Page 53 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

Across the table, Fort is too busy helping himself to a cowboy-sized feast to notice anything. But Getty observes us with raised eyebrows. I’m not the only one who thinks something is off.

Now that I have enough food for three grown men piled up in front of me, I manage to squeak out the word, “Thanks.”

Cass’s dark eyes glitter as he watches me carve out a small spoonful of risotto and bring it to my lips. This is more than awkward. This is like if awkward mated with the surreal.

It’s only when I’ve swallowed my first bite that he finally looks away and pays attention to his own plate. Elsewhere, Fort is oblivious and shovels food into his mouth. Even Getty loses interest in his father’s strange behavior and starts cutting up some chicken piccata.

“After lunch we’ll all go to my study and call Julian,” Cass says. The ice in his water glass clinks as he takes a drink.

I’m not sure he’s speaking to me until he sets his glass down and pointedly stares, awaiting my response.

“Okay,” I reply, at a loss.

The demand is odd. I’ve never been invited to participate in a conference call in his office and I’m plenty capable of calling my husband all by myself.

A sense of uneasiness, never far away, begins to swell. My left hand automatically goes to my belly. This instinct just started today and it’s powerful.

Cass, every bit as sharp-eyed and perceptive as the son he trained to be his heir, notices the move and breaks into a broad smile that sends shivers up my spine.

“On our one month anniversary, Teresa told me she was pregnant,” he muses in a wistful tone I’ve never heard before.

“I’d just returned from a trip to Chicago.

She was sitting behind my desk, wearing a blue and white dress.

She gave me the most beautiful smile. There was a blue gift wrapped box on the desk in front of her.

She was so excited and told me to open it. And do you know what was in there?”

No. I don’t know anything. I have just been flung into some bizarre parallel dimension. If it wasn’t for the aftertaste of risotto in my mouth, I’d assume this was a dream.

“A pair of baby-sized cowboy boots,” Cass declares with a hearty laugh. “Teresa was so sure we’d be having a son. She asked me if we could name him Julian. She’d always loved the name.”

He’s lost in his sentimental reverie. I’m too shocked to interrupt. But my strongest feeling is profound sympathy for this man, still broken by the loss of the love of his life.

“Finish your lunch,” he encourages me. “Then we’ll call Julian with the news.”

“What news?” says Fort.

Indeed. What news? I got so sidetracked by all the weirdness that I’ve been slow to catch onto the obvious conclusion.

Cass knows I’m pregnant. I haven’t spoken a word about it to another living soul and yet he knows.

Fort and Getty were in the store when I bought the pregnancy tests. I assumed they didn’t see. I must have been wrong.

But no, one look at their perplexed faces tells me this is the wrong answer. They are equally confused. Whatever Cass knows, it didn’t come from them.

A series of unsettling options gallops through my mind.

Did someone rummage through the bathroom trash and find the tests?

Are there cameras over the toilet?

Is my internet use being monitored?

Is Cass psychic?

At this point, nothing would surprise me.

“Cecilia is expecting,” he explains. “Julian will want to be told immediately that he’s going to be a father.”

Fort and Getty are now gaping at me in shock.

By nature, I’m slow to anger. But right now my rage rises by the second. Cass has not only robbed me of my privacy but he’s stealing my right to inform my own husband that I’m pregnant.

This is outrageous. Inexcusable. Unhinged.

Seriously. FUCK HIM!

I throw my napkin down and stand. “I’m finished with lunch. You call whoever the hell you want.”

“Cecilia!” he roars as I flee the room.

He shouts my name again but I’m not stopping. I need to get out of here or I’ll start screaming.

Too bad I’m not a runner even in ideal circumstances.

Usually the best I can do is pathetically trot along a few yards at a time until my knee starts to ache.

Add a calf-length skirt and the effort becomes downright pitiful, as it is right now.

I expect to get grabbed and dragged back to the dining room any second to face Cass’s wrath but I reach the front door and quickly unbolt the locks.

Overhead, the bull skull’s death grin mocks me.

“Shut up,” I tell it.

Glancing behind me, I’m relieved that no one is chasing. There is only Louisa, hunched beneath the accent table in the middle of the foyer. Her unblinking green cat eyes study my every move but she remains still as a statue.

I shut the door behind me and gulp the fresh air.

The clouds are busy overhead as they thicken and turn angrily dark.

The front porch isn’t nearly far enough and I hurry toward open ground, wading through the grass and wishing I’d brought car keys so I could take a drive to clear my head.

I’d like to be alone for a little while.

Over by the barn, a horse trailer is being unloaded by Miguel and one of the cowboys. Closer to the house, two of Sonny’s Mafia soldiers meet up and exchange words. They both turn to stare at me and I wonder if Cass has already alerted the security team that I’m on the loose.

I used to be so lonely. Now I’m never alone, not really. Be careful what you wish for.

Resisting the urge to make an obscene gesture to the men, I face toward the mountains instead and drop into the grass.

The last few days have been hot. Not Arizona level of hot but warm.

Today there’s a refreshing breeze blowing and rain is expected.

The last time it rained was the day I agreed to be Julian’s wife.

A moment later, a large body drops down in the grass just inches away. I’m not expecting that Getty of all people would be the one who followed me but here he is.

“That was fucked up,” he says.

“I won’t apologize. I don’t care how outraged your father is.”

“No, I mean it was fucked up to do what he did.”

“We are in agreement,” I sniff.

Thunder growls in the distance. The next gust of wind is strong enough to make me shiver.

“Fort’s better at shit like this than I am,” Getty says. “He’ll make sure Dad doesn’t tell Julian a thing. That’s your right and no one gets to take it from you, not even him.”

This unexpected morsel of kindness from Julian’s most difficult brother sends me over the edge. I pull up my knees and hug them. Tears spill over my cheeks and now my nose is running. I don’t care. I swipe the back of my hand across my face. If Getty is offended, he can look away.

“Here.” Getty has removed his shirt and hands it over in a ball.

Apparently in a low moment I’m not above using my brother-in-law’s shirt as a handkerchief. I blow my nose and throw him a look of apology. “I’ll wash it before I return it.”

He snorts. “Good.”

The ink on his upper left arm catches my eye. Identical to Julian’s. By now I’ve seen it on all of them. Family is everything.

A fat drop of rain lands on my arm. Lightning flashes above the tree line. My eyes are drawn to the hill that obscures Teresa’s lonesome gravesite. I should bring her flowers again soon.

Getty refrains from sarcastic comments as we watch the storm edge closer. A few moments later, Fort finds us out here and hunkers down for a chat.

“Dad won’t say anything to Julian. He gave me his word, Cecilia. You tell Julian on your terms and it’ll be news to us.”

I need to blow my nose on Getty’s shirt again. “Thank you.”

Fort nods. “But you need to listen up. Be careful about what you say and do in town. Everyone around here knows who you are.”

“What does that mean?”

A muscle flexes in his jaw before he answers. “It means if you’re gonna buy pregnancy tests, don’t shop at the Vigilance Drugstore.”

And here I thought I was being so clever by waiting until Fort and Getty were preoccupied and then sneaking my intended purchases to the counter.

There was no self-checkout option and the sales clerk who waited on me was a cheerful blonde woman who looked to be in her early thirties.

I thought nothing of it when she handed me the bag with a smile and wished me luck.

Evidently she’s part of the local spy network.

Are all small towns like this? Or only the ones that need to show fealty to Cass Tempesta? I’m not sure. How disheartening.

Fort tips his head back and peers at the looming clouds. “The sky’s about to unload. There’s a flash flood warning for tonight.” He stands and extends a hand to help me up.

As I creakily rise to my feet, I’m grateful for Julian’s brothers. I really wish I had any reason to feel half as much gratitude toward my own brothers. Even Gabriel hasn’t called since that horrible visit to the vineyard.

Getty is stretched out in the grass, not budging when rain begins to fall on his face.

Fort’s boot nudges his leg. “Are you planning to hang out here and drown, dickhead?”

A grin spreads across Getty’s face. “I might.” But then he demonstrates his athletic skill by springing to his feet in one second flat.

Within the space of a few minutes the wind has accelerated from pleasantly breezy to tropical storm gusts that sends my hair in crazy directions and whips my skirt against my legs.

We’ve just stepped up to the shelter of the porch when the sky opens up and layers of rain pelt the earth. Miguel runs over, sloshing through instant puddles while holding his hat to his head.

“Big section of the western fence just went down.” He frantically gestures in a direction that I’m guessing is west. “Awful close to where most of the herd is clustered and the storm won’t let up before morning.”

Fort squints at the rain and hisses through his teeth. “By then half the herd might be scattered all over the valley. We’ll be chasing them down for a freaking month.”