The Wedding Gift (Colorado Billionaires Book 7) Read online

  “Doris, darlin’, can I get a chocolate shake to go?” That would hold him for a while. He wondered idly if Austin could front him a car payment or two. He should never have taken his month’s allowance to Vegas. What felt like a sure thing before he went had turned into a long night of losing at table after table. Not a great decision.

  Not far from the restaurant, he spotted a run-down motel off the side of the highway. It was built long and low, surrounded by trees quickly losing their fall foliage. He parked the Mercedes behind the building and paid cash for his room, because credit cards were so easy to trace. In fact, he was carrying all the cash he possessed at the moment in a money belt around his waist. He could actually make one of the late car payments, but that was all he could do, and he needed travel money. And now, thanks to his father’s stubborn streak, he needed something else as well.

  He’d been giving his situation a lot of thought while he drove. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to do what his father wanted. He mulled it over as he moved through the dinky motel room, turning on lights and flipping the TV to the weather channel. The place had a faint musty smell, but he was only going to be there a few hours. He needed to get some sleep before he finished the drive to Eagle’s Toe. He satisfied himself that there were no dead bodies in the closet or the bathroom, then changed into sweats. He peeked through the curtain on the back window. His room was almost even with the Mercedes. Before, he’d been worried about the repo guys spotting his sports car. Now he worried that some doofus would bang into his father’s Mercedes. That was almost scarier. He quietly swore an oath that he would never go to Vegas again.

  He pulled the covers to the foot of the bed and stacked the pillows so he could stare at the weather channel until he drifted off to sleep. His mind returned to his inheritance problem. With a little effort he could find someone to marry before his birthday. That didn’t mean they had to stay married forever. He shuddered at the thought. No, he could get married and then get divorced after he inherited. Ouch. He’d better get a good lawyer and figure out the safest way to do a prenuptial agreement. He didn’t want to split his inheritance with some woman he hardly knew. He thought of Doris the waitress and shuddered atop the cold sheets. No, he’d have to find someone a lot classier than her. If he was going to pull a fast one on his old man, he had to think quality.

  CHAPTER THREE

  By the time Kenzie’s father returned from the Grange meeting, it was nine-fifteen and she had recovered enough appetite to have apple pie with her parents. Up until then, she had managed to keep her mother talking about relatives while they washed the dinner dishes together and she let her mother supervise her as she cleaned the stove. She frowned at the greasy mess and wondered what had happened to Marigold’s spick-and-span attitude. She made sure to steer clear of anything to do with her life in Denver. Now she sat across the table from her father and had the definite impression that letting her come home was her mother’s idea. His words said one thing but his tone told her something very different.

  “Good to have you home.” John Shane was a man of few words. As a child, Kenzie’d thought that made him rare and unique. The boys at school talked plenty. But after two years with her ex, hanging out with him and his friends, she realized that lots of men spoke very little. Some of them were reduced to grunts and gestures. Of course, she had to admit that those were the guys she liked the least, the ones who looked at her hungrily when her boyfriend wasn’t watching. She was probably mentally assigning beastlike attributes to them because they made her nervous.

  Her father was looking at her, waiting for an answer. She cleared her throat. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this chance to be home for a while. I already told Mom I’d be happy to help you out around the farm. Maybe even help you paint the house?”

  John cut off another bite of pie. “Good. That’s the kind of help we can use. That and maybe some help buying the paint.” He lifted a brow and glanced at her sideways.

  Kenzie felt panic rising. There it was again. Her parents thought she’d made a ton of money selling that house. She hadn’t been able to tell them the whole truth in her letters. How could she admit that she’d made a huge mistake? No matter how hard she’d tried, she just couldn’t write the words—the stinking lousy truth, she thought—and so she led them along with vague invented details about the realtor and showings and offers being made and withdrawn.

  She hadn’t started out to deceive them. She never thought she’d end up coming home. The chances of them ever learning the truth had seemed so miniscule. But now here she was, sitting in her mother’s kitchen, trying to maintain eye contact with her father while talking about the passel of lies she’d filled her letters with. At some point, she’d have to tell them everything, but not tonight. She knew that if she laid the whole mess out right this moment, they’d be up all night talking and shouting and making threats against the man who had done her wrong—or even worse, telling her how stupid she’d been to trust him—and she just couldn’t face that yet. She wanted to crawl into bed and hide under the blankets—I hope they still smell like sunshine and fresh air—and think about nothing for a while.

  “I’m pretty tired,” she said, smashing pie shell crumbs with her fork. “I should go to bed soon. Before my car died on me,…” She almost choked on the lie and had to clear her throat. “…I stopped in Eagle’s Toe and applied for a job. I start Monday. So I should be able to buy the paint for the house.” She looked hopefully at her mother.

  But John made a noise. “How do you plan to help with chores if you go to work in town every day?”

  Kenzie swallowed her irritation. Same old Dad. Nothing was good enough. She licked her fork clean before responding. “Actually, I start at ten. I asked for a late start so I can get up early and help you and Mom before I go.” She bit her bottom lip. “Since my car died”—a deserving death—“I was hoping you’d let me drive the old truck until I can get another vehicle.”

  John washed his bite of pie down with a swig of milk. Kenzie held her breath, wondering how he would react to her request. Much to her relief, he nodded.

  “That sounds fair. What time will you be getting off?”

  “Four. So I can be here for evening chores, too.”

  The tension in the air seemed to evaporate. She’d guessed right. They really needed an extra pair of hands, and they obviously couldn’t afford to pay for hired help.

  Marigold added, “And I’m sure she plans to contribute to the groceries and such.” She nodded encouragingly.

  Kenzie agreed. “Of course.”

  John said, “Good. Have you been talking your mother’s ears off about your breakup?”

  “She’s hardly even spoken of it,” said Marigold. She added pointedly, “And we won’t ask for details until she’s ready to share.”

  Kenzie dropped her gaze to hide her smile. Did Dad even know how many decisions Mom made for him? In this case, she was very grateful. She covered a yawn with one hand. “If it’s all right, I’ll say goodnight. What time do you get started in the morning, Dad?”

  “I will knock on your door at five. Animals can’t wait.”

  That’s my father, she thought. She planted a dry kiss on her mother’s cheek and started to do the same to John, but he raised a callused hand and brushed her away.

  “No need to kiss up. I’m grateful to have you back. Lots to do. Good to have a full day tomorrow before you start your job.”

  “Okay then. Goodnight.” She headed upstairs. Before she reached the first landing, she could hear them talking in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out much more than her name, but it was clear that her mother was still convincing her father that having her around would be a good thing. At least she hoped she was. Her mother’s voice was sweet and cajoling, a tone she never used with her children. Her father’s tone was curt, and he sounded really tired. When their conversation paused, she rushed to her room so they wouldn’t find out she’d been standing there, trying to eavesdrop.
r />   She changed into her favorite pajamas—red flannels with galloping horses on them—and crawled into bed. She didn’t bother to check her phone. She didn’t want to hear any more begging, threatening, or ranting. She lay there, staring at the same ceiling she’d stared at every night while growing up, and wondered what her parents would do when they found out what had really happened in Denver. It was best not to think too much about it. She’d just have to make sure she was so helpful to them that they could find it in their hearts to forgive her.

  * * *

  Kenzie figured after five o’clock chores on Sunday morning, the day would be filled with work. She was surprised and mildly alarmed when, after the animals were cared for, Dad settled in his recliner and used the remote to find a sports channel. He settled on MLB, and within minutes, he had dozed off.

  Marigold seemed to think that was normal behavior, so Kenzie didn’t pry. But neither did she enjoy the slow pace of the household. “Are you making bread today, Mom?”

  “Yes, I thought I’d get a couple of loaves ready for the oven.”

  Kenzie smiled. “Homemade bread is something I’ve missed terribly.”

  “You can help me get it ready. I’ll just have one more cup of coffee.”

  Kenzie began to fidget. “Okay, Mom. I’ll run upstairs and vacuum. Will the noise bother Dad?”

  “Oh, no. He can sleep through anything lately.”

  Kenzie vacuumed the entire upper floor. She was surprised by the amount of dust on the surfaces. When she was in high school, her mother used to check her room before she could go anywhere with her friends on Saturdays. But they were getting older. And that tended to slow people down.

  She went downstairs and found her mother still sipping at her coffee. A local paper was spread out on the table in front of her. The breakfast dishes were stacked in the sink.

  “I’ll take care of these dishes for you, Mom.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Anything important in the paper?”

  “It looks like Kevin Fineman Wake is thinking about running for a state office. The ladies at the Grange told me his mother, Krystal, wants him to run for governor.” She made an “oo-la-la” face.

  “Didn’t you and Dad go to school with Krystal Fineman?” She ran warm water into the sink.

  “Yep. Things are different these days. But there’s a private academy in town now, and even though it’s open to everyone, the tuition means only the wealthier families can send their kids. Krystal’s parents sent her to our regular high school. But she’s still really sweet with us. Whenever your dad needed to sell off cattle, Krystal was right there, giving him top dollar.”

  Kenzie added more dish soap and began stacking the clean dishes in the rack. “I was surprised to see so few cattle in the field. And what happened to Old Toro?”

  “Poor old bull caught pneumonia. We thought he’d pull through, but he was getting on in years and your father found him dead one morning.” Marigold shook her head. “That was such a blow to your dad. He keeps saying he’ll do that artificial insemination, but last year, only three calves were born.”

  “And the goats?” Kenzie rinsed the last dish.

  “What about them?”

  “Well, there are only a few left. And no sheep at all. I thought you were selling wool and goat’s milk?”

  Marigold turned a page and answered without looking up from the paper. “Shearing sheep is hard work. And the dogs were getting so old, they couldn’t really do their jobs anymore. They’re just pets now. Couch potatoes.”

  Kenzie sat down at the table, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Gee, I feel so out of touch. When I came home for holidays, you never talked much about this stuff.”

  Marigold pinned her with a motherly stare. “You were so busy talking about your boyfriend and your classmates, it never seemed the right time to bring up the livestock. Besides, you’d only stay two days at Christmas. Hardly enough time for hello and goodbye.”

  Kenzie felt a strange sense of relief that her mother could still make her feel guilty with a word and a tone of voice. “Sorry. I guess I haven’t been the most considerate daughter.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Marigold softly. “Your sister and your brothers haven’t exactly been beating down the door.”

  “Yeah, but they’re all in the service.” She pulled a piece off a cinnamon roll and contemplated eating it. “When I left home, I was ready to get away. And now, looking back, I feel like I was such a brat and so unappreciative.”

  “Your father and I were young once. We understand. We’re just delighted to have you back now.” She tilted her head, as if thrown off balance by the question she wanted to ask. “Will you make a lot of money from selling your house in Denver?”

  Kenzie’s insides tightened into a knot. She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how it will all play out, Mom. But as soon as I hear any news, I’ll let you know. Don’t worry. Anything I get, I will share with you and Dad.” She added silently, What a lousy promise when you know you have nothing coming. She needed to change the subject. “I heard the washer going earlier. Can I hang out clothes for you?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Kenzie smiled and headed for the laundry room, grateful not to have to answer any more questions. She spent most of Sunday doing chores inside and out, feeling sad that her mother—once a scrupulous housekeeper—was now settling for “clean enough.” She wondered if the measly income from her new job would really be much of a help.

  * * *

  Clayton was pleased with the room reserved for him at the Cattleman’s, and he was grateful that the person at the registration desk had let him sign in before three o’clock. He hadn’t slept well at that cheap hotel, and the light Sunday traffic was a blessing. He knew that Austin would pick something middle-of-the-road, but with quality in mind. That was good, because Clayton wasn’t sure that his credit card would cover the cost of a luxury suite. Another result of his craziness in Vegas.

  “Note to self,” he said wryly. “Drinking and dice do not make a good combination.” He tried not to think about how much money he’d left on the craps table and forced himself to appreciate the upscale decor of his accommodations.

  It was certainly a step up from the motel room he’d spend the night in. In fact the difference was night and day. He shuddered at the memory of that shabby little room and wondered if that was what was in store for him for the rest of his life? He definitely had to figure out a way to get his hands on his share of his inheritance. And if that meant arranging to marry someone just to please his father and conform to a ludicrous requirement, then that was what he would have to do. He was tired of looking over his shoulder, wondering when the repossession team was going to catch up with him and take the Maserati. If they did, he would be faced with trying to find some kind of transportation that was more in keeping with his current financial status. And that was unacceptable.

  “A man has his pride,” he declared to the parking lot below. Then he snorted. “But not much of it anymore,” he mumbled, scanning the lot for his car. There it was. Still safe and sound.

  His room was halfway up the tower on the west end of the hotel. He had seen a coffee shop and a nice restaurant on the ground floor where he could have dinner. But he wasn’t ready to leave the hotel room yet. He just wandered around, looking at all the amenities and reminding himself that he was not a peon. And as he did so, he grew angrier at his father for insisting that he would not come into his inheritance until he was safely married and settled down. What old-fashioned nonsense!

  Well, Clayton had news for his father. He would get married, and as soon as he had full control of his finances, he would arrange for a quick and easy divorce. He jotted a reminder to himself to hire a lawyer. Then he remembered that if he contacted one of the family retainers, his father would hear all about it. No, that wouldn’t do. He would have to find a local lawyer, someone his father didn’t know about, in order to arrange the appropriate lega
l documents that would save his imminent fortune from ending up in the hands of the woman he eventually married and divorced.

  He finally had dinner in the Cattleman’s Italian restaurant, Il Vaccaro. The chicken parmesan was excellent and the bread was to die for. He ate way more than he should have, and was going to skip dessert, but the waiter explained that the chocolate cheesecake was famous all over Colorado, and he really should try it. So he lingered over dessert and coffee.

  Clayton ignored the uneasy feeling that what he was contemplating was in opposition to everything he’d grown up believing in. Ordinarily, he was not a tricky person. Deceit was new to him. None of this came easily. But he really needed a source of income that would match his status. He didn’t mind working for a living, but no one wanted to pay him what he thought he was worth. That made finding a job pretty difficult. His father wanted him to work in one of the family businesses, wedged tightly under Daddy’s thumb. That didn’t sound like fun to Clayton.

  But then again, that’s why they called it work, right? It wasn’t supposed to be fun. And yet, all the advice he had received throughout his youth had emphasized that if you could do something you love for a living, you would never work a day in your life. You would just get up and have fun everyday. He wondered if people just said that to shut kids up. Maybe he needed to think about what he enjoyed doing.

  After dinner, he raided the little refrigerator in his room for a Pepsi. He knew it would be expensive, but if he had to give up all his old habits just because he was temporarily out of funds, then life was hardly worth living.

  His thoughts turned to Lulamae. She would be horrified to hear what he had in mind. In fact, she would be horrified to hear the way he was thinking in general. She had provided Clayton and his siblings with a moral compass at a time when his father was too preoccupied with his wife’s mental health to spare much time for the kids. She was godmother to all the Masters and Garrisons of his generation, but she had been deeply involved with his upbringing and that of his siblings. Probably because she’d been so close to his mother.