Caroline had absolutely no idea who that man was out in her living room, but he most definitely was not her fiancé.
Lying on her bed and staring blankly at her ceiling, Caroline touched her swollen lips. There was no way she could ever have forgotten what that felt like. After their first kiss, she was sure that she’d never kissed Craig Clifton before in her life. But she’d begged him to continue the make-out session just to confirm it, and it was during their second kiss that all of it came back to her. When he’d pulled his lips from hers, everything flooded into her mind at once.
Yet, instead of confronting him about any of it, she’d run straight to her bedroom and slammed the door closed. Twenty minutes later, she was still struggling to get her breathing under control.
They weren’t engaged. Craig wasn’t even her boyfriend. She’d been thinking about the words of Winona Cobbs when she first laid eyes on him two days ago. The images from that morning came back with the kind of clarity that can only be seen by events being replayed in slow motion. All the pieces finally clicked into place—the way she’d been balancing on that stupid chair, seeing him come into her office wearing that sexy tan cowboy hat, spotting the hook-shaped scar on his neck and, finally, the way the pink donut box went flying in the air as he ran toward her.
Engaged by Christmas. That was what she’d been thinking before knocking herself out. Had the doctor specifically said Caroline had suffered from amnesia, or was there another word she’d used? Reaching for the smartphone on her nightstand, she did some research online and read about an amnesia-like condition called confabulation.
So I made it all up? Caroline thought, staring at her screen. She heard the television in the living room go off and the sound of something bumping into a piece of wood furniture, followed by Craig’s muffled curse. No, the man was completely real and currently getting ready to fall asleep on the other side of the wall, oblivious to the fact that Caroline had just remembered the truth.
Which brought everything back full circle. Obviously, she hadn’t imagined Craig, but for some reason, she’d imagined that they were engaged. Yet why him? Why not Drew Strickland or his brother, Ben, both of whom were strangers and also in the office when she’d injured her head? Because neither one of them was Craig. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
Before Caroline had moved to Rust Creek Falls, she and some of her friends from the dorms had driven to town on a lark. Their favorite reality show, The Great Roundup, was being filmed nearby and the other girls wanted to be close to the action. Caroline had been coming out of the Ace in the Hole bar for a breath of fresh air when an older woman passed along the sidewalk. There’d been something familiar about her and it wasn’t until the woman got to the corner of Buckskin Road that Caroline realized she was Winona Cobbs, the psychic from that nationally syndicated show Rita Rodriguez didn’t approve of her daughter watching.
Caroline had caught up to Winona, not because she wanted to ask for a free reading or an autograph, but because the woman was walking with a slow limp and approaching a dark intersection. Caroline had asked the little old lady if she needed help crossing the road and when Winona took the offered arm, a strange expression had crossed her weathered face. Her eyes had grown bright and stared right through Caroline, like Dr. Robinson’s penlight, trying to search for answers.
Winona’s voice was lower in person than it had been on her shows, but it was just as authoritative when, without warning, she’d predicted, “You’ll find what your heart is looking for here.”
“Here?” Caroline had asked. “In Rust Creek Falls?”
The old psychic had nodded, but didn’t explain what it was Caroline was looking for or how she would find it. “When?”
“Be patient, child,” Winona had replied, patting her gnarled, freckled hand against Caroline’s. “It’ll happen before you turn twenty-four.”
“What will happen?”
“Your engagement.”
The pronouncement had taken Caroline aback, but she’d always wanted to get married and knew with absolute certainty that a wedding was the thing her heart was looking for. She hadn’t been able to keep the eagerness out of her voice when she asked, “To whom?”
“To the one with the pocket full of Life Savers and the three-legged cat that sleeps on both his pillows. Just remember, your cowboy is scarred for a reason, so be careful not to let him go.”
But before Caroline could ask for more details, the other patrons had spilled out of the bar and Winona Cobbs was caught up in the crowd, leaving Caroline standing on the street corner, full of hope and unanswered questions.
Until Craig had walked into her office over two years later.
Actually, seeing him hadn’t really answered anything. But, according to one of the brain injury articles Caroline had just read online, her concussion had forced her mind to fill in the blanks with what she’d wanted to see—that Craig was the scarred cowboy from Winona’s prediction. Everyone in that hospital room when she’d finally awakened must have thought that she was completely nuts. Even Caroline could see how absolutely crazy it sounded for her to think she was engaged to a total stranger. It certainly explained why Josselyn and Drew and Craig had all stared at her that day as though she’d lost her mind.
However, the only thing Caroline couldn’t explain was why any of them would go along with the whole charade in the first place. Especially Craig.
Throwing off the comforter, Caroline stood and walked to her bedroom door, determined to wake him up and ask him exactly that. Her hand gripped the knob and it took two tries to twist it open because her palms were so damp. She’d barely opened the door a crack when she saw the mound under the blankets on her sofa bed move. Then she heard his soft sigh as he nestled deeper into the thin mattress and something pulled at her heart.
Standing there frozen, Caroline was flooded with another realization. If she went out there and admitted that she remembered they weren’t truly engaged, there would no longer be a reason for Craig to stay and take care of her. Not that she really needed anyone looking out for her anymore, but if he left she would probably never see him again.
Not only had she made a complete fool of herself insisting that they were engaged, but then she’d doubled down on her belief by spouting all that stuff about a loving heart and the truest wisdom and trusting her instincts about a man who, in reality, was a total stranger.
In Caroline’s defense, though, she’d suffered a head injury and had been relying on the very random mutters of an old psychic walking down the road late one night. Not that believing in fortune-tellers made her appear to be any more rational, but when Winona Cobbs had spoken those words, Caroline had felt the premonition all the way down to her bones.
She’d believed it way before she’d met Craig, and now that she’d kissed him, she knew it with even more certainty. It wasn’t scientific, but being with him just felt right. Besides, how else would she have known all those details about him? The pocket full of Life Savers, the three-legged cat, the sleeping with two pillows?
The scar?
The only part of Winona Cobbs’s prediction that hadn’t actually come true yet was Caroline being engaged by her twenty-fourth birthday—which was this Christmas.
Bracing her body between the small opening of the bedroom door and the frame, Caroline took several deep breaths as she contemplated her best course of action.
As much as she should admit the truth to Craig, she only had one more month to make him fall in love with her. Would it really be all that wrong to let him go on believing that they were engaged? Or that Caroline thought they were engaged?
She pressed her fingers to her pounding temples as she mentally sorted through all the confusion and her conflicting emotions. Caroline walked back to her bed, wishing she had someone to talk it over with. Someone who could make sense of it all.
Someone who could tell her how to keep the man she’d been destined to find.
* * *
The following morning, Craig was coming out of the shower when he heard Caroline talking in the kitchen.
“Oh, good, you’re safe.” Another female’s voice echoed inside the small rental house and Craig froze in the doorway. He’d left his duffel bag in the living room and, having just slept in his boxers, the closest item of clothing he could shimmy into when Caroline came out of her room was a nearby pair of jeans, which was all he’d worn when he’d made a beeline for the bathroom earlier. If they had company, it would look pretty odd for Craig to walk out there bare-chested.
“It was just a concussion, Mom,” Caroline replied and Craig eased away from his hiding spot behind the bathroom door. Her parents were out of the country, which meant they couldn’t possibly be here at her house.
“We got your email, angel,” a male baritone added to the conversation. “Who is this Craig fellow?”
She must have the speaker feature turned all the way up on her phone. His own father had once tried to show Craig how to do that so he wouldn’t have to stop working anytime one of his brothers or sisters called, but he always hit the wrong button and ended up disconnecting the call.
“Oh. I forgot I mentioned him in the email,” Caroline said as she walked to the edge of the kitchen, a mixing bowl cradled in one arm as she whisked some batter. She caught sight of Craig and gave him a tense smile before putting her forefinger to her lips in the universal sign to mean “Please keep quiet.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. The last headache Craig needed was for her parents to find out some stranger was lying to their daughter and shacking up with her. Luckily, they weren’t there in person. Craig’s nose twitched at the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the promise of the maple-pecan waffles Caroline had said she was making when she’d woken him up this morning.
“Are you really engaged?” her mom asked as Craig practically tiptoed toward his duffel bag, unsure of how much sound her cell phone could pick up.
“We don’t even know him,” her dad added.
“You’re not cooking for him, are you?” her mom asked. “Did you know that in the Aka society in Africa, the men do all the cooking? Many of the males even breastfeed the babies. Although, I suppose technically it would be suckling since they can’t produce—”
“I like to cook, Mom,” Caroline interrupted, thank goodness. Craig got to his duffel, only to discover that most of his clothes were missing.
Mrs. Ruth, or perhaps Dr. Ruth since she was a college professor, continued on about some pygmy tribe halfway across the globe and Craig tried to wave at Caroline to get her attention and ask where his shirts were. But her back was to him as she faced the stove.
Craig walked into the kitchen to whisper in her ear, and that was when he realized Caroline wasn’t on speakerphone. Her laptop was propped on the counter and two very surprised people appeared on the screen facing him.
Oh, crap.
“He’s real.” Her dad was the first to speak.
“He’s really naked,” her mother replied, moving her reader glasses down her nose.
Craig looked behind him to judge the distance to the front door and tried to determine how cold it would be outside if he made a run for it. But Caroline shoved a cup of coffee into his hands before he could take off.
“Mom, you spent eight months in the Polynesian islands studying the history of ancient hula performances. You even made Dad dress in a loincloth.”
“It wasn’t a loincloth,” her mother replied and Craig suddenly wished he would never have to hear the word loincloth again. “It was a ceremonial malo and it was a gift to your father from Professor Ka’ukai.”
Caroline poured batter into the waffle iron on the opposite side of the stove as though making breakfast and video chatting with her parents about her half-naked fiancé was part of her normal Sunday morning routine. “My point is that you’re well accustomed to seeing men without their shirts.”
Too much information, Craig thought, resisting the urge to pull the cherry-printed apron off the sink and cover up.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. and Dr. Ruth,” Craig offered weakly. Hopefully, nobody was appraising his chest for either breastfeeding suitability or hula-dancing capabilities.
“It’s actually Dr. Ruth and Dr. Rodriguez,” Caroline’s father corrected with a wink. “We’re not married.”
Dr. Rodriguez then began a long lecture using phrases such as female servitude and matrimonial bondage, and Craig whispered out one side of his mouth to Caroline, “Where are my clothes?”
“I needed to run a load of laundry,” she said, her lips equally tight.
“Did you say laundry, Caroline?” Her mom’s face moved closer to the screen, as though the woman could hear better by looking more closely into the little webcam. “Please tell me that you’re not already falling into the stereotypical gender roles that Western civilization has forced upon females as a means to exert the imbalance of power of a male-dominated society.”
“I didn’t ask her to do my laundry,” Craig defended, one palm up as though he was being asked to swear on a stack of Bibles. “I normally do it myself.”
“And he knows how to churn butter, too,” Caroline added, making Craig glance at her sideways.
“Let them work out the distribution of domestic chores for themselves, Rita. It’s still early in their engagement.” Then the older man turned back to the screen. “And speaking of engagements, when our angel sent us an email mentioning some fiancé from out of the blue, we were a little worried, thinking we had our own Miss Havisham on our hands.”
“Who’s Miss Havisham?” Craig asked. There were a million ways this conversation should be steered, but he had no idea who was holding the reins. So he just tried to follow along.
“From Great Expectations?” her father said. “She’s this old spinster woman who was jilted at the altar and goes around in her wedding gown—”
“Okay, Dad, I have to get to the office,” Caroline interrupted quickly. But her father continued his dissertation as Craig’s phone suddenly rang. Relieved for the excuse to get out of the kitchen, Craig quickly walked toward the coffee table.
Trying to mute his phone, he accidently swiped on the wrong button and his own mother’s voice echoed on the speaker. “Craig? Are you there?”
“Hey, Mom,” he said, looking for the button to switch off the speaker, but the entire display had gone black. Really? The one time he didn’t want the feature to work was the one time he couldn’t shut it down.
“I hear you’re bringing a woman for Thanksgiving,” Carol Clifton said, drawing Caroline’s attention from her own parental inquisition.
“Word travels fast,” Craig muttered. He was trying to push the circular home button on his phone, but it wasn’t recognizing his thumbprint. Probably because his hands were so damn sweaty.
He heard more talking from the kitchen, where Dr. Ruth and Dr. Rodriguez were still visible on the laptop. Unfortunately, his mom heard the same thing.
“Oh, my gosh,” his mother practically squealed. “Is that your new fiancée?”
Fiancée? That was more serious than the “lady friend” gossip Rob had mentioned. Craig glanced over his shoulder to make sure Caroline hadn’t heard and then lowered his voice. “You know about that?”
“Oh, yeah. Ben Strickland told your brother Jonathan about it,” his mom replied as though it was every day that one of her sons managed to find himself in the middle of a pretend engagement. “Put her on the phone.”
“She’s talking to her own parents right now,” Craig replied, running his fingers over his scalp and wondering if it would be worth catching pneumonia to go outside with wet hair.
“You guys aren’t going to her folks’ for Thanksgiving, are you? It’s the first year in a long time that I’m gonna have all my kids at the house together.”
“No, we can come there, Mrs. Clifton,” Caroline said from behind him, apparently disconnected now from her own conversation.
“Fantastic,” his mom replied. “Dear, I can’t wait to meet you. Craig, make sure you stop by Daisy’s on your way out of town and bring a pie.”
His free hand dropped from his damp head to his neck as he tried to massage some of the tension away. “But I thought Meemaw was baking the pies.”
“She is. However, Grandpac is also coming now and unless you want your new girlfriend to see a repeat of the Pecan Pie Controversy of 2011, you’ll bring an extra one.”
“I’d be happy to make a pie, Mrs. Clifton,” Caroline volunteered. Craig pivoted to face his pretend fiancée and shook his head at her before it was too late.
“That might work as long as Meemaw doesn’t know you made it yourself, dear. And please call me Carol. Or even Mom?”
Okay, his mother’s tone was a bit too hopeful and Caroline’s smile was a bit too pleased. Taking her to his family’s ranch for Thanksgiving would all but seal their fate. It was entirely too risky.
Luckily, Craig still had a couple of days to get out of this mess. “Let’s not finalize anything until later in the week, okay, Mom?”
“Sounds like a plan,” his mom said and Craig wanted to reply that there was absolutely no plan. But the woman, who had raised eight children—and knew her way around the very best stall tactics—continued, “I’m guessing you two will be coming out on Wednesday? Everyone else is coming out on Wednesday.”
“Probably Thursday morning, Mom,” Craig sighed and Caroline smiled even wider.
“It’s a long drive to Thunder Canyon from Rust Creek Falls, though. So don’t be late.”