Page 31 of His Fake Fiancé

Jesus, what was with all this deep shit bubbling to the surface? Jake Callahan didn’t have deep thoughts. His were so shallow there were warning signs all around cautioning against diving head first. He snapped on the radio. You were lucky to get a signal out here, but the static was better than all this shit running through his brain.

The static didn’t provide the distraction he was hoping for, his mind whirling with thoughts of family and obligation and what it all meant.

He glanced out the window. The sky was beginning to lighten, but it was still going to be mostly cloudy and bleak. Typical weather for late winter. Not that it mattered. Life on the ranch went on business as usual no matter the weather. He still had a thing about summer storms, though, but that had more to do with his sister-in-law Grace’s ex, and the fact the asshole had shot her during one, than the actual weather.

Jake’s gut clenched at the reminder of that night. The whole thing had been the stuff of nightmares. Thankfully, the family got out of it relatively unscathed—Grace had needed surgery and stuff, but she’d pulled through because she was a fucking champ. Her ex had died when he and Mason got caught in a mud slide, which was just as well, because Jake was pretty sure if he hadn’t, Mason would have killed the son of a bitch. Best that Mother Nature took care of that for him.

A cold, shivery sensation swept through Jake, turning his insides to a block of ice. Grace had been living in the guest house at the time, and the asshole had broken in and forced her to leave with him at gunpoint. What if Olivia and Claire had been staying there at the time? Granted, Olivia was just a bean in Gina’s belly at that point, but she wasn’t now. What would the prick have done of he’d run into Claire instead of Grace? Would he have hurt her? Shot her? Killed her?

The thought sent a jolt of something panicky and hot racing through him. The urge to spin the truck around and head back to the house, just to make sure Olivia and Claire were safe, overwhelmed him. He squeezed the steering wheel tight, kept his gaze locked on the path ahead. The truck jostled over the bumpy trail and a few raindrops splashed across the windshield.

He took a couple of deep breaths and forced himself to relax. His fingers ached, so he loosened the death grip he had on the wheel. Everything was fine. Nothing was going to happen. Claire didn’t have a crazy ex hell bent on anything. The last guy she’d dated had been Colton something-or-other. Some douche nozzle that had made goo-goo eyes at her at the bar one night. He’d been some new to town asshole nowhere near good enough for her.

That weird ache bloomed in his chest again, and he rubbed at it absently. The two of them had gotten cozy pretty quick, which had seemed way too fast to Jake. He hadn’t said anything because he was the last one to talk about moving things along at light speed. Besides, he and Claire didn’t talk about that stuff.

Although, now that he thought about it, he and Claire didn’t really talk about anything anymore. Sure, they hung out and went to the bar and stuff, but now that he thought about it, their conversations were always pretty surface level. How was your day? Did you see that show on TV? Can you believe that call on the game last night? How do you get by a particular level on whatever game they were currently playing?

Back when they were kids, they told each other everything. When reading comic books in blanket forts and camping out in the hay loft were the highlights of the weekend.

At least until they started junior high and their hormones took over. They’d kissed once, in the hayloft one afternoon after a particularly hard day at school for him. He’d stuttered his way through an oral presentation, and felt like a massive idiot. And he knew everyone was laughing at him.

When he got home from school, he’d climbed up into the hayloft so he could be alone, and try to get his emotions under control. Claire had found him there, which wasn’t a surprise, since it was their secret hideout. She sat down next to him without saying anything, just bumping his shoulder with hers. They weren’t in the same class, so she had no idea about his epic failure, but in typical Claire fashion, she just knew he needed comforting.

They sat there a while, in the shadowy silence, content just to be. As he looked at her, it was the first time he’d ever noticed her as a girl. When she turned to him, he’d leaned over and kissed her. Nothing scandalous, just a brief press of lips. A first kiss for him, and as far as he knew, her as well.

She’d asked him why he’d kissed her and he’d panicked. Gave her a smile and told her he wanted to know what it felt like, since his brothers were always talking about kissing girls. She’d nodded, but he could tell something had changed. A few minutes later she told him she had to go, and she hightailed it out of there so fast, he would have sworn she was being chased by a mad bull.

After that, they’d drifted apart. Claire, who was super smart, was in all AP classes. Since Jake was not so smart, he was stuck struggling through the regular stuff. Claire tried to help where she could, tutoring him and stuff, but it didn’t make a difference. He had the C average to prove it.

But what really changed was how people saw him, how they reacted to him, how they treated him. He knew he was an attractive guy and one day, it seemed the rest of Redding realized it, too. Well, the female population, anyway. So, he threw himself at it with everything he had. He wasn’t driven like Mason or Owen, or smart like Simon, determined like Declan, but he was pretty. And, he decided, if that’s all he was, all people saw, then he was going to embrace the fuck out of it.

So, Jake Callahan, ladies man, was born.

And, it didn’t take long for the girls to catch on. They’d flock to him, all flirty and hot, vying for his attention. He’d be a fucking liar to say he didn’t lap that shit up. He loved the attention. Thrived on it. He’d grown up the youngest of five and had been an accident—the five-year age gap between him and the twins gave that away—and he often felt left out of stuff. Forgotten, maybe.

And then suddenly, he was the center of attention, and nobody wanted anything from him other than to be charming and look good doing it. It had been glorious, like that first sunny day after a long, cold winter, and he’d basked in it.

Maybe a little too much.

Shit, he’d been fourteen when he’d lost his virginity. Missy Turner and he had stolen the keys to Declan’s truck during one of the church socials, and had fumbled their way through their first time on the front bench seat in the parking lot.

The idea of Olivia fumbling around anywhere with any fourteen-year-old fuck-nut sent fury coursing through him. There was no way she was going out with anyone, until she was at least thirty. He always thought, if he ever had kids, he’d be a cool dad. Relaxed and laid back and everything. Turns out, he was not. And honestly, he was okay with that.

The truck moved over a rise and the pasture came into view. He got closer and could see the place in the fence Owen was talking about. Repair might be a bit of an understatement. This looked more like a rebuild.

Good. That meant it should take him a while. More time to get his head on straight, and his emotions under control. He pulled up near the fence and hopped out of the truck. There was a crispness in the air he hadn’t been expecting, and he took a deep breath.

Better get to work, then.

Within an hour, he was forced to peel off his coat and hang it on one of the posts. He hadn’t brought any water or anything, which was stupid, but that’s what he got for running away like a pussy, so he drank the rest of his barely warm coffee. It was terrible, but it was at least wet, so he was somewhat grateful.

A few hours later, Jake finally hammered the nail into the fence, securing the final slat. He stood, tossing the hammer into the open tool box next to him. The air was cold today and he took a deep, bracing breath, and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm.

His days on the ranch were usually spent riding his horse around, or tinkering in the shop. He was never tasked with anything, mostly because he never volunteered. Owen never asked him to do anything, mostly because Jake had never really shown an interest in anything, except maybe chasing girls.

He leaned against the fence post, placing his arm on the top and then his chin on his arm. The acreage spread before him, not so green in the winter, but still familiar. Still home. The cattle were over in the winter pastures, the space in front of him empty, reaching out toward the horizon.

His fingers itched for his camera, to capture the way the winter sunlight cut through the clouds and filtered through the trees on the far side of the pasture. But he hadn’t had time to grab it this morning.