Read The Marriage Pact (Hqn) for Free Online Page B

spent so much time as a kid, hanging out with Will. He found himself smiling as he recalled those halcyon days, shooting hoops in the driveway, playing beat-up guitars in the garage, blithely convinced that their ragtag crew of potential rednecks was destined to be the next chart-busting grunge band.
    He’d always been welcome here, back then. Always.
    Alice had simply smiled and set another place at the supper table when he came home with Will after basketball, baseball or football practice, depending on the time of year. She’d make up the extra bed in Will’s room if Tripp lingered long enough after the meal, which he often did, helping with the follow-up chores. He’d clear the table, carry out the trash, help either Will or Hadleigh, whoever’s turn it was, wash and dry the dishes. Then, after his mom had died, when he was sixteen, Alice had taken it upon herself to oversee his homework and sometimes even wash his clothes.
    That was Alice, God rest her generous soul.
    Now, Hadleigh was in charge, and from her perspective, he’d be about as welcome under her roof as a flea infestation.
    Ridley gave a low growl, not hostile, but a mite on the desperate side.
    Great, Tripp thought, recognizing the dog communique for what it was, a plea to be let out before he disgraced himself. He’d lift a leg against the pole supporting Hadleigh’s mailbox or crap on her lawn for sure. Or both.
    With a sigh, Tripp got out of the truck, shoulders hunched against the continuous rain, walked around to the other side and opened the door so Ridley could jump down. He snapped the leash onto the Lab’s collar, tore a poop bag from the roll he kept under the passenger seat and started purposefully down the sidewalk, his trajectory away from Hadleigh’s mailbox and the trellis arching at the entrance to her front yard.
    Ridley, usually a cooperative sort, balked, hunkering down and refusing to budge.
    “Shit,” Tripp muttered.
    Ridley immediately complied.
    And that, thanks to Murphy’s Law, was the precise moment Hadleigh pulled into her driveway, at the wheel of the station wagon that had once been Will’s proudest possession. Even with the windshield awash with rain and the wipers going back and forth at warp speed, Tripp had a clear view of her face.
    She looked surprised, then confused, then affronted.
    Tripp bent to deploy the poop bag. Fortunately, garbage day must have been imminent, because there were trash containers in front of every house.
    He tossed the bag into one of them and braced himself when he heard the heavy door of the station wagon slam, doing his best to work up a grin as he turned around to face Hadleigh, who was already headed in his direction.
    The grin was flimsy, and it didn’t hold.
    Hadleigh favored the dog with a heartwarming smile and a pat on the head, but when she looked up at Tripp, the smile immediately morphed into a frown.
    It was a safe bet she wasn’t fixing to pat him on the head.
    “What are you doing here?” she demanded tersely. Her fists were bunched in the pockets of her jacket, and she’d pulled the strings of her hood so tight around her face that she reminded him of a little kid all trussed up in a snowsuit for a cold winter day.
    Tripp considered the question. In light of the fact that he’d gotten almost to the ranch and then doubled back, it was worth answering.
    What was he doing there?
    Damned if he knew.
    Ridley wagged his tail, glanced quizzically up at Tripp, then turned a fond gaze on Hadleigh.
    Tripp scrambled for a reply. “Getting wet?” he suggested.

Chapter Two
    W AS T RIPP G ALLOWAY real—or was he a figment of her frazzled imagination?
    Hadleigh bit her lower lip, shifted her weight slightly, wondering why she didn’t just turn her back on him and walk away. Instead, she seemed stuck there, as surely as if the soles of her shoes were glued to the very ordinary sidewalk in front of her equally ordinary house. There was a strange sense of dissociation, too, as