Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(17)

“A store that sells jeans and tank tops?” she asks. “Good. That’s all you’ll need since it’s all you ever wear.”

The Crazy Shack was one of the best known stores in Dallas. At least it used to be. The western wear clothing store had been the one store I could go crazy in. Every summer, I got a new wardrobe there. And had to leave them behind.

Every time I tried to sneak a few favorites back home with me, Mother found them and threw them away after scolding me for liking such 'cheap cowgirl crap.’

I hope they’re still open because for once I’ve got the time and money to enjoy what I pick. Smiling, I tell Alexa, “I’m wearing your black dress right now. The one you loaned me for the funeral.” I hold up a foot. “And your black pumps.”

She laughs. “I’m glad. If people are gonna be sad, they ought to do it in style. What’d Mom-zilla say?”

“I don’t think she even noticed.” I pluck a piece of hair off the front of the dress. A horse hair. Edison’s. “I’ll mail the dress and shoes back to you. Thanks for the loan, but...I’m not sure I ever want to see this outfit again.”

“Gotcha.”

“Thanks again, Lexa. I needed this.” I twirl the Edison hair lazily between my fingers. “I should go. Take a shower and change.” And then go to the barn and see Edison. He’s probably waiting on me.

“Are you alone there? At the ranch?”

Crap. It’s like she has a sixth sense. The way she asks is almost knowing.

“Um...no.” A shiver tickles my spine.

Do I really have to tell her about Mr. Grump-alicious? For one, I need to start remembering his name.

Alexa would be thrilled knowing I’m not alone. That I’m sharing the house with a guy who’d make her head pop off if she got a good look. I’ve seen the kinds of books she reads, and this boy...well, let’s just say he’d cause whiplash if he was on the covers, sitting real pretty on the shelves.

She’d have a few suggestions what to do about him, too.

That’s why I don’t want to tell her. Why I can’t tell her. Not right now.

“Edison’s here, I mean. I’m not really alone.”

“Edison-Edison? The horse? He’s still alive?”

The canvas picture that hangs in my bedroom at our apartment is of me and Edison. “Alive and well and brilliant as ever. He met me as I drove in.”

“Aw, damn that’s cool. Give him a pet for me. Or a pat. Whatever you do with horses.”

“I will.”

“So there’s nobody else there? Just you and Edison?”

I know why she’s asking. I’m a chicken. Always have been.

I hate being alone.

A remnant from my childhood. Another remnant is that I really suck at lying.

“Not technically. My grandfather’s old Army buddy is here on the property. Gramps put him in the will, too. He’ll be helping me out.”

“Oh, good! I’m relieved to hear you aren’t alone. I’ll let you go now. Call me.”

“I will. You call, too.”

Thank God. Awkward, red-faced crisis averted.

I click off and toss my phone back in my purse as I stand. A shower, some of my own clothes, and seeing Edison. All three sound delightful.

After collecting the necessities out of my suitcase, I head for the bathroom.

It has been remodeled, tastefully so. Again, the modernization steals nothing away from the old farmhouse charisma. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.

Who knew Grump-alicious had skills?

Besides looking hotter than the sun and being sneakier than a roaming panther, I mean.

The ceramic tile in the shower is gorgeous, with a newly built-in cubby for soap and shampoo. The smell of the bar of soap reminds me of him, Mr. Tall, Ink, and Muscle.

The same scent filled the air when he’d opened the bathroom door earlier.

It’s nice, for a guy.

I use my own shampoo and cream rinse, leaving the bottles next to the other set sitting in the cubby. Once dry and dressed, I blow my hair dry, then pad back to the bedroom.

I go straight to the closet, open the door, and drop my underwear and bra in the hamper sitting next to several pairs of boots, and then I hang up the black dress.

The hangers are full of sad, old clothes I’ve left behind over the years.

I cock my head and take a look, wondering if anything is salvageable.

The jeans will be questionable, but the boots and shirts might fit. There’s plenty to try on.

Long sleeve western shirts, several with snaps. Both lightweight cotton and heavier, then fleece-lined ones for cooler weather. I take out one of each. A pink and teal plaid, plus a heavier black corduroy.

Turning to the mirror mounted inside the closet, my heart leaps into my throat. “What the?”

I toss the black shirt over the chair beside the closet and shimmy the plaid shirt on over my white tank top before I reach up to pull down the long lost tan sticky note tucked behind the top of the mirror.

Once again, the note is short.



Welcome home, Bella. Trust the adventure.

Love always, Gramps.



This time, I’m beaming. “I will, Gramps, and I’ll always love you, too.”

I walk over, set the note on one of the nightstand tables beside the bed, and laugh out loud at what I find there. It’s a fresh box of candy canes.