Chapter Three #2
"Twenty-nine," I replied, caught off guard by the direct question.
"Ah—I figured you were coming up on thirty or thereabouts," she said, clicking her tongue. "Biological clock's ticking. I was already married with our fourth son on the way when I was your age."
I bit my tongue, reminding myself I was supposed to be making a good impression. "Different times."
"Some things never change," she said firmly. "A woman's biological clock, for one. I assume you'll quit working once you become a mother?"
The plate I was drying nearly slipped from my hands. "I... haven't really thought about it."
"You will," Dottie said, patting my arm like I was a particularly slow child. "Heath’s kin are very family-oriented. Remember McGraw men expect a proper home life. You two better get moving if you hope to give your parents grandchildren."
My cheeks burned. "We're not quite at that stage yet."
"Don't wait too long, dear. You only have so much time left." She gestured vaguely toward my midsection. "Everything starts to go downhill after you hit thirty.”
Before I could formulate a response that wouldn't involve comparing Dottie to various parasitic organisms, Heath appeared in the doorway.
"Everything okay in here?" he asked, glancing between us.
"Girl talk," Dottie chirped. "I was telling Honey how important family is to the McGraws."
Heath's eyes found mine, concern evident in his gaze. "Oh, I think she knows what matters to me." He slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. "And I know what matters to her. We're figuring it out together."
The simple declaration, even though part of our act, made my heart flutter traitorously.
"Well," Earl announced, joining us in the kitchen, "we'd best be heading out. Got meetings in town all day. Investors don't impress themselves!"
"Will we see you for dinner?" Heath asked.
"No need to trouble yourselves," Dottie said. "We've got dinner plans with the Nichols. We'll stop by tomorrow to see the breeding operation."
After they left, I sagged against the counter. "That woman is a nightmare. Did you hear what she said to me? 'Everything goes downhill after thirty.' Like I'm some broodmare with an expiration date!"
Heath chuckled. "Don't let her get to you."
"It's not funny," I insisted, though my outrage was already fading. "And I'm sorry about the pig comment. It slipped out."
"Don't be." His smile was genuine. "I had to try real hard not to laugh. The look on Earl's face was worth it."
My smile came easily in response. "You're not mad?"
"Takes more than that to rattle me, Counselor." Heath turned to wash his coffee mug, his shoulders relaxed. "Besides, keeping up appearances around those two is exhausting enough without walking on eggshells in our own home."
Our home. The phrase, casual as it was, stirred something in my chest.
Before I could dwell on it, the sound of tires on gravel announced another visitor. Heath glanced out the window and frowned.
"Buck Jessup," he grumbled. "Perfect timing."
"The factory farm guy? The one I was actually trying to steal from?"
"The very same." Heath dried his hands on a dish towel. "Follow my lead, okay? He's a nosy son of a bitch, and if he catches wind that our relationship isn't real, he'll use it against me with the Vickerys."
"Got it. Devoted girlfriend mode activated."
Buck turned out to be exactly what I'd expected—middle-aged, sporting an expensive but tacky western shirt stretched tight across his paunch, with a perpetual sneer. The handshake he offered me lingered too long, his gaze traveling down my body in a way that made me want to bathe in hand sanitizer.
"Well now, Heath," Buck drawled, settling uninvited onto the couch, "you've been holding out on us. Where'd you find this pretty little filly?"
I bristled at being called a "filly," but plastered on a smile. "Austin."
"City girl, huh?" His gaze flicked to Heath. "Slumming it out here in the sticks?"
Heath's jaw tightened. "Was there something you needed, Buck? We're in the middle of some things."
"Just being neighborly," Buck said, though his expression was anything but friendly. "Heard the Vickerys were in town. Thought I'd swing by, see how the competition's doing."
"Not much competition when your operation produces genetically depleted birds," Heath said mildly, though I could feel the tension radiating from him.
Buck's face darkened. "Customers don't give a damn about 'heritage breeding' or whatever hippie nonsense you're peddling. They just want meat for their Thanksgiving table."
"Some customers care about quality," I interjected. "And ethical farming practices."
Buck's attention swung back to me, his smile turning predatory. "That right? You one of them activists? Because your boyfriend here kills birds for a living, same as me."
I felt Heath stiffen beside me.
"There's a difference between sustainable farming and factory operations," I said coolly. "And if you can't see that, I'm not surprised you're struggling to stay relevant in a changing market."
Buck's eyes narrowed. "Feisty. I like that in a woman." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If you ever get tired of playing cowgirl with McGraw here, come see a real rancher sometime. I'll show you how a man treats a lady."
Heath was on his feet in an instant. "That's enough, Jessup. Time for you to go."
"Making conversation," Buck said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But his smirk told a different story. "No need to get territorial."
"My property, my rules," Heath said, his voice deceptively calm. "And rule number one is respecting my girlfriend."
Girlfriend. Even knowing it was part of our charade, the possessive edge in Heath's voice sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
Buck rose slowly. "Didn't mean no disrespect." He tipped his hat to me. "Ma'am."
Heath escorted him firmly to the door. Through the window, I watched Buck's truck pull away, then stop at the end of the drive.
"His truck is still here," I said, frowning.
"Probably trying to scope out my breeding stock without permission. He's been trying to copy my program since I started it," Heath said, grabbing his hat. "I'd better make sure he's not causing trouble. Be right back."
As soon as Heath stepped outside, I collapsed onto the couch with a sigh of relief. "Well, that was awful," I said to the empty room. "Does he always look at women like they're prime rib?"
Heath returned a few minutes later, looking irritated. "He claims he was just checking his phone, but I wouldn't put it past him to be snooping around."
"Buck looks at everything like it's something he wants to possess," Heath continued, pacing the room. "The ranch, the Vickerys' investment, you."
"Good thing none of those are actually available to him," I replied, straightening a couch pillow. "Though I suppose our relationship isn't actually real either."
Heath stepped closer, his voice dropping. "It needs to look real enough to convince everyone, including Buck. Especially now. If he thought for a second this was an arrangement, he'd use it against us with the Vickerys to try to convince them to invest in his place rather than ours."
"Don't worry, I'm committed to the charade," I assured him. "Hosting Thanksgiving while pretending we’re madly in love, and then my legal career stays intact."
"And my dreams of expansion come true," Heath agreed.
A shadow passed by the side window, and Heath frowned.
"What?" I asked.
"Thought I saw something." He crossed to the window and looked out. "Buck's truck is still here. He's probably checking out the propagation pens without permission."
Heath grabbed his hat. "I'd better go make sure he's not causing trouble. Stay inside."
After confirming Buck had finally left the property, the rest of the day unfolded in a more peaceful rhythm.
Heath had ranch work to attend to, and I spent a few hours catching up on emails, making sure my absence from the office wouldn't derail any of my cases.
By late afternoon, we found ourselves back in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
Heath fired up the grill on the back porch to cook burgers and hot dogs, while I tackled side dishes. I found potatoes and onions in the pantry, beans in the cupboard. The refrigerator yielded cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.
The November chill had crept in through the kitchen windows, but between the grill's heat and the oven, we'd created a pocket of warmth that made the approaching winter feel distant.
"Is macaroni and cheese okay with you?" I called through the open window. "I can actually make that without burning down your kitchen."
"Sounds perfect," Heath replied, flipping burgers with practiced ease. "There's a recipe card in that tin by the breadbox. My mom's specialty."
Working together, we fell into that unexpected rhythm again.
I boiled pasta while Heath arranged buns.
He handed me spices before I even asked for them.
I set the table while he plated the grilled meat.
Every time he reached past me for a spice, the brush of his arm against mine sent heat coursing through places that had no business feeling hot in a kitchen.
Our fingers brushed as I passed him the platter, and neither of us hurried to break the contact. I found myself anticipating when he'd need the barbecue sauce, placing it within reach just as he turned to look for it.
By the time we sat down to eat, we had a spread that looked almost professional—burgers and hot dogs for Heath (none for me), homemade mac and cheese, baked beans, and a fresh salad.
"This looks great," Heath said, genuinely impressed as we sat down. "Didn't peg you as the cooking type."
"I'm full of surprises," I replied, though the truth was I could barely boil water without supervision. This meal represented the absolute zenith of my culinary abilities. "Though fair warning—the mac and cheese is the only thing I can make without setting off smoke detectors."
Heath's mouth quirked up at the corner. "Good to know."
As we settled at the table, I waited for Heath to begin eating. Instead, he bowed his head slightly. Right. Grace again.
This time, Earl wasn't here to prompt him, but Heath said a brief thanks anyway, ending with "Amen."
I couldn't help myself. "And thank you to the wheat plants for the hot buns we're about to enjoy."
Heath's eyes shot up to meet mine, widening in surprise before crinkling at the corners. His shoulders started to shake with suppressed laughter.
"You're terrible," he managed, voice strangled as he tried to maintain composure.
"I know," I said, biting my lip to keep from giggling. "It's a compulsion. I see an opening for inappropriate humor, and I can't stop myself."
A snort escaped him, and suddenly we were both laughing—truly laughing—the tension of the day dissolving like sugar in hot coffee. Heath's laugh was rich and deep, his entire face transformed by it. I found myself staring, caught off guard by how handsome he was when he let his guard down.
"What?" he asked, catching me looking.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "This isn't so bad, right? Playing house?"
His expression softened. "No," he agreed. "Not so bad at all."
We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the clink of silverware and the distant sound of cattle the only backdrop. It was nothing like my usual Monday nights in Austin, where I'd be elbow-deep in case files with takeout containers littering my coffee table.
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "I think I misjudged you, Heath McGraw."
"How so?"
I shrugged. "When I met you before, at Knox's events, you seemed so... serious. Unapproachable. But you're actually kind of decent company."
"Kind of decent?" He raised an eyebrow. "High praise from a woman who tried to steal my turkeys."
"Liberate," I corrected with a smile. "And you're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Not a chance, Counselor."
We cleared the dishes together, and I felt a strange anticipation as bedtime approached. The prospect of another night sleeping in the same room with Heath made my skin prickle with awareness.
In the bedroom, I changed quickly in the bathroom, emerging in flannel sleep shorts and a matching lightweight t-shirt. Heath remained fully dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. A pang shot through my heart at the thought of him spending another night on the floor.
"You can have the bathroom now. And the other half of the bed when you’re ready,” I said quietly, gesturing to the side I hadn’t slept on.
“I certainly don’t take up the whole thing, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t get a decent night’s sleep.
I can just build a pillow fort down the middle if you like.
Just so it’s a little less awkward,” I hastily concluded.
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” he nodded, gathering his things. At the bathroom door, he paused. "Honey?"
"Hmm?"
"Thanks for today. For playing along, dealing with Buck, all of it."
His sincerity caught me off guard. "You're welcome."
After he disappeared into the bathroom, I lined up a couple of pillows down the middle of the king-sized mattress and then flopped back against the one I’d kept, staring at the ceiling.
This was supposed to be simple. Pretend to be Heath's girlfriend for a week, save our respective careers, go our separate ways.
But as I lay there, I couldn't stop thinking about the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, or how he'd defended me to both the Vickerys and Buck Jessup without hesitation.
My body thrummed with an electricity that made sleep impossible.
The thin cotton of my top felt too heavy, too restrictive, and the pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper for all the protection it offered against the magnetic pull I felt toward him.
I was already dying to fling not just those pillows across the room, but to peel away every layer between us until there was nothing left but skin against skin.
Oh, I was in trouble.