Page 42 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

Getty’s head shoots up and his flat stare doesn’t seem particularly excited at this prospect.

The card deck is now divided in two. Without looking down, he combines the deck with a deft move that flutters the cards between his hands until they are neatly collected in one pile.

He sets them aside just as Mel glides into the room with a tray.

“Cecilia.” She beams at me and Tye rises to take the tray from her hands. “You look gorgeous . Clearly, marriage agrees with you.”

Getty snorts and steals a muffin from the basket in the middle of the tray. His mocking stare induces a wave of paranoia.

Julian swore he immediately deleted all the security camera footage from our torrid picnic sex by the creek. I believe him. But what if he missed something? What if someone was watching the cameras live?

Smothering the mortification, I flip my teacup over and select a muffin.

I choose to look on the bright side. At least the man who has the power to make me so delirious with crazed passion that I’m demanding to get fucked right out in the open is the man I married.

“What’s all that noise at the back of the house?” I ask and reach for the hot water kettle.

Tye grabs the kettle first and fills my cup. He’s remarkably adept and spills nothing. “What noise?”

“I’ll bring your father a slice of frittata,” Mel says and transfers a wedge of the egg and veggie pie to a shiny black plate. “He’s too busy to come to the table.”

Cass didn’t appear busy at all. There were no papers on his desk, no sign of a computer or a laptop or even a phone.

Mel’s black pants swish as she leaves the room on her resolute mission to deliver frittata to Cass Tempesta.

“Pool,” Getty says and grabs five slices of crisp bacon.

I’m not sure if he’s talking to me. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I watch him pick up the knife beside his plate. He briefly twirls the handle between his fingers. This is obviously a trick he’s done a thousand times but I still wince at the reckless behavior. He flips the knife, catches it neatly, and stabs a slice of frittata.

“Show off.” Tye’s meaty hand snatches three muffins. “She’s not impressed.”

Getty ignores him. “The noise you hear is a backhoe digging a big hole.”

“Oh yea, the pool,” Tye says. “We used to beg for a pool but Pops always said no way, that a fucking pool doesn’t belong on a cattle ranch.”

I swirl a bag of tea around inside my cup. “What made him change his mind?”

Tye’s eyes dance as he leans closer to poke me with his elbow. “Your husband’s pretty convincing. But I guess you knew that already.”

“The pool was Julian’s idea?”

“He said you needed it.” Tye shrugs. “Your therapy or something. They’re even building a room around it since this climate isn’t really pool weather most of the year. We’ll be able to swim in the dead of winter. What do you think of that?”

My hand automatically slides over my bad knee. Julian remembered. I made an offhand comment about how I used swimming as physical therapy. And Julian decided to immediately install a pool at home.

I’m astonished. I never would have asked him to go to so much trouble. But I’m thrilled that he did.

“Do you want the last muffin?” Tye nudges me again.

“All yours,” I say.

Getty steals the muffin first. Tye throws a fork at him.

After breakfast, I ask to see my office. Getty still makes me uneasy and I’d rather not deal with him shadowing me constantly. If I wasn’t worried about antagonizing him even more, I’d tell him he’s dismissed as my bodyguard.

We’ve walked to a part of the house I’m not too familiar with. Past the library and a couple of guest rooms. The machinery sounds are louder here. Tye stops at a closed door and gives me a grin before turning the knob and throwing the door open.

“Your office, my queen.”

“Oh!” I gasp and cover my mouth.

My furniture is here. My actual furniture. My sofa. My throw pillows. The secondhand rolltop oak desk that Alice helped me strip and refinish back in college.

Tye strolls into the middle of the room, which is square-shaped and cozy. On the opposite wall a pair of rectangular windows sit right above a built-in bench. He takes a seat on the bench and the wood creaks under his weight.

“It all arrived while you were on your honeymoon,” Tye says. “Julian asked us to get it set up for you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, too choked up to say more.

“There are some boxes in the closet over there. Stuff from your apartment or whatever.”

I nod, still overcome with emotion. Julian has gone to so much trouble to make me feel at home here. So has his family. Even Getty has nothing snarky to say as he leans against the doorframe with a bored expression.

“I truly appreciate everything you guys have done,” I say. “All of you.”

“Your car is a piece of shit,” Getty says suddenly.

“My car?” I just assumed I’d never see the ancient red Malibu ever again.

But when I went to lunch with Julian the day after our engagement, I laughingly mentioned my sentimental attachment to my car. Obviously, he took this complaint very seriously.

“It’s in the big garage.” Getty shrugs and glares straight ahead at the windows.

“Aw, tell her how you fixed the air conditioning,” Tye urges. “Cecilia, he spent two days on it. This fool even put on new brake pads. Now he won’t even take credit.”

“You did that?” I say to Getty. I’d be less shocked to hear that he baked me some cookies.

His eyes, so dark and impenetrable like Julian’s, shift to my face.

“Julian asked me to. And I meant what I said. The car’s still a piece of shit.

Needs more work than I have time for. Try driving it in the dead of winter and you won’t get halfway to town.

Better get used to driving one of the pickups. ”

I’ve never driven a pickup truck in my life. But this isn’t the time to argue. I’m about to thank him again but he abruptly walks out.

“Are we actually gonna do anything today?” Getty calls from the hallway. “Or should I give up and take a fucking nap until you’re done staring at furniture?”

Tye heaves a sigh and rises from the bench. “Let’s go to town,” he says. “We can get ice cream and make fun of my brother.”

“Which brother?” I ask.

He swings an arm across my shoulders and flashes his crooked grin. “All of ‘em, honey.”