Colton's Cowboy Code. Melissa CutlerЧитать онлайн книгу.
her abilities and qualifications. She’d been held entranced by his praise...right up until one of the other men in the room had labeled her as Brett’s good-time girl of the week.
She’d winced at that, even though she agreed with the term, if not the negative judgment implied by it. She’d been Brett’s good-time girl as much as he’d been her good-time guy for the night. While she refused to be shamed for enjoying her sexuality, even if Brett’s family turned out to judge her as harshly as her own family had, it still smarted to realize that, as she’d expected might happen, Brett’s family assumed she was trying to get at their money. It wasn’t a shock that they didn’t trust her. The surprise was that they didn’t seem to trust Brett, either. And that frosted Hannah something fierce because she’d suffered the same mistrust at the hands of her own family.
Probably, her relationship with Brett’s family would go a lot more smoothly if she weren’t aware of their candid feelings about her and Brett, because those assumptions didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. All that mattered was that she believed in herself and knew in her heart that she was a good and honest person. Which meant it was high time for her to get the heck out of earshot again.
She tiptoed back to the front of the house and down the stairs, her eye on the taxi. Nothing was stopping her from jumping back in it and taking off. Except that there kind of was, now that she was considering it. Brett was being judged by his family the same as she’d been by hers. They were about to become parents together, and if she stayed with him, if she gave him a chance, then she would spare him from her same fate of having to face his family’s negativity alone.
And Brett had told her the day before that his father was slipping mentally. Not only that, but Brett’s dad shouldn’t be working so hard around the ranch when his wife lay in a coma. Brett’s father deserved better and the ranch deserved better, too, because Brett was also right about them needing an actual financial specialist to help them with long-term tax planning, one of her specialties. No matter how negatively Brett’s family judged her for getting pregnant, her conscience couldn’t just walk away from that situation.
Her two measly pieces of luggage sat in the driveway next to the cab. She’d packed light because, one, she had no idea how long she was staying, and, two, she didn’t actually own that much stuff anymore, having sold most of it to afford the business of living. She navigated around the suitcases and handed the taxi driver his rate plus a generous tip through the open driver’s side window. “Thank you for waiting. Have a nice—”
“Back up so I can turn around.”
Gee, what a sweet guy. So deserving of my last bit of cash as a tip—not. She stepped back and tripped over her suitcases, planting her rear end hard on the one she’d knocked over.
Her face growing hot with embarrassment, she took a furtive glance around for witnesses. Not seeing any, she stood and brushed off her dress in time to watch the taxi hauling butt in a cloud of dust as it disappeared along the dirt road.
She took a moment to catch her breath, marveling at the endless string of awkward moments that her life had become since graduating from college. What was her next move? Should she try knocking again? Call Brett’s cell phone? Settle in on the porch and wait for Brett’s family to find her after they finished their meeting?
“If you’re here looking for a handout from Mr. Colton, then you’d best be leaving before I call the police,” called a female voice.
Hannah turned to see a familiar, if unexpected, face. Her defenses immediately went on red alert, as they did every time she saw someone from the Congregation of the Second Coming. “Mavis?”
Mavis Turnbolt was dressed in what could only be described as a maid’s uniform. Her brown hair was constrained in a tight braid that had been coiled into a bun from which no wild hairs had escaped. She was only a year older than Hannah, and over the years, their mothers had made valiant, yet fruitless, attempts to push them into friendship. She could’ve lived the rest of her life without needing to see any member of the Turnbolt family again, but after all she’d been through, another piece of bad luck didn’t even faze her.
Then again, it wasn’t fair of Hannah to be critical of Mavis in exactly the same way she hated to be judged. Hannah hadn’t been to the church in years, not since her eighteenth birthday, so for all she knew, Mavis had broken the hold that the church had over her, just as Hannah had.
“It’s nice to see a friendly face. I had no idea you worked here,” Hannah said, offering her hand for a handshake. “I work here now, too.”
Mavis eyed Hannah’s hand as if it were a snake. “I will not be associating with jezebels, so you’d best take that hand back.”
So much for that fair chance. “And you’d best watch your attitude. Neither my baby nor I deserves your scorn.”
“Scorn is the only thing a sinner like you deserves. Wait until the Coltons learn they’ve hired one of Satan’s newest disciples.”
Hannah wrapped a protective arm around her belly. “First of all, this baby is a Colton, thank you very much. And second, can you even hear yourself? Satan’s newest disciple? Really?” She cringed inwardly, wishing she’d thought twice before engaging with someone who was so filled with hate. It wasn’t as though she stood a chance of changing Mavis’s mind.
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