Page 114 of The Rancher's Wedding Deception

Oh don’t you even dare think you can get away with this, you bitch.

Joyce quickly cut her niece off with a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, darling. Your mom and I might not always see eye to eye, but blood is thicker than water, and I really want to do this for you.”

A muscle started ticking in Paul’s jaw. He was missing something in context here, obviously. But what?

He turned to his wife, asking quietly, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I...I...”

“Stop trying to frighten the poor girl,” Joyce censured. “Just because she’s looking a little nervous doesn’t mean she’s lying.Since you’re not the type to just up and marry a girl without checking her background, I’m sure you’ve already gotten her to admit to why she came to me in the first place. And obviously, since youstillmarried my niece, then you’ve forgiven her for wanting to invest in an abortion clinic—”

What the hell?

Joyce feigned confusion at the way Paul jerked at her words. “Why are you—surely you knew she needed money—”

Paul kept waiting for his wife to deny her aunt’s claims, but all she did was shake her head as her eyes started to brighten with tears.

“$55,000 to be exact...”

No. Fuck. No.

In his mind, Paul heardsomething...laugh.

Jeeringly. Cruelly. Insidiously.

This is what you get for believing in fairytales.

Wake up, you idiot.

Did you really think God was real?

Chapter Sixteen

ANDIE SAT NEXT TO HERmother in the bank manager’s office, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white.

The office was small. Ordinary. A desk cluttered with papers, family photos in cheap frames, a wilting plant on the windowsill. The kind of room where nothing extraordinary should ever happen.

But the words coming out of Mr. Henderson’s mouth were shattering her world.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jackson.” His voice was heavy with genuine regret. “Your accountant—he scammed you. The retirement fund, the savings, all of it. Gone.”

Andie couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Could only stare at the man’s tired face as he delivered the final blow.

“If you can’t pay the outstanding mortgage by the end of two weeks...” He spread his hands helplessly. “You’ll lose your home.”

The bus ride back was silent.

December had frosted the windows, turning the Kansas landscape into a blur of white and gray. Andie pressed herforehead against the cold glass, watching farmhouses and bare trees slide past without really seeing them.

Fifty-five thousand dollars.

That was what they needed.

Fifty-five thousand dollars in two weeks, or her mother would lose the house she’d lived in for thirty years. The house where Andie had taken her first steps. The house where her father had died. The house that held every memory that mattered.