The Fake Husband

“Andrew Lewellyn.”

“Rhys Lewellyn’s son?” Cathy’s jaw dropped a little. “Awesome.” She stopped there, which won her major points as far as Andrew was concerned, and glanced at her friend’s frown. “What are you mad about?”

Erin hunched one shoulder, still without turning around. “Nothing. Let’s go, okay?”

Cathy shrugged. “Okay.” As she shifted her books in her arms, she looked at Andrew, then Erin, and back again. “Gee…you two kinda look alike, you know? Must be ’cause you both have black hair.”

“And those same light blue eyes,” the other blonde added. “You could be, like, twins. How cool is that?”

Erin snorted. “Then I’ll be a redhead by tomorrow morning. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She stalked away and, with an apologetic tilt of her head, Cathy followed.

“Good riddance.” Andrew squashed the leftovers from his lunch into the brown bag, aimed a three-point shot at the trash can…and missed.

Muttering to himself, he walked over to pick up the bag before some teacher yelled. “Give me a break, Miss Erin All-Star. You’re gonna ride Imperator like I’m gonna play for the NBA.”

ERIN BOUNCED into the truck Monday after school. “Did you call Mr. Lewellyn today? When can I have a lesson?”

Jacquie steeled her nerves and shook her head. “No, honey. I haven’t talked to anybody since breakfast. Two urgent calls came in this morning and I’ve been working nonstop since then.”

The momentary silence was deafening. “I can’t believe you just blew me off.” That wide lower lip, so like her father’s, stuck out in a pout.

“I didn’t blow you off, Erin. I have a job to do, that’s all.”

With an exasperated sigh, Erin flopped back in the seat. “Great. Just great.” She sulked for the rest of the afternoon, sullenly doing her homework as she sat in the truck and refusing to get out at the two farms Jacquie had to visit. As they drove home in the dark, though, she sat up a little straighter.

“Can we stop at the drugstore? I need some notebook paper. And pens.”

Thankful that Erin was still speaking to her, Jacquie was glad to cooperate. At the first opportunity, she swung the truck into a shopping center parking lot. “Want me to run in?”

Erin shook her head. “I’ll get it.”

Jacquie handed her a ten dollar bill. “Why don’t you get some chips to go with dinner tonight? And maybe some cookies.”

“Um…” Erin’s brows drew together. “I might need more than this.”

“For chips and cookies and paper? I doubt it.” But she dug into her wallet and came up with another twenty. “That should do it.”

With a nod, Erin walked briskly across the parking lot to the big, brightly lit store. Jacquie had started allowing little solo trips like this as lessons in growing up for both herself and Erin. Still, her breathing stayed fast until she saw her daughter reappear on the sidewalk and start back to the truck.

“Here’s your change.” Erin handed over a surprisingly small jumble of bills and coins as she settled into her seat.

“That much for chips?”

“I realized I needed some other stuff.”

For the sake of peace, Jacquie accepted the explanation, though she suspected the bag Erin carried held more along the lines of makeup, maybe candy, than school supplies. Pushing for details seemed like a bad idea when they were already at odds.

But when, with an early good-night kiss, Erin disappeared into the bathroom as soon as her homework was done, Jacquie felt certain of her hunch. The shower turned on and off, and there was an extended period of blow dryer noise, followed by silence. She only hoped the new look wasn’t too extreme to wear to school.

Early the next morning, when she got her first glimpse of Erin’s makeover, the wooden spoon Jacquie was using to stir oatmeal slipped from her fingers to the floor.

“What…” Her voice squeaked like a rusty gate. “What in the world have you done? Your hair is…is…red!” A deep, dark, unmistakable red.

“I know.” Erin’s pixie grin hadn’t changed. “Isn’t it just totally awesome?”

“I…” Jacquie rubbed her scratchy eyes. “What possessed you to dye your hair?” At her feet, Hurry picked up the fallen spoon and carried it to her private space under the kitchen table for an episode of devoted licking.

Erin went to the mirror beside the door and fluffed the red strands. “I…I just thought it would look cool.”

“And you didn’t think you needed to ask my permission first?”

“It’s my hair.” She avoided Jacquie’s gaze in the mirror.

“You’re my daughter. That entitles me to an opinion about what you do with your appearance.”

“Come on, Mom. The color washes out in a couple of months.”

“A couple of months during which you won’t look like yourself.” Crossing the room to stand behind Erin, Jacquie turned the girl to face her. “I’m not happy about this, Erin. Why would you change the way you look?”

“I just wanted to be different.”

“From what?”

Erin fidgeted with the honey bowl on the counter. “Well, see, there’s this guy…”

“You dyed your hair to make some boy notice you?” Her throat closed on panic. “Who is this person?”

“No, Mom, it’s not like that. I met him yesterday at lunch. Andrew Lewellyn, Mr. Lewellyn’s son. And he was so obnoxious, I couldn’t believe it.”

From upset to panic to horror…Erin had met Rhys’s son on his first day at school. “And…?”

“He said his dad wouldn’t let me ride Imperator even if I did take lessons.”

“That’s probably true.”

“But I’m good enough. I know I am. Anyway, then Cathy said we kinda look alike—we both have black hair and blue eyes. So I said I’d be a redhead by today, so I couldn’t possibly look anything like such a jerk.” She posed her hands on either side of her hair. “And—ta-da!—here I am.”

Oh, dear God. An unobservant teenager had noticed the resemblance between Erin and Andrew. It would only be a matter of time until more perceptive people commented. Jacquie saw her worst fears cascading toward her like an avalanche.

At least Erin’s red hair might give her a little extra time. But only a little. Somehow, she had to deflect this disaster.

And Rhys would have to help her.

SLOUCHED IN A CHAIR Tuesday night, half asleep and half intoxicated, Rhys considered not answering the phone’s insistent ring but, at the last minute, changed his mind. “Fairfield Farms, Lewellyn speaking.”

“Rhys, it’s Jacquie.”

The glass between his fingers slipped to the floor, spilling the dregs of his fourth…or fifth?…brandy. “Damn,” he muttered, awkwardly getting down on his knees to rescue the leased carpet.