Chapter 3
Tucker
Ihave an idea.
Is it a good idea? Possibly. Will it work? Could go either way.
Am I gonna try it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But first, I’ve got to figure out who my future fake girlfriend actually is. I’ve got her first name—Ruth—and ‘our’ daughter’s name—Birdie. It’s not a lot to go on, so thank God for the third thing I managed to get.
Her license plate number.
It took about thirty seconds of scrolling through my security camera feed to get a shot of the collection of letters and numbers that will help me hunt down my Cinderella. Except I’m not showing up on Ruth’s doorstep with a shoe. I’m bringing what I suspect she actually wants.
Money.
After jotting down the plate number, I pick up the phone to call one of the two people I know can help me link it with an identity, and the only one I don’t mind dragging into this scheme of mine.
I know Titus would help me, but my brother isn’t a great liar.
He’s not as terrible at it as I am, but he’s close, and my mother would know something was up by the look on his face.
Especially since he won’t have someone like Ruth—who so far seems like a talented liar—at his side to help him through it.
I couldn’t have picked a better partner in crime than Ruth. The woman who delivered herself right to my doorstep, never guessing she’s the solution to all my problems. Hopefully, I can be the solution to hers too, because that’s how I’m planning to convince her to play along with my little charade.
Heidi answers on the third ring, sounding like her usual perky self as she says, “It’s baby Bradshaw. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Are you really going to act like we don’t talk on a regular basis?” I don’t normally need Heidi’s assistance the way Titus or even Walker does. I just call her because I like her. She’s hilarious. Doesn’t take life too seriously, and loves to dish out shit. “How are the kids?”
“Rotten. Just the way I like them.” There’s a smile in her voice whenever she talks about the babies she shares with her boyfriend Shawn. “I’m thinking I might pop out a few more. Just for funsies.”
“I think you’re the only woman I’ve ever heard refer to labor and delivery as fun.” I have zero experience with what actually goes on during childbirth, but I paid enough attention in science class to understand it’s not a fucking walk in the park.
“The popping out part isn’t fun. The putting them in there part is, though.” She cackles at her own joke. “I know you’re more than a little familiar with that process.”
Not so much recently, but that’s a secret I’ve been keeping to myself. I don’t want anyone asking questions. Especially since I can’t answer them. “As much as I love to shoot the shit with you, I do actually have a favor to ask.”
“Is it about dead Dan? Because I don’t want any more baggies of human fluids shipped to me.”
Super glad Toby was the one who had to deal with that. “Not even remotely related to dead Dan. I’ve got a license plate number I want you to run.”
“Oh, thank God.” Heidi blows out a loud breath. “That’s way less messy and will only take about five minutes.”
I rattle off Ruth’s plate number and Heidi promises to email me the information as soon as she’s finished. Ending the call, I order her a bouquet of thank you flowers, and move on to my next task—figuring out how to baby-proof this place.
It needs to be done regardless. Sooner or later the twins will be mobile, so the place needs to be safe for them anyway. But if I can convince Ruth to cahoot with me, I’ll need to make sure Birdie is safe when she’s here.
An hour later my online cart is filled with everything from outlet covers to cabinet catches. I’ve got baby gates and furniture stabilizers. Sippy cups and plastic plates.
And a hell of a lot of toys.
Ruth claimed our fictitious night together happened two years ago, which makes Birdie a little over a year old. I have as much experience with toddlers as I do childbirth, so I rely on Dr. Google to tell me what a kid her age will like best.
I hit checkout, and head straight to my email, grinning from ear to ear when I see Heidi has come through for me.
Ruth Wagner
1724 Pearl Street, apartment 3B
Marksburg, Wyoming 82836
She even managed to get a phone number, her mother’s maiden name, and her birthdate.
Because Heidi is the cat's tits.
I’m grabbing my keys, intending to head out the door, when my doorbell rings for the second time today. I know I can’t get lucky twice, so opening the door to find my mother smiling back at me isn’t a huge surprise.
“Good morning.” She sounds way too chipper today. “I just came over to see how you’re doing.”
She absolutely did not. She came over because I was right about how fast gossip travels. She’s already heard what happened at the bar last night and wants to dig for more information.
I’ve got to find a way to keep this conversation vague.
I don’t want to get boxed in by specifics.
Not until I know whether or not Ruth is going to play ball.
I also don’t want to have to lie, and considering I’m attempting to build an entire relationship on one, as one, that’s not going to be an easy feat to accomplish.
“Doing good.” I thumb over one shoulder in the direction of the garage, keys clutched in my hand. “About to head out the door.”
Her brows lift. “You have plans this early on a Saturday morning?”
“Yup.” It’s technically true. I have made plans and it is Saturday morning.
“I’ve got a busy day, so I wanted to get going on it early.
” I decide the best way to avoid having to blatantly lie to my mother’s face is to dominate the conversation, so I continue without pausing, “I have a few errands to run, and then I’m going to work on the basement. ”
Like the rest of my brothers’ houses, mine has a full basement.
Since we all lived alone when we built them, there was really no reason to finish the space.
Until recently, mine has simply been a blank canvas with concrete floor and walls.
Currently, it's a half-finished pile of flooring, furniture-grade lumber, and other miscellaneous building materials. I was taking my time with the project, thinking I had at least a year to complete it. Looks as if I’m gonna have to push that date up some.
Like, a lot.
My mother gives me a sweet smile, reaching out to pat my cheek. “You are such a good boy. Working so hard to make something the twins will enjoy.”
“Yup. That’s me. Uncle Tucker for the win.”
I’m starting to think I’m gonna get out of this conversation unscathed. That maybe my mother didn’t hear about the false claim I made at the bar last night. It’s possible that woman didn’t even really know who I was. Not probable, but definitely possible.
But then my mother drops the bomb I hoped wouldn’t detonate. “When do I get to meet this girlfriend you're telling everyone in town about?”
“That is a good question.” I say the words slowly, hoping to buy myself some time.
As someone who believes honesty is always the best policy, I’ve never really practiced deceit, and it’s taking my brain longer than I expected to come up with some bullshit. “I will have to get back to you on that.”
“Make sure you do.” Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “And give me a little notice so I can plan a nice dinner for the family.”
“Okay.” I take a breath, working hard to even out my smile. “I can do that.”
I hope to God I can do that, otherwise I’m fucked. Sideways. With a pinecone.
“Well, I’m off to go check in with Titus and Mariah. See how the babies are doing and if momma needs anything.” She gives me a little wave. “I look forward to meeting the woman who somehow magically managed to make you settle down.”
Fuck. She knows I’m full of shit. Knows this is a lie. Knows there is no magical girlfriend.
And unless I can convince her she’s wrong, I have just succeeded in putting myself directly at the front of her meddling line.
And that can’t happen. I don’t know how much Ruth was trying to get out of me, but I will happily pay it to get off my mother’s radar.
I’m not interested in settling down. I don’t want a wife.
Don’t want a family. Not for real anyway.
But I will happily pretend I do to protect my peace.
I manage to get my mother out the door, waving at her the same way I did at Ruth as she heads for Titus and Mariah’s. I honestly wouldn’t mind making a visit to my brother's house myself, but I just don’t have time today.
Maybe tomorrow. Get a little baby-holding time in.
Once my mother’s out of sight, I go back to my initial plan, making a beeline for the garage and pointing my truck straight into town. I don’t know exactly where the address Heidi gave me is, and I’d like to do a little groundwork before I make my move. See what I’m working with.
Downtown Willow Bend is small. Quaint. Cute.
The buildings are old but well-maintained, and there are always people milling around, visiting the coffee shop and browsing the bookstore.
There’s a number of little eateries, and various privately owned shops, along with a florist, and a salon.
It was the perfect sort of place to grow up, and I’m excited for my niece and nephew to experience it.
I can’t wait to take them to play at Library Park and for ice cream at Bennigan’s.
I pass the collection of multi-story brick buildings, coming out the other side as I make my way to the next town over.
I don’t go there much, and as soon as I arrive, I remember why.
The place has really become run down over the past decade.
The primary source of local jobs—an auto glass plant—caught fire a decade ago, and the company decided it wasn’t worth the cost of rebuilding.
They just spread the work that was being done there out across their remaining locations.
Strategically, it was probably the right choice from a business perspective, but not everything is about business.
It shouldn’t be anyway.
That’s part of the reason we built McKinley Security Systems where we did.
It’s in an area that was becoming depressed, and would benefit from both our tax dollars and our employment opportunities.
Plus, on our end, the land itself was half the price it would have been in another area, so we were able to save money, making it a win-win scenario.
But no one is winning in this place. As I move deeper and deeper into a neighborhood filled with aging homes sporting more than a few boarded up windows, I wonder how Ruth ended up here.
And how she ended up on my porch.
Was she one of the people laid off permanently when the auto glass plant closed? Or is this where she grew up and she simply doesn’t want to leave?
Or can’t. Maybe she’s looking for a way out, and decided I might be it. If that is the case, I’ve got good news for her. All she has to do is play pretend for a little while and I’ll give her exactly what she’s looking for.
I reach the address I’m looking for, and take in the building in front of me.
It’s actually the worst one I’ve seen so far.
Not just aesthetically—even though that leaves a lot to be desired—but structurally.
I don’t even need to go inside to know the roof is leaking and there’s water in the basement.
There’s foundation and roof issues, windows that let every breeze pass through, and I’m pretty sure the steps leading from one floor to the next aren’t up to code.
It’s a hazard. An accident waiting to happen.
And sure as hell not somewhere I would want to be raising my child. But in life, sometimes we have to do what it takes to survive. Even when it’s uncomfortable.
I circle the block, taking the property in from all sides as I try to get an idea of which unit is hers.
I’m not quite ready to risk being caught on the premises yet, so getting out to investigate isn’t an option.
I can make a guess and narrow it down to one of two third-floor units, but the actual answer depends on which direction the numbers run.
I’m just about to take a turn that will move me away from Ruth’s building, when I notice a guy also looking at the place.
I know I don’t really have room to throw stones right now, but it’s fucking weird.
Not just the act, but the way he’s going about it.
While I slowed down but kept driving, he’s stopped in the middle of the street, practically glaring at the place. Like it offends him.
And maybe it does. He’s wearing a pretty fucking fancy suit and driving the kind of car that says he wants people to know how much money he has.
Which means it’s not nearly as much as he claims.
I’ve met pricks like him plenty of times, and I never miss the opportunity to piss them off. So instead of turning, I stop my truck right in his line of sight, the larger body of my vehicle completely blocking him out.
Rolling down my window, I sling one arm over the edge, giving him the smile that’s helped me coast through life. “You look like you’re from around here.” I lean out a little more. “I’m hoping maybe you can give me some directions.”
As I expected, insinuating this is his neighborhood royally sticks in his craw, and instead of offering me any sort of acknowledgment, he snarls, shifts into drive, and speeds away.
Huh. Not exactly the kind of reaction that makes me feel like he’s less of a creep.
I stay where I’m at for a second, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel as I fight with myself. I’m tempted to park and rip the Band-Aid right off. Go to Ruth’s door and make her an offer she can’t refuse.
But rushing simply because I didn’t like the way some rich asshole looked at her building is probably a little bit of an overreaction. An overreaction that could ruin everything.
And I’ve got no wiggle room on this. Deidre Bradshaw believes I have a girlfriend, and I need to produce one pronto. Producing one who also happens to have an adorable daughter for my mother to dote on is even better, so I’ve got to play my cards right.
Luckily, I’ve got some experience playing cards with pretty women.