The Thorntons Book 3: If I Can’t Have You

Abby shook her head as she watched her mother Fiona depart Fair Haven Memorial, where Abby worked as a nurse. She never lied to her mother, but this one little white lie was totally worth it if Abby could avoid another one of Fiona’s horrific blind dates.

She winced a little as she thought about the man she’d chosen as her fake boyfriend. Mark Thornton! Of all the men in Fair Haven, Washington, it was his name that had popped into her head.

Not because he fascinated her despite his surly personality.

“Abby, I just finished with Mark Thornton,” Dr. Perry Smythe told her in his barking tones.

Dr. Smythe had a tendency to yell everything he said, even though he was, in fact, one of the nicest people Abby had ever met. He just had a voice that carried.

“Do you need me to do anything else with him?” she asked.

Dr. Smythe handed her Mark’s chart, pushing his too-loose glasses up his beaky nose. Dr. Smythe looked to be of an indeterminate age. At times, he looked thirty; other times, he looked closer to sixty. He was actually hedging toward fifty, if Abby remembered right. He’d run the emergency department at Fair Haven Memorial for close to twenty years now.

“No, I told him he’s free to go. Tell Janine that she can clean his room.” Dr. Smythe considered her. “He asked about you, though.”

Abby stilled. “He did?”

“Asked if you were coming back to see him. I told him you had work to do.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, although it was more of an incredulous smile. “Interesting. Well, maybe he wanted to be rude to me again.”

“What?” Dr. Smythe’s exclamation practically shook the windows.

“It’s nothing.” Abby shrugged. “He’s not the nicest patient. Anyway, no harm, no foul. I’ll see you later.”

Even though Dr. Smythe didn’t press the matter, he was normally very protective of his staff. They received all kinds of patients—nice ones, mean ones, crazy ones—and he did his level best to keep his staff from any abuse.

She told Janine that Mark’s room was available. Before she started her rounds, she needed some coffee. When she pulled out her wallet to see if she had any cash, she realized that she didn’t have her phone.

She thought backward, remembering that she’d had it in her hand when she last saw Mark. Of course, she thought with an inward eye roll. All roads led back to Mark Thornton, apparently.

Entering Mark’s room, she glanced around for her missing phone.

“Looking for this?”

Abby jumped, barely stifling a yelp. There was Mark Thornton, with her phone in his hand.

“Why are you still here?” she asked. She moved to grab her phone, but he didn’t let her have it.

“I wanted to ask you something,” was his gruff reply.

“Great. What do you want now?” She didn’t care that she was being rude to a patient. Sometimes a person could only take so much abuse.

Mark Thornton had insulted her, snapped at her, and had driven her to distraction for months now. She had no interest in whatever game he wanted to play.

He stood up. Even with his arm in a sling, his face pale and wan, he managed to look imposing. Handsome.

“When exactly did we start dating?” he asked. He almost seemed bored as he asked the question, like women were always lying about being his girlfriend.

Abby froze. She looked into those eyes of his and wondered if this was exactly how deer felt when they crossed paths with a hunter.

Like he’d leveled a target right at her heart.

“What are you talking about?” She kept her voice level from many years of practice. “How many Vicodin did you take?”

“I heard you.”

She widened her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, can I have my phone back? Or will I have to call security on you?”

“No.” He handed her the phone.

Pocketing it, she stared up at him. He was the definition of inscrutable; he could give some people a run for their money with his poker face.

Like the color of the forest right as the moon rises in the sky.

“Okay, well, thanks for giving me my phone back. I need to get back to work.”

He didn’t blink as he said, “I want you to do something for me.”

“Do something for you?”

“Because you said I was your boyfriend. I’m assuming whoever you lied to wouldn’t like that you lied. Right? So, in order for me to keep your secret from getting out, I want you to come home with me.”

His expression didn’t change. He could’ve been talking about the weather for all Abby knew.

Outrage coursed through her, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to slap Mark across his handsome face.

“I’m not having sex with you to get you to keep your mouth shut!” she hissed. She pointed a finger at him. “You, sir, are a pig. How dare you proposition me? Or blackmail me? Or whatever term you want to use? Do you need sex that badly that you’d stoop to—”

He pressed her lips closed with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes were dark now, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m not propositioning you,” he said, disgust lacing his tone. “Why the hell would you think that?”

She pushed his hand away, rubbing her lips. She didn’t want to think about why her body tingled from that random touch.

“Then why else do you want me to go home with you?” Now she was just confused.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I need someone to help me on the ranch. With this broken arm, I can’t do everything myself like I used to. I need someone to come out and give me a hand.”

Abby almost laughed. Actually, she did laugh: giggles erupted from her throat, and she clapped a hand to her mouth.

“You want me to—what?—throw hay bales around? What makes you think I’d be a person who could even do that?” Just thinking about doing ranch work—fixing fences? brushing down horses? what did you do on a ranch anyway?—when Abby was not exactly what anyone would call “fit,” was beyond hilarious to her.

But at Mark’s look, she bit the inside of her cheek to stifle any more laughter.

“I don’t mean that kind of work. Obviously you aren’t going to be good for that.” He waved a hand at her general person.

“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was wry now. “I’m aware I’m hardly big and muscular like you.”

To Abby’s surprise, a flush crawled up Mark’s cheeks.

“No, I need you to do housework and get groceries and things like that.” He raised his broken arm a little. “I live too far out to get takeout every night, and it’ll take me way too long to cook with one working hand.”

Now he had the grace to look abashed. “No.” He shook his head. “I really didn’t think this over, did I? But I thought we could come to an agreement, since you need me.”

“I don’t need you!”

“Do you want everyone to know that you lied about being my girlfriend?”

“No, but you could just not tell anyone.” She crossed her arms, trying to appear forceful. “You could keep your mouth shut. It might be fun for you for once.”

He shrugged. “It’s no skin off of my nose to tell people you made this story up about us.”

Gritting her teeth, Abby considered the pros and cons of the situation.

“Fine, tell everyone. You want my mom’s phone number, too? Or are you already Facebook friends?” She was totally bluffing. She wanted to stay as Mark’s imaginary girlfriend because the alternative meant going on more painfully awkward dates.

The last date had been the worst out of all of them. Abby had actually thought he’d had promise, based on Fiona’s description of him. “An architect!” she’d told Abby with undisguised glee. “He’s behind those new apartment complexes downtown.” Fiona had told Abby that Chris had a “full head of hair, a nice smile, and a way with words.”

Fiona had neglected to mention that Chris was also a collector.

He’d invited Abby over for a drink, and she’d agreed, because he was nice and she didn’t have anything else to do. When Chris had opened his door, though, Abby realized that Chris had a Lego collection rivaling that of Legoland itself. Lego sets filled his apartment from floor to ceiling, covering every square inch of space not used for actual furniture.

Chris had then proceeded to explain the history of every Lego set he’d put together. But it was when Chris had shown Abby the sexy Lego costume he kept for these occasions—he had said with a slow wink—that Abby had told him she had a family emergency and had run straight home.

So, yes, being Mark’s maid would be infinitely preferable to living through another date like Chris again.

The present rushed back when Mark pulled out his phone and began to type something in.

“What are you doing?” she asked, apprehensive.

“Looking for your mom on Facebook. Fiona is her name, right?”

She didn’t want to know how Mark knew that, and she really didn’t want him to tell Fiona a damn thing. She tried to grab his phone, but he was so tall that he only had to lift it a few inches above his head to keep it away from her.

Asshole.

“Is it really that important? That you get your mom off of your back?” He seemed genuinely curious now.

Abby sighed. Rubbing her temples, she muttered, “Yeah, it is. Does your mother set you up on dates because she’s convinced you’re going to die a spinster surrounded by your twenty cats?”

“No, but I don’t like cats.”

“Well, my mom does think that about me. And I’m tired of it. So, yes, I lied, and I don’t want her to know how pathetic I am.” She sighed.

His lips twisted into a slight smile. Stepping closer to her, he said in a low voice, “Come stay with me at my ranch and help me out. I’ll pay you. I was going to hire someone anyway, and since you’re a nurse, you can help me not screw up my arm again.”

Abby considered him. She couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t so much blackmail as Mark’s attempt to get closer to her. Then again, she was probably reading too much into this.

He’d called her that at The Rise and Shine, the local bakery in Fair Haven, and the words had hurt more than she wanted to admit. Short, curvy, and this side of plain, Abby had never been all that self-confident. And her ex-boyfriend had done such a number on her self-esteem that she preferred to avoid dating.

What man would want her, anyway?

Not Mark Thornton, that was for sure.

“So if I come live in your castle—”

“Ranch.”

“In your ranch-castle, and if I bake you cakes and wash your floors and do your laundry, you’ll be my boyfriend?”

Abby knew it was crazy to accept this, but it would be worth it to get her mother off of her back. She couldn’t go on another one of her mother’s blind dates. And, she had to admit, she was intrigued despite herself. What would it be like to see Mark in his natural habitat?

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Basically, yes.”

“Good. I want $50 per hour and I want my gas reimbursed. I have a job, as you know, so I’ll be there at weird hours, although I usually have a day shift. I’m also bringing my cats with me.”

She expected objections, but Mark shrugged. “Fine.”

They shook on it, and Abby couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the feeling of his callused hand against her own. He was so tall, so broad, and she couldn’t stop herself from inhaling his scent.

Yes, he’d insulted her. But she was still a woman—she could look and not touch, right?

“Oh, I forgot one thing.” She tipped her chin up. “This is completely platonic. No kissing, no touching, no sex, nothing. You’re my boyfriend in name only.”

If she weren’t imagining things, she would’ve thought his eyes gleamed. He gave her a slow perusal that set her body aflame.

“If that’s what you want,” was his only reply.

“It is. Now, I’m going back to work. I’ll see you Saturday morning. Does that work for you?”

“Fine.”

She waited for him to say something else, like he looked forward to seeing her again. Or even that he’d come to his senses and would let her off of the hook

But he didn’t say anything.

“Bye, then. And don’t overdo it with that arm,” she said as she walked away.

Mark watched Abby leave, enjoying the rounded curve of her ass.

When she shut the door behind her, he let out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. He hadn’t planned on asking Abby to be his—what? Fake girlfriend? Maid? Housekeeper? Friend? But when she’d come into this room, he had wanted her.

So instead of asking Abby out like a normal man, he’d cajoled her into working for him so he’d keep his mouth shut about her little lie.

He wouldn’t have told her mother about her fabrication anyway, but Abby didn’t know that. And when the idea had sprung upon him, he hadn’t been able to let it go.

Now, though, he was going to have to contend with Abby Davison and her round ass hanging around his ranch. An ass he was not allowed to touch.

He drove back to his ranch, wondering what the hell he was going to do about this predicament. A predicament that was his own damn fault. Maybe he should tell Abby the deal was off. But then he wouldn’t see her again, would he?

And he wanted to see her again.

He slammed his truck door shut when he arrived home. Inhaling the fresh air—the smell of grass, horses, and hay—his erratic heartbeat slowed some.

He may have made a deal with the devil, but he’d done it. At the very least, it would be nice to have someone other than Charlie around to talk to.

“I told you that you broke it,” Charlie said as he came out of the barn toward Mark. Charlie was in his forties, a grizzled man with tufts of gray hair sprouting from his head like weeds. He had worked on farms his entire life and knew them better than he knew anything else. When Mark had gotten Charlie to agree to work with him, Mark had known he’d been lucky.

Charlie was hardly a conversationalist, though. He was rather like Mark himself; both men preferred silence over idle chatter and could go the entire day without saying more than ten words to each other.

Mark lifted his broken arm. “You were right,” he said. “Do I owe you something for being right?”

Charlie laughed, a gruff sound like rocks tumbling down a ravine. “Naw, but good thing you didn’t make it worse, still working after you’d broken it. Damn stupid thing to do, you know.”

Mark almost laughed. If Charlie knew about his latest stupid thing...

“A woman’s coming Saturday to help me out,” Mark said. He didn’t wait to see Charlie’s reaction.

“A woman? Who? Why? Did you break your brain, too?” Charlie guffawed at that.

“Huh. So a maid.”

Mark glared at Charlie over his shoulder. “She’s not a maid.”

“Okay then. A housekeeper.” Charlie shrugged. “As long as she doesn’t get in the way around here, or try to make us eat kale chips. What is it with women and kale, huh?”

“You’re definitely asking the wrong man about how women think,” was Mark’s wry reply.