Chapter 3
Snow tilted her head. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. If this is where you want to live, then I’m good with it.”
A new panic raced through Snow’s system. Caleb may be Southern, but contrary to what many believed, growing up in the South did not make a person “country.” Snow had grown up in a small town. She was used to the slower pace and nosy neighbors. Her husband lived in cities. With malls and skyscrapers and things to do. Caleb was not the rural type.
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Nope,” he said. “Not kidding.”
Now what was she supposed to do? Their location had not been the only reason their marriage had been a fiasco. There was his father and the hateful words she’d overheard the night she left. Not until her parents came to visit did the McGraw clan, Caleb included, learn that Snow’s father was half black, landing Snow squarely and immediately in the undesirable category.
After one of the most uncomfortable dinners in the history of family meetings, when he’d assumed Snow was out of earshot, Jackson McGraw had demanded that Caleb get rid of her at once. Her husband’s response had been that a divorce would mean giving Snow half of everything. No, “But I love her.” No, “I won’t give her up.”
Only that he had to protect the McGraw fortune.
Staring at the floor, Snow said, “I heard you.”
“You heard me what?” he asked.
Pushing the hurt away, she answered, “I heard your response to your father when he declared my mixed blood a taint to your family line.” She looked up in time to see Caleb’s blue eyes flare wide with surprise. “You said a divorce would allow me to take half of everything. You couldn’t jeopardize the McGraw money by divorcing the girl who tricked you into believing she was white.”
Though the last part had never passed his lips, Snow knew the thought must have crossed his mind. His flip response to his father proved it.
Caleb ran a hand through his thick hair, glancing to the ceiling as if praying for a plausible excuse.
“I don’t want your money, Caleb,” she said.
“I never said you did.” He blew out a breath and added, “I had no idea you heard that conversation, but you need to understand why I said what I did. And the way I said it.”
“Oh, I understand,” she said, turning her back to her husband. “And I feel the same way. As I said, this marriage was a mistake.”
“Snow, my father speaks one language, and that’s money. If I’d have made some romantic protest about our marriage, he would have laughed in my face and had lawyers on the phone by morning. The only way to change his mind was to make him believe that a divorce would cost him a substantial amount of money.” The chair rattled as Caleb rose and crossed to stand in front of her, looking Snow in the eye as he continued. “It was the first thing that popped into my head. I’m sorry that you’ve thought all this time that I really meant those words.”
She wanted to believe him. Staring into his face, she looked for anything that would give him away, that would prove he was manipulating her and only saying what she wanted to hear. But sincerity shone in those blue depths.
She’d been wrong, but there was no way Snow could have known that. Especially since she’d left instead of sticking around to confront him. But that one overheard conversation wasn’t the only problem with their marriage; it had simply been the breaking point for her. There were still the vast differences in their families and background. Their utter lack of compatibility. And her absolute certainty that she could never fit into Caleb’s world.
“We’re still too different, and that isn’t going to change in a new ZIP code.”
In his typical stubborn way, Caleb said, “We aren’t that different.”
“Yes, we are.” Too many times in their short relationship, Snow had given in to Caleb’s obstinate positivity. His refusal to hear anything he didn’t believe to be true had frustrated her to no end. If she had tried to tell him there were problems, long before that awful last night, he’d have argued that they were fine. End of conversation. Much of the time, talking to her husband felt like talking to a wall.
“We both like country music,” he offered, as if stating some arbitrary interest would prove his point.
“I don’t like football,” Snow rebutted.
Caleb hesitated. “You don’t like football? But you watched all those games with me.”
“I was trying to be supportive,” she answered.
Looking slightly off balance, Caleb said, “That’s fine. A lot of women don’t like sports.”
Snow lifted one brow. “I didn’t say I don’t like sports. I like to watch tennis. And ice skating. ”
Her husband looked as if she’d set a carton of sour milk on the table. “I’m not sure ice skating qualifies as a sport.”
“It’s in the Olympics, Caleb.”
“True,” he conceded. “So we watch different sports. We agree on other things.”
The man would fight with a stump. “Like what?”
The twinkle returning to his eye, Caleb stepped closer. “There’s one area where we’re very compatible,” he said.
Snow held up a hand palm out. “Stop right there, McGraw. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”
“This is not a mess,” he said, pulling her hand against his chest until she could feel his heartbeat against her skin. “This is a marriage that has been on hiatus for far too long.”
As his face came down toward hers, Snow’s brain fought to retain control. If her body took over this argument, she’d find herself stripped to her striped socks and moaning on the desktop in a matter of minutes.
As desperation danced down her spine, inspiration struck.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, marching backward until she was out of his reach. “I’ll give you one month.”
Caleb’s lips were still puckered as he blinked her way. “What?”
Snow brushed a curl out of her face, then quickly tucked the shaking hand behind her back. “You can live here with me, in Ardent Springs, until November thirtieth. That gives you exactly one month to prove that we should stay married.”
Rising to the challenge, as she knew he would, Caleb said, “I doubt it’ll take a month, but I’ll agree to that.”
“There’s a condition,” she added, certain he would never agree to what she was about to propose.
Wearing a smile of premature victory, he said, “What’s that?”
With a deep breath, Snow blurted, “There will be no sex .”
Now she was fighting dirty.
“What kind of a condition is that?” They were good in bed. Hell, they were great in bed. Why mess with the one thing they had going for them?
“You don’t like my terms, you know where the door is.”
Caleb held silent, gauging how serious she might be. Damn if she didn’t look really serious. He needed to make up for that stupid conversation with his dad, but how could he do that if she wouldn’t let him show her how sorry he was?
“We need to talk about this,” Caleb said.
“You say we belong together. Rationally belong together.” Snow tapped a finger to one temple. “Lust is what got us into this situation, and you know it. We’re aware that there’s no problem in that area, so we’ll take that element off the table while we figure out the rest.”
“You can’t take sex off the table.”
“I just did,” she said smugly. “Ready to walk now?”
This was a test. She was trying to make him admit defeat before the battle had even begun. Fine. He’d give her this one, but there were ways of making her pay.
Sliding on his best smile, Caleb said, “I can go without if you can, darling.” He’d gone without for a year and a half. What was one more month? At least that’s what his upper brain was thinking. The lower brain had reached the limits of its patience about a week after Snow had left.
So he’d call her bluff, but if Snow thought he was going to make this easy, she was wrong. He’d seen her reaction when he’d brought up that old leather chair. She was as hot for it as he was, and that was a card he’d play as often as possible.
“Good,” she said, looking less sure of herself. “Then we have a month until this farce ends. If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish closing my store. ”
“Wait a minute,” he said. This wasn’t all going to be one-sided. “I have a condition of my own.”
Snow tossed the coat she’d removed over her desk. “And what is that?”
“No calling our marriage a farce. You have to give this a fair try, Snow.” Showing more vulnerability than he liked, Caleb added, “You owe me that much.”
She agreed with a nod, an unspoken apology flashing over her features.
As he watched her recount the drawer and complete her paperwork, Caleb let the relief come. He’d found her. She hadn’t left him for another man, and she’d agreed to give him a chance. Caleb had a month to bring his wife around to seeing things his way, and whatever it took, he’d do it. He had to or else go home, get a divorce, and prove his parents right.
That was not an option.
“I’m parked around the corner,” Snow said when she’d finished her closing paperwork. She flipped the switches that darkened the store except for the counter area, which remained illuminated. “You can follow me to my place.”
Caleb shook his head. “I don’t think so. Call me crazy, but I’m not giving you the chance to drive off in heaven knows what direction. You can ride with me.”
Snow bristled as they stepped through the exit. “I can drive myself.”
“Yeah,” he said as she locked the door. “Right across the state line. My Jeep is half a block down in front of the diner. Let’s go.”
She held her ground, staring hard but holding her tongue. He stared back, letting her know he could be as stubborn as she was. When Snow huffed and marched off toward his Jeep, Caleb enjoyed the minor victory.
Under normal circumstances, he’d have opened Snow’s door for her, but she was inside and in a full pout by the time he reached the vehicle. So long as she was going in the direction he wanted, Caleb saw no reason to look like a fool chasing her down the street.
As he climbed behind the wheel and latched his seat belt, Snow asked, “Why do you drive this thing? ”
Caleb stared at her. “What’s wrong with my Jeep?”
“You’re rich, Caleb.” Snow tugged the seat belt strap over her right shoulder. “This thing must be like ten years old. Why don’t you drive something a rich guy would drive? Then maybe women like me wouldn’t be so surprised to learn you come from money.”
Since when did having money become a bad thing? “This Jeep is thirty years old, and it’s in mint condition. I drive it because I like it.” This Jeep carried some of the few positive memories Caleb had of family bonding, albeit bonding with an uncle instead of his father. Speaking of ... “And my father is rich, I’m not.”
Her brows shot up. “You have a trust fund.”
“So I’m not poor,” he conceded. “And I didn’t hear you complaining about me having too much money when you were buying a new wardrobe back in Baton Rouge.”
Not that he cared about Snow buying new clothes. As far as he was concerned, she could buy anything she wanted. But he’d spent enough years taking shit for his upbringing, which he’d had no control over, to let her throw it in his face now. And it wasn’t as if he’d intentionally kept his bank account a secret until they were married. The subject never came up.
Snow’s jaw twitched as she stared out the windshield. “Follow Main down to Butler, then make a right.”
Caleb put the Jeep in gear and did as ordered. He didn’t like arguing about money, and fought the urge to apologize for his words. But if she’d left him because of his money, how was he supposed to fix that? Give all his money away and become penniless? Then what kind of a life would they have?
“Turn left up here on Fair,” Snow said after he’d made the turn onto Butler. “The house is the third one down on the right. Pull into the drive and go all the way back.”
As he followed her directions, Caleb’s jaw dropped. The white Victorian was huge. The sweeping front porch with its ornate rail ran the length of the structure, and his headlights illuminated a row of rockers to the right of the front door.
This place was straight out of the antebellum South and screamed old money. What kind of a game was his wife playing?
“You live here?” he asked, the questions building in his mind by the second.
“Pull to the left in front of the garage,” she said, ignoring his inquiry.
The garage, a three-car monstrosity, looked as elaborately decked out as the house. He’d bet his inheritance that the building had been a carriage house long before anyone had heard of Henry Ford.
Following Snow’s lead, who’d bolted from the Jeep the moment he’d cut the engine, Caleb stepped onto the gravel drive, then threw his head back to see the entire house. It was at least three stories, maybe four including an attic, which this place probably had. Didn’t they keep the kids up there in the old days?
It wasn’t until Snow said, “In here,” that he glanced down to see her passing through a garden gate toward a one-level extension on the back of the building.
He caught up and followed her up the stairs, expecting to step into a large kitchen. Instead, he entered what looked like a small room that progressed into a kitchenette area straight out of a decorating magazine. An old-fashioned stove sat on the left wall. Along the back was a counter with a centered sink and two windows above it. The only cupboards were those beneath, and all Caleb could think was where would you put stuff?
The kitchen back home was larger than these two rooms combined. Everything in sight was white, except for the occasional touch of color. A red apple orchard sign on a shelf over the kitchen windows. Blue canisters along the left side of the counter. A green throw over the short white couch, and a burst of flowers in the painting to his right.
“What is this place?” he asked, confusion clouding his brain. He couldn’t make a connection between the large house he’d parked behind and this miniature space.
“It’s where I live,” Snow said, dropping her coat and bag over a white wing-back chair. “Miss Hattie lives in the house, and she rents this apartment to me.”
“Miss Hattie?”
“The Silvesters have lived on this property since the 1850s,” Snow said. “Miss Hattie is the last of the line.”
“Right.” Caleb looked for a place to drop his bag and settled for a spot not far from the door. “It’s nice.” Tiny was the word that came to mind, but he didn’t want to give her the impression that her apartment wasn’t good enough for him. Just because it was smaller than the bedroom he grew up in didn’t mean he couldn’t adjust.
“I like it,” she said, conveying the message that she had no intention of leaving it anytime soon.
They stood in the middle of the room in awkward silence until Snow said, “I need to get out of this costume.”
Without thinking, he asked, “Need some help?”
Snow spun. “What part of ‘no sex’ do you not understand?”
Caleb leaned an elbow on the top of the chair next to him. “I didn’t ask to get into your knickers, darling. I simply offered to help undo a zipper.” And if his fingertips happened to slide over her skin as he did so ...
If he didn’t know better, Caleb would swear Snow’s eyelid twitched. “I can manage,” she said, turning toward the door next to the stove, then turning back his way to ask, “How did you find me, anyway?”
“Spotted a flier in a music shop down in Nashville for some Ruby festival. One of the sponsors was Snow’s Curiosity Shop.” He shrugged. “Figured it was worth checking out.”
“Lucky break,” Snow mumbled under her breath. “I’ll get some blankets for the couch. ”
“Uh-uh,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
Glancing toward the miniature sofa on his left, Caleb said, “I’m not sleeping there. This couch is about four feet too small. I’ll be sleeping in the bed.”
Propping both hands on her hips, Snow glared. “You expect me to give up my bed and sleep on the couch?”
“I never said that. You can sleep next to me,” he said, enjoying this saucy side of his wife.
“We agreed,” she said.
“We agreed to no sex. There was no mention of not sleeping together.” Caleb stepped into the kitchen and perused the contents of the skinny fridge. “We’re husband and wife, and that means sharing the same bed.” Turning her way, he added, “You don’t think you can sleep next to me without jumping my bones?”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I’m sure I won’t feel tempted at all.”