Raye Morgan - Wife By Contract

“Hey,” he said softly. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know. This doesn’t make any sense, and you know it.”

She raised one delicately molded eyebrow. “Do I?”

His short laugh said it all. “Sure. Look, Chynna, you’re a beautiful woman. I can’t believe you’ve ever had any problem getting a man.” He turned his hand palm up on the table. “What would a woman like you need to resort to these measures for?”

For the first time, her gaze wavered. “I never claimed I had problems getting men,” she retorted stiffly.

He shrugged as though that proved his case. “Then why did you do it? Why did you make this contract with my brother?”

She hesitated, her eyes cloudy. “I have my reasons,” she said at last. “I’ll explain it all to you at some point. But I’m not quite ready to open up on every private hope and dream I have. Not yet.”

His mouth twisted as he studied her. “Why didn’t you tell Greg about the kids?” he asked.

She wet her upper lip with a quick slip of her tongue. “I knew what your first reaction would be,” she said simply. “I wanted you to get to know them before you turned them down.”

“I’m not Greg,” he said automatically, but he wasn’t really thinking about that. He stared at her. Nothing she said added up. There had to be something else going on here. But what?

“Sorry. ‘Joe,’ isn’t it?” she amended, rolling her eyes only slightly but letting the tone of her voice emphasize the way she felt about this masquerade she thought he was playing.

“‘Joe’ it is,” he stated flatly. “Always has been and always will be. And Greg...” He hesitated, then leaned forward, determined to get this cleared up and out in the open once and for all. “Listen, Greg is my brother. I know him well. And believe me, he’s not husband material in any sense of the word.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily. She had to admit, she liked what she saw. His face was tan, with grooves where dimples had probably once been, and tiny laugh lines around his eyes. From what she’d seen so far, she would say he was a very nice guy, and one who seemed to see the humor in most things. A man like that should be ready to love children. Why wasn’t it happening?

“Not husband material?” she repeated. “I see. What’s wrong with him?”

He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable to be spilling family secrets. But in this case, he didn’t see any alternative. “It’s not that there is anything wrong with him, per se. It’s just that he’s...” He narrowed his eyes, trying to think of the right words. “He’s a real Alaska guy, you know what I mean? If this were ninety years ago, he’d be digging for gold in the mountains. If this were a hundred and fifty years ago, he’d be living off the land, tromping around in snowshoes and only coming down to civilization once a year for supplies. This is not a man who is set up, either psychologically or emotionally, to take care of a family.”

“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes, too, staring right back at him. “Then why did he pick me? Why did he send me the money to come join him?” She picked up the envelope that was lying on the table between them and pulled out the photograph, dangling it from her fingers. “Why did he send me this picture of himself? And why did he say the things he did?” She shrugged delicately. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” she suggested.

He frowned, watching her wave the picture around and feeling like punching his brother in the nose once he found him again. This would have been a lot simpler if Greg had sent a picture of himself instead of using Joe as bait. “I can’t really explain why he did those things,” he said shortly. “Maybe he was playing around with a dream and then got cold feet when it looked as though it might actually come true.”

She snapped the photo back into the envelope. “Yes, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” she said sweetly. “This has come true. Here we are. So let’s make the best of it.” She rose, starting toward the kitchen sink, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Listen, you don’t seem to get it. I think you should pack up your kids and get while the getting’s good. Leave. Take a plane and head out. Go back to where you came from.”

Staring down at him, she slowly shook her head. “The pilot of the little plane that brought us from Anchorage said he wouldn’t be back this way for four days,” she noted. “We can’t leave, even if we wanted to.”

He swallowed hard. This was a reminder of what it was like to live out in the boonies. That just showed how quickly one could get used to modern life in a big city, where every convenience was at beck and call at any moment of the day or night.

“Oh,” he said, letting his hand drop. “Well, I suppose I could drive you to Anchorage.”

The lack of enthusiasm for that idea was evident in his voice, and she smiled suddenly, shaking her head again. “Don’t bother,” she said crisply, turning back toward the sink. “We’ll stay. You need us.”

“Like a hole in the head,” he muttered to himself as he made his way toward the front door. There was only one thing left to do. He had to find his brother, or at least find out where he was and when he was planning to drop in on this hardy little band of squatters who had taken over his house.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, leaning out of the kitchen door.

He looked back at her. “I’m going to see if I can find out where Greg went.”

He expected to see a flash of annoyance in her eyes, but instead he saw a flare of fear. “You are coming back, aren’t you?” she called.

“Of course I’m coming back.”

He turned toward the car, not wanting to see her face, see the questions in her eyes. She still thought he was pretending not to be Greg. Well, it hardly mattered. She probably thought he was a little nuts, but then, if she were confronted with the real Greg, she would do more than think it.

And yet, that was hardly fair. He hadn’t seen his brother for a number of years. It was possible he’d turned into a model citizen after all. Yes, it was possible. Just barely.

He swung behind the wheel of the long, low sports car he’d rented in Anchorage and started the engine, thinking how out of place a car like this was out here in the wilderness.

“And that’s exactly why I love it,” he murmured, avoiding a pothole and turning onto the two-lane dirt road that would take him to the combination post office and general store that served as the center of Dunmovin, the so-called town he’d been born in thirty-some years before.

Three

The place looked the same, only a decade and a half older and more run-down. Right next to it was a shiny new building. The sign in the window said Nails By Nancy, and Joe stopped for a moment and stared at the little yellow storefront, wondering who in the world there was for Nancy to do the nails of—whoever Nancy was. Shaking his head, he took the steps into the general store two at a time and burst in through the front door.

The theme inside was pure familiarity. Goods were still stocked to the ceiling, stacked precariously on long plank shelves. A lazy fan took a fainthearted pass at stirring the air. Two ancient residents sat on chairs tilted back until they leaned against the wall, and Annie Andrews stood behind the counter, working on her account books.

She looked up over her glasses when she heard him come in and gave a snort of surprise as he walked into the dusty little building.

“As I live and breathe. Joey Camden.” The gray-haired woman folded her arms across her chest and gazed at him instead of giving him a hug, but her snapping black eyes and crooked grin were filled with the warmth of her welcome, and he appreciated it, grinning right back. “What brings you to these parts, stranger?”