closet by the door. It only took one time of not taking off your shoes and tracking mud through Mama’s house, for you to learn your lesson.

His mother might be a little thing, but she packed a wallop. Especially when she was brandishing her wooden spoon. He was sure he still had a mark on his ass left over from the time he’d tied a towel around his neck like a cape, climbed onto the top of the barn, and tried to prove to Simon and Declan he could fly like Superman. Mama caught him just before he jumped, and made him come down. To this day he couldn’t look at the barn roof without flinching.

He headed to the kitchen and was disappointed there was no food already made. Usually, Mama had food ready at all times… and that was a completely douchey thought. He was a grown man and perfectly capable of making his own lunch. He opened the fridge and stared at the contents for a full minute. What to have, what to have? Mama had gone shopping recently, so there was plenty to choose from. So why was he having such a hard time picking something?

His mind was jumbled and fuzzy, just like it got when he had to take a test in school. Man, he was fucking losing it.

He grabbed the sliced ham, the package of cheese, and the mustard, and slapped together a couple of sandwiches. Mama would have a fit if she saw he didn’t put any lettuce or tomato or anything on them, but oh well. It was bad enough she refused to buy white bread and he was stuck using the kind with all the seeds and crap in it.

As he ate, he walked over and glanced out the kitchen window. It faced the backyard, and he had a perfect view of the guest house from here. Okay, so the pool was technically in the way, but the fence around it was low enough he could see the house.

The living room curtains were still closed, so he couldn’t see inside, but he had to think everyone was awake. And he was pretty sure Mama was over there, taking charge and all that. She was excellent at it.

Part of him wanted to go over there, make sure everything was okay. An image of Olivia and Claire snuggled in bed flashed through his mind, and his gut clenched so hard, for a second, he thought he was going to get an up close and personal view of the sandwiches he’d just wolfed down. He pushed away from the window, and then kept walking, until he was out the front door and in his truck.

He checked that his camera bag was where he’d left it, and then started the truck and headed down the driveway. A trip to beat the hell out of something and then maybe a drink or two and he’d be back to normal.

That thought filled him with such disappointment, he didn’t know what to do, how to react. So, he pressed his foot on the gas and hoped like hell the feeling wouldn’t follow him all the way into town.

Chapter 10

Olivia brought her hand down, giving the surface of the water a big smack and sending a splash of water up and all over Claire’s shirt. The baby laughed, the sound bordering on hysterical, so pleased with herself.

Claire wanted to laugh, or at the very least smile, but she was too tired. She’d spent her entire Sunday off entertaining Olivia, and waiting for Jake to come home. Mrs. C had said he was out helping Owen. But that had been hours ago and she was starting to get worried.

She hauled Olivia out of the sink, and wrapped her in her towel, the one with the bunny head hood on the corner. Claire was soaked through to the skin, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now. She carried Olivia to her room and plopped her down on the change table. Using the soft towel, she rubbed the baby dry and then changed her into some sleepers. These ones were white with little pink unicorns on them.

Olivia flailed about and then gave a huge yawn.

I know the feeling, kid. It was all Claire could do to hold back her own massive yawn. She’d tried to have a nap when she’d put Olivia down this afternoon, but as soon as she lay down, all the stuff she was trying not to think about came flooding back. So, she lay there with her eyes closed and fretted and stewed until Olivia’s squawk sounded through the baby monitor.

She wrapped Olivia in a blanket and held her close, fitting the baby against her chest so that the top of her head rested under Claire’s chin. She then sat down in the rocking chair. Olivia made a squeaking noise, most likely in protest because she knew what was coming.