Mr Serious
The truck slowed down, and they bumped up the driveway leading to the Poes’—or rather William Poe’s—house. She still hadn’t gotten over her friend’s death. Every time she thought of Monica, she had to remind herself that she was gone. It was surreal. So many times over the last few days, she had lifted her phone to text her friend, only to remember that she was gone.
Though everything had changed in her world, the Poes’ house hadn’t. The siding was the same gray it had been a few months ago, and the garage stood apart from the house, filled with William’s collection of cars, its walls adorned with Sports Illustrated posters of scantily clad women.
She’d never liked stepping foot in the garage, and she had liked William even less—especially after Monica had told her about his private habits, which mostly centered on getting himself between the legs of as many women as humanly possible. How Monica had put up with it was still a mystery to her, but she’d always supported her friend. It wasn’t her place to judge her, but only to stand by her side.
Monica’s car was parked outside, like now that she was dead, there wasn’t a place in William’s home for any of his wife’s leftovers.
“You okay?” Waylon asked as she noticed him glancing over at her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just made it a habit over the years not to hang out here. Monica was good about it—she normally let me meet her somewhere else.”
“You were friends with Monica? The lady your sister...” He stopped, like he was afraid that the words your sister killed would break her once again.
She couldn’t deny the fact he might have been right in his assumption. Even the thought of what her sister had done to her friend, and her reasons behind it, made a feeling of sickness rise up from her belly.
“Yeah. Monica is a cool—I mean, was a cool chick. She loved to ride horses. We’d spend hours riding the trails around the ranch. Honestly, looking back, I think it was just an excuse for her not to be around her husband.”
Waylon chuckled. “It’s funny how hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”
“Is that how you feel when you look back at your marriage with my sister?”
His face pinched slightly at the question, like he wished she hadn’t gone there. Lucky for him, as they pulled to a stop in front of William’s house, the man in question came out the door. William grimaced as he caught sight of them, and Christina would have sworn she could see him mouth a long line of curse words.
Instead of answering her question, Waylon jumped out of the truck like he would rather face the cussing county tax appraiser than talk any more about his failed marriage.
She couldn’t blame him. Relationships, and what came of them, were a tricky thing—especially in their case. Even as she thought about their confusing circumstances, she couldn’t help but watch as Waylon strode toward William.
His jeans had to have been made especially for him. There was no way something that fit that well around the curves of his ass could have simply come off a rack.
She giggled as she thought about the many web articles she had read about men who didn’t wash their jeans so they could get them to fit that way. Was Waylon among the no-wash crew? It was a random thought, but in a way it made her like him even more. It was almost as if the thought of him standing over his jeans at night and deciding whether or not they should be cleaned made him more human and less the imposing MP who had literally landed on her doorstep. More than anything, it made him real. Human. Attainable. But was he someone she really wanted to be with?
Waylon turned around and waved for her to come out of the truck.
She’d much rather have stayed—she had nothing to say to William Poe that she hadn’t already said. They’d had their moment together at Monica’s funeral. He had barely spoken to her or looked at her as they had stood at the cemetery, watching as people threw handfuls of dirt onto his wife’s casket. Yet, afterward, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, he’d made his position clear when he’d leaned in and said a few simple but inflammatory words: “This is all your fault.”
At the time, she hadn’t understood his thought process. How could he have possibly thought she had anything to do with his wife’s death? Sure, she had ties to all involved, but that didn’t mean she had taken a role in anything. On the other hand, she wasn’t completely innocent—there had been the night in the office when she had been talking about William and his actions with Monica. Alli had been just outside the door, listening to their conversation. No doubt that night she had drawn her sister’s crosshairs onto Monica’s back, but William couldn’t have known.
He was just angry, and she had been his easiest and closest target. Maybe because he couldn’t go after her sister, he had simply decided to come after her. Regardless, she hated him and how his choices had been an atomic bomb in all of their lives. If he had just kept himself in his pants, lives could have been saved and Alli would have never disappeared. He was like this town’s Helen of Troy, but instead of his face launching a thousand ships, his manhood had launched a thousand hours of tragedy.
She clomped out of the truck and made her way over to the two men. William gave her the same look of disgust he had given her at Monica’s funeral, like he had bitten into a wormy apple. The only worm here was him.
“I believe I answered all the questions when your brother brought me in, Waylon.” As William spoke, a small dark-haired woman walked out of the house. William, noticing the woman, turned and pointed toward the door. “Get back inside, Lisa.”
“Why are they here?” The woman pointed toward her with a shaking finger. “Did they find Alli?”
“Shut up and listen to me, Lisa. Go inside.”
Lisa looked taken aback, but she hurried inside.
“Who was that?” Christina asked.
William waved her off. “She is none of your business.”
Was the woman just another in his long line of conquests?
“You people have no right to be stepping on my property, and you have no right to be asking me any questions,” William continued.
“You’re right. You’re under no real obligation. Nothing you tell me would be admissible in court,” Waylon said, in an almost jovial tone, as if he could win the slimeball’s favor by acting like a friend. “However, I would think you would want to bring your wife’s murderer to justice.”
“You don’t want justice,” William said with a snort. “You just want to find Alli. You think if you can get to her first, maybe you can get her a lighter sentence when the crap rains down. But here’s the deal...” William pointed at Waylon, the move aggressive and escalating. It was the move of a politician. “Even if you find her, she’s going to pay for what she did. She’ll get the full weight of justice upon her. I will make sure of it.”
“Even if? What, do you think there’s a chance we aren’t going to find my sister?” Christina asked, enraged by the man’s tone. “What did you do to her?”
“Better yet,” Waylon interrupted, “what didn’t you tell my brother about what you know?”
William waved them off. “You and your screwed-up family aren’t my problem. You people are trash.” He looked into her eyes. “You are trash. And if you think I’m going to play your effing games, you’re wrong.”
“Our games?” Waylon looked genuinely confused by the man’s accusation. “What games are you talking about, Will?”
“My name’s William, not Will, Bill or Billy. Unlike you, Waylon, I wasn’t named after a dead country singer. My family wasn’t a bunch of rednecks.”
Up until that point, Christina had thought she had the corner on hating William Poe. Yet, based on the flaming-red color of Waylon’s face, she might have just lost the lead position.
“Listen here, bastard,” Waylon seethed. “I would’ve liked to go about this whole thing amicably. You could have made this all easy.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” William interrupted him, making a thin sheet of sweat rise to Waylon’s forehead as his hands balled into tight fists. “You came here. You’re accusing me of who knows what. You have no right to be here—and the only bastard here is you.”
Waylon lunged forward, but Christina stopped him by grabbing his hand. “Come on, Waylon.” She pulled him toward the truck. “If nothing else, now you know the type of guy that would lead a woman to kill.”
Chapter Five
Eloise had been cooking constantly since Waylon had stepped foot back onto the ranch, and the rich odors of roasting meat and butter wafted throughout the house. After their run-in with William, Christina was more than happy to settle back into the warmth and comfort of the kitchen as she helped Eloise put the finishing touches on the meal.
Waylon and Colter walked in, but they were so wrapped up in whatever they had been talking about that neither of them seemed to notice her sitting at the bar.
Colter looked a lot like his older, biological brother. They both had the same copper-tinted skin, dark brown eyes and jet-black hair, but beyond their looks, the two were nothing alike. Waylon carried himself as though he were ready to take on the world, while Colter...well, it could be said that he was constantly at ease. It was almost as if Waylon carried a chip on his shoulder big enough for the both of them, so big that Colter had never felt its weight.
“Heya, Colt,” Christina said, giving him a small wave.
He smiled brightly, the simple action lighting up his face with his characteristic warmth. “How’s it going, lady? Long time no see.” He walked over and gave her a hug so big that her feet came off the floor.
She laughed, but she couldn’t help but notice the frown that flickered over Waylon’s features at his brother’s display of affection. Or was it that his brother had suddenly displayed a bit of affection toward her? Either way, she pried herself out of Colt’s arms.
Winnie came running into the kitchen. There was dirt streaked over her face, and her Ace bandage was covered in sticky greenish-brown mud.
“Winnie, were you out in the barn again?” Christina asked, giving the girl an admonishing look.
“Lewis and Clark gotta have cookies,” Winnie said, like giving horses their treats was a vital part of any growing girl’s day. “They so hungry.”
Christina fell victim to the girl’s big brown eyes—eyes that looked entirely too much like her father’s. She instinctively glanced toward Waylon. He was smiling at the girl, and the warmth made her heart shift in her chest. He wasn’t supposed to like children—especially Winnie. If he fell for the girl’s charms and the time came when he was given a choice of having her, Christina would undoubtedly lose out to him and the girl would be taken away.
She wrapped her arms around Winnie, claiming her even though Waylon had no idea she was up for grabs. “Why don’t we go get you cleaned up before supper. Your—” She stopped before she let the word nana fall from her lips. She didn’t want him to ask about the moniker again. The less he knew, the easier it would be.
“What?” Winnie looked up at her.
“Nothing. Let’s just get you cleaned up. You don’t want to be a mess when it comes time to eat.”
Winnie pulled out of her arms. “You’re gonna play dress up.” She pointed toward Waylon. “Yeah, Way-lawn?”
His handsome and confusing smile disappeared. He might have liked Winnie, but he probably wasn’t any closer to wanting a kid than at the moment he’d landed.
“Ah, yeah,” he said, pulling the word into a long collection of syllables. “You still want to do that, eh?” He looked over toward Christina, sending her a questioning glance.
She shrugged. He could stay in the hot seat for a little while longer. Sometimes all it took for a man to go running was an hour with a mercurial toddler—especially his type, the kind who didn’t know the difference between a sippy and a bottle.
Winnie ran over, took him by the hand and started to drag the begrudging Waylon toward her room at the far end of the ranch-style house. She and Alli had shared a room, but now she was on her own.
“Come on, Way-lawn. It’s gonna be fun!” Glee filled Winnie’s words, so much so that Christina was tempted to let him off the hook and take his place.
She didn’t mind living in the land of Pinterest costumes and childish dreams. She embraced country living—a world of quilting parties and Sunday dinners. She found great comfort in the fact that they had their own lifestyle and their own brand of perfection.
Even though Waylon had grown up in this world, the tight look on his face made it clear he didn’t have the same sentimental attachment. He looked like he would be far more comfortable in the throes of war than the throes of pink felt and glitter.
Eloise walked out of the kitchen carrying a bag of frozen corn as Waylon made his way into the girl’s room. “Is he really going to go with her?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“You know Winnie. She has a way of convincing even the stillest of hearts to start beating again.”
Eloise gave her a soft, knowing smile. “I don’t think it’s just Winnie who has that gift.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what the woman was implying, but the thought made Christina shift her weight uncomfortably. She wasn’t having any effect on Waylon, and whether or not Waylon was making her feel unexpected and somewhat unwelcome things...well, there was no way the woman could have known.
Before Eloise could make her think of anything else, she escaped down the hall after the keeper of hearts. She stood outside the bedroom door, listening to Winnie telling Waylon about her stuffed animals. Apparently, according to the story she was telling him, her favorite was her orange-and-white plush cat she had dubbed Mr. Puffy Face. Yesterday the cat had been dubbed Hank; regardless, their interaction made Christina laugh. Winnie hadn’t been herself since her mother’s disappearance, and it was nice to see some happiness return to the girl.
She leaned against the doorjamb, the door open just far enough to see in but not far enough to interrupt the two from their play. Winnie had put on her pink Sleeping Beauty dress, and Waylon had a purple bejeweled tiara perched at an awkward angle on his head.
Christina chuckled as she turned back to the kitchen.
Eloise pulled out the roast from the oven as Colter stirred the vegetables. From the formal dining room, she could hear the titters of laughter as Wyatt and his fiancée, Gwen, set the table. As she stood watching, a comforting feeling of home filled her.
It felt so good to be a part of all of this—and the family. If she had been on her own with Alli’s disappearance, she didn’t know how she would have been able to make it this far—just taking care of Winnie was a full-time event, and that was to say nothing of her job at Dunrovin, taking care of the animals and helping to train the horses, and the daily needs of living. It felt so good, standing here and letting life go on around her.
It made her wish this moment could last forever—but bad or good, all things in life were dictated by the fickle hands of time. Even intangible things like love fell victim to it—love ebbed and waned, or at least it always had when it had come to the men in her life.
The only time that wasn’t true was when it came to her love for Winnie. To love a child was an incredible experience. They could drive her to the edges of madness, they could treat her worse than a stranger, and yet at the end of the day, all their trespasses could be forgiven with the whisper of I love you, or their scent on her skin. Christina hugged her arms around herself as she thought about how close those days could be to coming to an end.
“Is Waylon going to make it out of that bedroom alive?” Wyatt asked, pulling her from the pits of her thoughts.
“I—” she started but was cut off as Waylon appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, sadly without his sparkling tiara.
“Is there any tinfoil?” he asked, a childlike smile on his face.
Eloise opened up a drawer, pulled out a blue box and handed it over to Waylon. “You’re not going to make her dress up like leftovers, are you? Winnie isn’t going to go for the idea,” she said with a chuckle.
He raised the box like a wand. “No worries, I have this under control.”
“Is that army-speak for you are letting a two-and-a-half-year-old run you?” Wyatt asked with a raise of his brow and a thin smirk.
Waylon laughed, and his whole face lit up. His copper skin made the crow’s feet nearly invisible at the corners of his eyes, but if she looked closely, she could just make them out, almost as if they were a secret about him that was there only for her. She tried to control the drive she felt to move nearer to him, but as she stared, her desire intensified.
“Hey, now, I’ve let worse women control me. At least this one’s cute, she likes me and she enjoys having me around—it’s a lot more than I can say about some others,” Waylon joked, but as he looked at Christina, he shut his mouth like he wished he could have reeled the words back in. “I...I just mean...” he stammered. “Not that I meant Alli or anything.”
“I’m not going to say anything,” she said, cutting him a little slack. “I have no room to judge anyone when it comes to relationships.”
She could have sworn she saw Eloise and Gwen share a look. They were wrong if they thought something was happening between her and Waylon. There weren’t any feelings between them—at least not any that came from Waylon—and her feelings were probably nothing more than her trying to come to terms with his new bond with Winnie. Regardless of whatever those two women were thinking, the only thing she and Waylon would share was the love they each felt toward one curly-haired two-year-old.
She turned away as Waylon brushed against her, making his way back to the girl. Where he had touched her burned with an unexpected and unwelcome heat, and she rubbed her arm as though she could make the feeling disappear by wiping it away.
The door to Winnie’s room clicked shut, and Wyatt peeked around the corner before turning back to everyone in the kitchen. “Have you told him yet?”
She glanced down at the floor, afraid that if she looked at Wyatt he would be able to read each confusing thought and feeling that ran through her.
“Don’t you think he has a right to know?” Wyatt pressed.
Eloise waved him off. “He has every right to know, but it’s already been nearly three years. What’s another few days?”
“He’s going to be furious when you tell him. He’s never going to understand. I know I wouldn’t,” Wyatt continued.
Gwen walked over to him and wrapped her arm around his. “This isn’t our choice, Wyatt.”
“That doesn’t mean that we aren’t going to be accountable when he learns the truth.” Wyatt put his hand on his fiancée’s and made small circles on the back of her skin.
The simple action made Christina want to hug herself tighter. Gwen was so lucky to have found love with one of the Fitz brothers. They all had their issues, but they were all good people, even Waylon—or rather, especially Waylon. She could only imagine how good it would feel to have him making small circles on her skin, especially after him merely brushing against her had almost brought her to her knees.
She forced herself to look away from the cute couple, reminding herself that as picturesque as they were, a relationship wasn’t what she wanted. Sure, it started out with flowers, sweet words and tender touches, but nothing that good lasted forever.
“If we tell him,” Eloise said, pulling her from her thoughts, “there will be no going back. Once the truth is out there, he’s going to have to make some major choices in his life. He’s innocent in all this. He has always done his best, and I’m sure if we tell him the truth, he will try to make the best choices he can. But who knows what those choices will be.”
Wyatt shook his head. “We can’t stand in his way.”
“I know,” Eloise said. “Right now, with all the uncertainty with Alli and what she may or may not do... Well, he’s already burdened enough. Don’t you think?”
“Give him more credit. He’s strong. He can handle the truth. And he needs to be able to make his own decisions.” Wyatt motioned toward the bedroom.
“No one is arguing that, Wyatt,” Christina said, trying to come to Eloise’s aid. “It’s just that we need to make sure he’s ready.”
“Come on,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “No one’s ever really ready to be a parent. Even if you think you are ready, it’s not until you’re thrown into the situation that you really know what you’re in for.”
Eloise smiled as she raised her brow. “Is there something you two need to tell us?” She rubbed a small circle on her lower belly.
Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “No... I... Not yet...” she stammered.
Wyatt chuckled. “Mom, come on. Don’t tease her.”
Eloise laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with me hoping for a few more grandchildren. It’s never too soon to start trying.” She gave them all a little wiggle of the finger. “Little Miss Winnie needs a partner in crime.”
Gwen’s face was bright red, and Wyatt had started to take on a sweaty sheen. Christina felt for them and the pressure the matron of the family was putting on them. At least she wasn’t in their shoes. She might be asked about her relationship status all the time—it was the curse of being over twenty-three and not married—but those questions were far easier to field when compared to talk about babies.
Thankfully, before any more uncomfortable questions, the door to Winnie’s room opened. They all went silent.
Waylon walked into the kitchen. He frowned. “What’s going on? Why are you guys so quiet?”
Eloise smiled. “What, kiddo? We aren’t being quiet. We were just waiting on you two rascals to be done playing around before we sit down to eat.” She motioned to the roast, once again taking control of the situation like a master.
Christina smiled. She could learn a few things from Eloise.
“Okay.” From the way Waylon stood there looking at his mother for a moment, it was easy to see he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press them further. He shook his head and turned away from them toward the hall. “If you are all ready, I’m proud to present Princess Leonia of Leo Land and her cat, Mr. Puffy Face.” He gave an over-the-top whirl of the hand and a deep, exaggerated bow.
He stood up and started to hum the theme song for the Miss America pageant. Christina couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. It was surreal to be watching the oh-so-handsome MP doing tongue trills for the entrance of a two-year-old.
Winnie marched into the kitchen. Her walk was more like the cowgirl she was instead of the princess she was pretending to be. She had on the pink Sleeping Beauty gown, her bandaged arm was wrapped with tinfoil to make it look like a clunky sword and she wore a foil crown. The crumpled and uneven crown had two large spikes Christina was sure were supposed to be purely decorative but looked conspicuously like devil horns.
Winnie had on bright pink lipstick that was smeared over her teeth as she smiled, and it was heavy on the left side of her mouth, like Waylon had pressed too hard while applying. Winnie smiled brightly, the motion filling her eyes with joy.
Oh, what it would have been to be a child once again, to find true, unadulterated joy in things most stodgy adults thought ridiculous. It would have been so nice to go back to those moments in life, where a thing like playing dress-up was all it took to forget one’s troubles. There were no concerns of what was to come, bills that needed to be paid or the things that were required to make another person happy. There was just one pink dress and one ill-fitting tinfoil crown.
Wyatt leaned in close so only Christina could hear him. “He isn’t perfect, neither is his life, but maybe he wouldn’t be such a bad dad after all.”
He hadn’t needed to tell her what she was already thinking. Some things—like the look of pride that Waylon was giving Winnie—spoke volumes about what it meant to truly love. And love was the only thing that really mattered.