A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel
Read A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel Online
Authors: Carol Burnside,Emily Sewell,Kim Killion
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Family Saga, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Sagas
A Suitable Wife
Sam Moreland is desperate to keep his daughter out of the clutches of her abusive mother seeking custody. He resists legal advice to provide the court with a complete family unit because past relationships have soured him on love.
Though she yearns for children, Rosie Baxter knows a failed pregnancy has likely left her barren. She remains single rather than bring her problems into a marriage and concentrates on her business with its financial woes.
A temporary marriage pact means Rosie provides Sam with the illusion of family in return for an influx of cash into her store. But kisses for show become all too real. When outside threats shake their growing bond, each must trust the other with their darkest secret or lose their best chance for love and happiness.
A Suitable Wife
Published by B & R Bookery at Amazon
Copyright 201
4 Carol Burnside
This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.
Edited by Emily Sewell
Cover Design by
Kimberly Killion of
http://HotDamnDesigns.com
Discover more about Carol Burnside at
http://CarolBurnside.com/
“
W
hat you need is a wife.”
Sam Moreland glared at his attorney and longtime friend Bill Powers. “Right. Since my first marriage was so much fun.”
“Hey, you asked—”
“I didn’t come by for relationship advice, buddy. I wanted to be sure my position as custodial parent is solid, that’s all.”
Bill adjusted the suspender creasing his starched white button-down and settled into a leather executive chair. “Yours wasn’t an easy marriage, I’ll grant you that. But not all women are like your ex. I’m offering sound legal advice here.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning washed over Sam. Needing to move, he paced beside picture windows showcasing a spectacular view of the New York City skyline. Even though he enjoyed living here, this particular view was wasted on him. Skyscrapers always made him feel he was in a steel and glass cage. Trapped. Like when Jasmine had gotten her claws into him. Damned if he could understand how Bill tolerated working on top of the world.
His back to the room, Sam felt Bill’s calm gray eyes cataloging his tension as nonchalantly as he assessed jurors during a trial. Bill knew his Achilles’ heel—a tiny package of unconditional love who’d turned him inside out the day she was born.
Sweet Lorelei.
He took a deep breath and turned. “You still think I made a mistake in the way I handled things.”
Bill slashed his hand in a sideways motion, as if wiping the past away. “You got custody. That was the important thing then. But the fact is, now we have no proof of Jasmine’s drug use or her indifference toward Lorelei.”
“Don’t you mean gross neglect?”
Bill acknowledged his point with a nod. “If she surfaces, believing her loss of custody hasn’t played well for her in the press, you could be looking at a repeat performance without an ace up your sleeve. A wife would at least give you the advantage.”
The idea made him want to bolt for home, grab Lorelei and run. Good thing they were packed and ready to go. He planted his feet. Bill didn’t give advice on a whim. When he did, he usually had sound reasoning behind it.
“Have you heard from Jasmine’s lawyer?”
“No. But your asking the question tells me you aren’t as secure in your position as you seem.”
“I’m moving to a small town, where I have a network of friends.” At least he hoped that was still the case. The Baxters had seemed receptive to his moving back to Sweetwater Springs, south of the Arkansas capital.
Spending summers there with his grandparents and hanging with the Baxter kids, he’d felt more at home than anywhere else. Swimming in Sweetwater Creek along the back edge of their adjoining properties, fried catfish suppers on paper plates, watermelon so cold it hurt your teeth and toads croaking on a muggy summer evening were among the things he wanted his daughter to experience, too. “Lorelei will have a stable home life and a safe environment. How would having a wife be an advantage?”
“Insurance, in the event of another—and in my opinion—inevitable custody fight. Even today, some judges look more favorably on a family unit with two parents.
Any judge will see that the move takes Lorelei further away from her mother. A marriage looks like you left to provide more stability.”
Sam scowled. “Should I hang a ‘Wife Wanted’ sign from the window as I ride into town? Run a newspaper ad?” He shook his head.
“You have resources and a brain. Use them again.”
Sam sank into the nearest chair with a sick feeling of inevitability. Truth was, he’d do whatever it took to keep his two-year-old daughter out of his ex-wife’s clutches. Even sacrifice his hard-won single status. He owed Lorelei that and more.
“Wives don’t grow on trees, you know.” He winced at the acceptance in his tone. Back in college, Bill would have latched onto the advantage and driven his point home. It was one reason Sam had chosen his friend to handle his divorce. The killer instincts that had Bill’s friends cringing during contact sports years ago served him well in the courtroom.
“Then make it a business transaction. Look for a woman who’d make a suitable wife. Find what she needs from you and close the deal.”
Bill’s advice made him even more antsy, a condition that wouldn’t be relieved until he was several hundred miles from this city and Jasmine. If Sam needed further proof his friend was serious, Bill’s avoiding the jugular provided it. He could have mentioned a lot of things Sam had handled wrong. Like how he’d failed in the role of father or seriously misjudged the woman he’d married.
“I’ll think about it, but right now I need to get going. Lorelei gets anxious if I leave her with the nanny too long.” Sam offered his hand as Bill rounded the desk. “Thanks for everything. I didn’t want to leave the city without saying goodbye.”
“I’m glad you stopped in.” Bill took his hand, pulling him into a quick half-hug and backslap that left Sam feeling nostalgic and a little embarrassed. Other than the occasional handshake, Lorelei was the only one he’d had physical contact with in longer than he cared to admit. He headed toward the elevator.
Bill followed a couple paces behind, their footsteps silenced by the plush carpeting. “I’ll let you know if anything develops on this end.”
Sam pushed the down button without comment.
“It doesn’t have to be permanent. With a prenup you can enjoy your freedom again without much fuss.” Bill thrust a hand into his slacks pocket, fingers sifting through the coins there.
A whoosh and a soft ding signaled the elevator’s arrival. Sam stepped inside, his hand against the doors to prevent them closing. Bill was the most unflappable person he knew.
The nervous clinking continued.
Sam squared his shoulders and raised his gaze to Bill’s. “Whatever it takes.”
The coins quieted. Bill acknowledged his response with a curt nod, as if it was already a done deal. Sam released the doors, fighting the feeling of being trapped.
* * *
A
t precisely nine o’clock, Rosie Baxter unlocked the front door from inside the shop, turned on the lights and flipped the sign to open. Rosie’s Posies was now officially ready for business.
Moving with an efficiency born from years of experience, she donned a bibbed apron over her slacks and blouse and tackled the routine task of opening the register.
It felt weird to be starting her workday with the intent of ending it well before lunch. She almost never took time off, but Sam’s return to Sweetwater Springs warranted a deviation from the norm. The guilt she’d expected to feel about leaving the shop under her sister-in-law’s care was noticeably absent, with good reason. Sara could handle anything.
In the back room, Rosie set a clean white bucket under the faucet, and turned on the water, her fingers trembling with a sense of urgency and anticipation. An hour, maybe less, and he’d be right here in her shop.
She ignored the impulse to check her appearance in a mirror. Besides, she knew what she’d see. The same waist-length, reddish-brown braid she secured her hair into every morning. No doubt a few tendrils had escaped, as usual. And it wasn’t like a miracle had occurred, making her tall and willowy, like the supermodel Sam had married.
When a hand touched her arm, she jumped in surprise.
“Sorry. I called your name, but I guess you didn’t hear me over the faucet,” Sara said. “One of these days I’m going to beat you to work.”
Rosie grinned at the long-standing promise. “Not as long as you’ve got three kids to delay you.”
“Three?”
“J.T. qualifies, don’t you think? Aren’t most men still little boys at heart?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” A satisfied twinkle appeared in Sara’s gaze. “I’d have to say your brother was acting very manly this morning.”
“Okay. Eww. Too much information.” Rosie turned off the spigot and carried the partially filled bucket to a position about three feet from the refrigerated units, her assistant’s chuckles chasing at her heels.
“Maybe you’ll soon have a few innuendos of your own to share.” Sara reached for an apron before joining Rosie in choosing flowers for the day’s orders and standing them in the bucket of water.
“What makes you say that?” Her love life, or lack thereof, was mostly by choice. Rosie didn’t see that changing any time soon.
“I’m thinking all the sprucing up you’ve been doing to your house and the shop has a definite purpose behind it—to impress a certain best-selling author.”
“Oh, please!” The admonition escaped a trifle sharper than she’d intended. “Sam and I have known each other forever.”
“Like another brother?”
“More like he’s a . . . cousin who came to visit every summer.” Her mouth refused to form the word brother where Sam was concerned. She hadn’t seen him in that role since shortly after her fourteenth birthday. By then, he’d been orphaned and living here with his grandparents for several years.
J.T. and Travis had teased her about her rapidly developing figure—as only brothers can—until she’d burst into tears and run away. Sam had effectively stopped the flow.
The chaste brush of his lips across hers had shocked her, but the recklessness in his gaze had subtly altered her world, leaving her breathless and harboring a serious crush. Gosh, she hadn’t thought about that in forever.
“I never got that soft, dreamy expression from thinking about my cousins,” Sara teased.
Rosie averted her face, remembering the comment that had started her wool-gathering. “The downstairs apartment needed airing and cleaning after being closed for months. I couldn’t let them walk into a dust pit. And the paint was . . . ” she flipped her hand dismissively, “customary for a new tenant, don’t you think?”
“And the shop?”
Rosie shrugged. “A business decision. Foster’s Formals and Frippery wouldn’t have included us on their recommended list if I hadn’t given the shop a facelift. You have to admit this place needed it.”
Meeting triple F’s rigid standards meant new shelving and paint in the stock room, a thorough cleaning throughout, new window displays, and having an expensive Venetian plaster finish applied to the walls of the small gift shop.
“That’s true.” Sara shrugged. “I would ask why Sam mostly corresponds with you when J.T. and Travis were his buddies, but I suppose you’d have a ready response for that one, too.”
They lapsed into silence, each taking an order and pulling flowers as if their movements were choreographed.
“I’m the only one who answers his e-mails in a reasonable time frame,” Rosie blurted out, certain it was true.
Sara pressed her lips together, struggling to repress a snicker that broke through anyway.
“Oh, be quiet.” Rosie’s face heated and she turned to survey the sales counter and gift area.
Everything looked fresh and clean. Even the wooden folding chairs at the bride’s table were now trimmed with ice-blue satin tied into a big bow around the ladder-backs. With careful money management, the shop would be fine. She should see a profitable return through referred business, but it would be a while since Foster’s wouldn’t release their new list for another two months.
Rosie wanted Sam to see how she had changed. She’d barely entered her teens when Sam left for college. Since then, he’d returned infrequently, the last time at J.T. and Sara’s wedding seven years ago. The little girl he’d teased and whose braids he’d affectionately pulled had morphed into a college graduate, successful business woman and a homeowner.
She’d gotten engaged, then became disillusioned and broke it off. But that was four years ago and best forgotten.
After placing the last of the blossoms in the bucket, Sara pulled on a light sweater and stepped into the prep room. A glass-fronted room with a long counter across it allowed them to monitor walk-in traffic while creating floral arrangements in cool comfort.
From behind the small sales area in the front, Rosie double-checked the workload, satisfied one person could manage it alone. She glanced at the plain wall clock above the door. Only 9:30. How long would it take Sam and Lorelei to drive here from their North Little Rock hotel in rush hour traffic?
The bell above the door jangled as a customer entered. She smiled in welcome, thankful for the distraction. They’d barely placed an order and departed when the bell was knocked about again.
“Be right with you.” She finished separating the ticket and put it in the orders-for-delivery box, then turned and sucked in a surprised breath.
“Sam!” His name burst from her lips, but her throat hitched around the sound, turning it into a sigh. She rounded the counter and halted, drinking him in.
“Hello, beautiful.” Their gazes collided and held. His features, so dear and familiar, were more mature. To be expected for someone who’d married and become a dad. Perhaps the divorce, some eighteen months earlier was responsible for his guarded expression.. Even so, a thrill shivered over her, making her startled heart thump more crazily than a moment before.
His eyes, impossibly dark and serious behind nearly black brows, held traces of good humor in the tiny lines fanning from the outer corners toward his hairline. The slight bump in an otherwise straight nose, and a few gray hairs above neatly trimmed sideburns marked the passage of years.
