Falling For A Redneck (5 page)

A
s she marched into her house, Dirk stared at Marissa’s stiff shoulders, utterly disgusted with himself. He’d acted awfully nasty, and yet, a part of him wanted to stalk over to Marissa’s house and give her hell again.

Ho
w dare she attack his boys and him as a parent?
I’m doing the best I can, dammit. And I’ve got good boys. Considering what they’ve gone through, hell, they are awesome. Bitch!

But the pain he’d seen in her eyes when he’d blasted her and told her she should never be a mother
… Talk about a low blow. He’d even seen a glimmer of tears. Tears from the ice princess? That glimpse of the real woman beneath the icy façade, strangely, made a part of him want to wrap his arms around her and say how sorry he was.

What had she said
?
God’s made sure I’ll never become a mother
.

It had never even occurred to him that perhaps there was a reason for her behavior. Did she have a medical condition that made her unable to have children? Perhaps she had suffered through some tragedy that made her retreat behind the icy barricade she’d created for herself. Could her irrational hatred of children stem from something other than a bad attitude?

Still, whatever her reasons, that didn’t give her an excuse to behave like an uptight shrew. He only thanked the fact his boys hadn’t seen him and Marissa going at it on the front lawn like two bloodthirsty pugilists, fighting with words instead of fists.

It hadn’t helped that he’d still been pissed
about her treatment of him over that stupid permit. Would it have been so hard for her to tell him what he needed to do? Sure, she’d agreed to look over the paperwork once he filled it out, something he’d started on and quickly gotten frustrated with. Bloody bureaucrats just couldn’t put the blasted things in plain English.

Back to square one where the garage was concerned, for the moment. He now wished he’d kept the sheaf of papers she’d given him so he could try and muddle through to find the answers. He refused to go back and ask for the paperwork he’d thrown down before he’d kissed her. A man did have his pride, after all.

Maybe he should have given in to temptation and thrown her on her desk and raised that skirt up for a good plowing. It could have worked. The situation definitely couldn’t be any worse than where he found himself now.

Actually, even without the help for the permit, he’d have been better off. Blue balls were a painful condition, and he’d suffered them since that first kiss. His one-handed friend in the shower just wasn’t a replacement for the real thing.

And she said a toy would do a better job. That sounded like another challenge he’d have to take her up on.

Marissa huddled in a ball on her bed, arms wrapped around her legs, face buried in her knees. Dirk’s words, like an arrow fired by an archer, had hit their target. Bull’s-eye! She bled emotionally, and oh, how it hurt.

H
is accusations were painful, tearing barbs that rattled around inside her head. Ignore them? How could she when he told the truth?

Fact was, she did hate children and had no intention of becoming a mother, but not for the reasons he thought.
Hard to have children when you’re only half a woman.
Less than half considering her lack of a womb.

Almost seven years ago, while still in her twenties, she’d gone for her yearly exam that, of course, included the uncomfortable pap. Little did she know that her embarrassing exam with her legs in stirrups would have such devastating consequences. To her shock, about three weeks later, she’d been called into her doctor’s office.

“Marissa, your pap came back abnormal. I’m going to send you over to a gynecologist to have him look you over. It’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry.”

That
‘probably nothing’ ended up being the start of her nightmare. Marissa had an aggressive form of cervical cancer that, six months and one full hysterectomy later, left her incapable of being a mother. They couldn’t even save any of her eggs. In one fell swoop, all the dreams she’d had of having a family were dashed to pieces.

Devastating couldn’t even begin to explain the torn hole in her psyche that matched the one where her womb used to
reside.

Her husband
, Tom—now her ex-husband—had been supportive at the time.

“It’s no big deal
, Mari, so we’ll adopt.”

But Marissa, despite his words, fell into a funk. Adoption just wouldn’t be the same. She didn’t want someone else’s child
; she wanted her own. However, she couldn’t. She’d failed as a woman, a wife, and, most especially, as a mother.

A stupid nurse had tried to put a bright spin on it
, saying at least now she no longer had to suffer through nasty periods and she’d save money on tampons and pads. Marissa should have slapped her. Instead, she’d given in to weakness and cried.

Cried over the fact she’d never feel her stomach swell as it expanded to accommodate new life.
A gaping, dark emptiness lay inside her. Not only had the operation rendered her physically empty, she ended up emotionally empty too. And nothing could fill that hole up.

To make matters worse, it seemed everywhere she looked there were children
—happy families picnicking and walking, billboards of smiling children in trendy clothes, parks with slides and running toddlers. It seemed like the whole world was screaming at her, “Look at what you’ve lost!” Something that she’d never really thought of, had taken for granted, had been taken away from her, and now that it was gone, she mourned it like the death of someone close.

Tom’s support didn’t last in the face of her despondence. He began working later, coming home sometimes after she’d already gone to bed. On weekends, he went out
, fishing, golfing, hockey games, or so he claimed. Anything to get out of the house and away from her.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she’d
felt the hurt nevertheless when he announced he’d found someone else.

“
I’m really sorry, Mari, but Chrissy and I have so much in common. She’s a wonderful girl. I love her and want to be with her.”

“But we’re married.”
Marissa had announced that fact as if that made a difference; for her, it always had. What happened to their vow to love and cherish? What happened to the concept of fidelity?

“Yes, well, we both know that hasn’t been working out so well. I mean come on
, Mari, it’s been a year since we’ve been, you know,
together
.”

At his words,
Marissa had just looked at him, rendered speechless for a moment. “But you told me to take all the time I needed. That sex could wait until I got better.”

“Well
, come on, Mari,” he’d said with a tone that implied she was being stupid. “There’s take your time, and then there’s a year. A year! A man’s got needs, and since your operation you haven’t even bothered to try. Even now I bet the thought of sex disgusts you.”

He was right. It did.

“But—”

He’d just barreled on. “Let me know when you find a lawyer
, and I’ll have mine discuss the terms of the divorce with him.”

Lawyers ?
Divorce?
Wait, don’t I even get a second chance?

“
No. I can fix this. Give me a chance,” she’d begged. “We can go to a counselor. We can make this work. I know we can.” It made her cringe to think of the old Marissa, the weak one with her stupid, pointless pleading replete with ugly tears running down her cheeks.
What a pathetic fool I was back then.

Tom had shifted uncomfortably and even blushed before stammering out the death toll to her heart and feelings.
The nail in the coffin that buried her emotions for good.

“Well
, you see, Mari, that’s not going to work. Chrissy’s pregnant. I’m going to be a father.”

Marissa had completely lost it then.

“Get out! Get out! You fucking bastard!” Marissa had screamed and screamed until he finally took the hint and left. In a fury, Marissa had rampaged through their home, smashing things and throwing anything that reminded her of Tom out onto the front lawn.
How could he have betrayed me like this? I thought he loved me?
How could he hurt me like this? It’s not my fault I’m half a woman. Why did he have to taunt me with the fact that he can have children and I can’t? Why?
She’d cried. And cried some more.

Once she’d calmed down
—or least stopped destroying things—she got angry. Very, very angry, and she made plans. Her rage at his betrayal, barely under control, simmered under the surface, and she focused that anger into taking him to the cleaners, coming out of the divorce with a hefty chunk of cash that she used to put as a down payment on her current home.

But even once she’d emerged victorious from that battle, the rage bubbled inside of her
—a molten force that threatened to erupt. So Marissa went to see a shrink, who, of course, tried to tell her that all her problems issued from her childhood.
Fucking idiot
.

After a dozen o
r so useless sessions, she’d finally snapped and jumped up, towering over the little spectacled man behind the large desk.

“You are the lowest form of scum I’ve eve
r had the misfortune to meet. I should take your fucking head and smash it off this desk for the time you’ve wasted in my life spouting your stupid drivel. What a pathetic loser you are!” she’d shouted.

And to her shock, he’d replied
, “Yes, Mistress,” with a look of utter adoration.

Turned out her shrink was a closet
masochist who got off on humiliation. Marissa’s untutored outburst had stoked him just the right way, and in a perverted twist, Marissa had enjoyed her explosive rant too. Her shrink agreed therapy didn’t appear to work for her, so he turned around and introduced her to his current Mistress, who, after hearing Marissa’s tale, had a better form of therapy. Domination.

At first
, Marissa had found the entire concept embarrassing. Didn’t only freaks get into that type of activity? But the first time she held a whip in her hand, the bare ass of her former shrink offered up to her, she’d felt in charge again for the first time since her hysterectomy.

And she finally had an outlet for her anger. Not to mention a new source of income once she completed her training. Turned out her well of anger had a use
—whipping, spanking, beating up men. But not just any men. Men who, in the world outside the temporary dungeon she created, wielded the reins of control.

There was something gratifying about seeing these pricks
, who thought they were so important, on their hands and knees, submissive to her. Finally, she held the power. She was in control of them, herself, the situation, and with that she felt the anger subside, not completely, but enough for her to start enjoying life again. She achieved a balance, where finally she felt peace.

Then Dirk came along with his two boys
—cute boys, she’d caught a glimpse of from her second-story window—and suddenly all these feelings she’d thought buried forever erupted and threatened to overwhelm her.
And it makes me so mad!

Yes, I hate children. I hate I can never have one of my own.
Never to hold, never to nurse a baby borne of my body. Never to kiss a boo-boo, never to tuck into bed. So many ‘nevers’.

Yes
, it is easier to hate all children; it helps banish my own longing.

Even better
, it had worked for her. When she saw a newborn in the arms of its mother, she felt nothing now—most of the time. She’d found a stable middle ground in her emotionally sterile world.

Until now.
Until the redneck moved in next door with his brood.

The boys next door were easy to ignore
, their father, though, not so much. For the first time since her disastrous marriage to Tom, desire paid her a visit. Ever since the kiss, she couldn’t get Dirk’s face, body, and especially the feel of his lips, out of her mind. Even now, in the depths of her misery, a tingling warmth invaded her at the thought of his powerful body and lips against her own.
Like that will ever happen again.

He hates me
, and I don’t blame him. All I’ve ever shown him was the bitch.
She’d pushed him away with her icy demeanor and cruel words. She had to in order to protect herself. No more pain for her. She’d made a vow.

But if I did the right thing, why does it hurt so much? Why isn’t the tower I built around my emotions working? Why the tears?

And most of all, why do I suddenly not want to be alone?

Saturday dawned golden and glorious.
Dressed in her gardening clothes—neatly pressed, of course—Marissa prepared for a day of digging happily in the dirt, pure black earth that sifted her gloved fingers without the clumps and junk of the previous clay-like soil.

She’d barely begun weeding when a “Hello” from the side of her house shattered her peaceful serenity.
Now what?

Wearing a
frown, Marissa stood up and pulled off her gardening gloves as she warily watched the approach of an older woman across her back lawn, two children in tow. She recognized the tousled-headed imps. Dirk’s boys. The question was, what were they doing on her property?

“Can I help you
?” Marissa asked while wondering just what toy the two little rascals had tossed into her yard this time.

“Sorry to bother you
, dear. I can see you’re busy gardening, and a beautiful garden it is. But my daughter’s just been rushed to the hospital, and I need to go be with her.”

“And?”
Marissa prompted her.
Come on, get to the point,
she thought, a feeling of dread uncoiling in her stomach. What did this woman’s daughter have to do with her?

“Well, I’m supposed to be watching the boys
until quarter after three for Dirk, but I can’t stay. I called the garage, but Dirk is out on some sort of part pickup and won’t be back for a while. I need someone to take over for me so I can leave.”

“You want me to babysit?” asked Marissa
, stunned.
Hello, is this lady out of her mind? I don’t babysit, and even if I did, I think I’d be last on Dirk’s list.

“Well, I’ve seen you around
, and you seem like a decent sort. And you’re right next door. I’m sure Dirk won’t be too long. Please, I really need to be with my daughter.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears, and despite herself, Marissa couldn’t help a pang of sympathy.

Oh crap, how do I turn this woman down without looking like a heartless bitch? Who cares
—I am a heartless bitch.

Marissa opened her mouth to speak
, and words she’d never dreamed herself capable of uttering flowed out. “Sure. No problem. I’m sure the boys and I will be fine. Go be with your daughter.”

Help! I’ve been possessed. No way would I have said that.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” gushed the woman. “The boys will be very good, won’t you, boys?” she said, giving them a stern, yet smiling, look. “They’ll need lunch around noon if Dirk’s not back. But they’re not picky. Thank you again. Be good, boys, I’ll see you on Monday.” With a wave, the woman took off, leaving a befuddled Marissa staring down at two rumpled heads.

What does one do with children?
Marissa certainly had no clue, and she felt tongue-tied faced with two bright sets of inquisitive eyes watching her.

When the silence stretched
—and their unblinking stare began to freak her out—she settled for a lame, “Hi.”

The taller one responded to that. “Hi.”

Great, my turn again
. “My name’s Ms. Masters, and you are?”
There, that wasn’t so hard
, she thought.

“I’m Avery
, and this is Mason,” said the older one, speaking for them both again.

Marissa found herself approving of the names.
Strong and yet not overbearing names for boys. None of that silly made-up nonsense a lot of people seemed to name their children nowadays. With introductions out of the way, though, Marissa had run out of things to say.

The little
one sidled behind his brother and stuck a thumb in his mouth as he eyed her warily, whereas Avery just stared her with his head cocked to one side. For some reason, it made her nervous.

“Are you a witch?” Avery blurted out finally.

“Am I a what?” asked Marissa, taken aback by his query.

“I heard my dad saying
to grandma on the phone that our neighbor is a witch.”

Marissa’s
lips twitched.
Witch or bitch? More likely the latter, considering their clashes.
“He did, did he? Well, I can sometimes be witchy, but only with bad children. You won’t be bad, will you?” She fixed them with a stern eye.

Both children
, eyes wide, shook their heads vigorously, and she almost winced.

Nice job
scaring the poor things
. She really didn’t have any maternal instincts.

“We’ll be good,” said Avery. “I don’t wanna turn into a frog. I seen a movie once where a prince, he was bad, and dis witch, she didn’t like it
, and she turned him into a frog.”

“Really?” she said with feigned interest. “That sounds like an interesting movie. How about this
: you promise to be good, and I’ll only turn bad guys into frogs.”

Big grins greeted her announcement. “Or we could turn the bad guys into spiders and squish them!”

Mason laughed at his brother’s suggestion and stomped his little sneakered foot on the ground.

Squish them indeed
. Marissa liked the way these boys thought. Perhaps the task of watching them for a little while wouldn’t be so onerous after all. Like an oiled pig, her usual attempt to hate children slipped away from her. Hard to retain her anger when faced with such cuteness. Marissa held out her hand and managed not to wince at the sticky fingers that grasped hers.

“I hungi,” said Mason
as he rubbed his tummy.

“Me too,” announced Avery
. They both eyed Marissa expectantly.

Not afraid to speak their minds
, are they?
Confidence was an admirable trait. “How about we go inside and make ourselves some lunch?”

“Gonna haff hot dogs?” asked the little one, pulling his thumb out of his mouth only long enough to ask the question before popping it back in.

Ewww.
Marissa shuddered. Didn’t these children know what kind of refuse those wieners were made with? Hot dogs headed the top of a long list of things that were not allowed to pass her threshold or her lips. However, while she enjoyed a healthy balanced diet, she somehow doubted that her fat-free-food stocked fridge would appeal to these guys.

“I think I can do better than hot dogs. How
about some ham and cheese grilled sandwiches?”

“Grilled
cheese don’t have ham,” stated Avery with authority.

“They’re special grill
ed cheese.”

“Wike ham,” said Mason.

“Are you gonna use orange cheese or white?” asked Avery, the boy of a thousand questions.

Orange or white?
Marissa blanked out for a second. What did he mean? Then she clued in. “Cheddar, umm, the orange kind.”

“That’s good. I only like white cheese on my pizza.”

“Pizza nummy!” said Mason, getting more talkative by the moment.

“What about ketchup?” asked
Avery. “I like to dip my grilled cheese in ketchup.”

Gross! Item number six on her no-no list. “How about I make you a special dip for it?”

“What kind of dip?” asked Avery suspiciously.

“A yummy one,” Marissa said
, hoping she had something in her fridge that would pass for dipping while still tasting good.

The children followed her into her pristine
kitchen, where she slipped off her shoes, only to see the boys not following suit.

“Shoes,” she said
, pointing at their feet.

“What about my shoes?” asked Avery
, puzzled. “The laces aren’t loose.”

“You need to take them off.”

“Why?” asked little Mason.

Marissa felt like saying
because I said so
, but refrained. Obviously, living with a man, they hadn’t learned some of society’s niceties. No problem—she could teach them.

“When one enters someone’s home, even your own
, it is considered good manners to remove one’s shoes.”

“Why?” asked a double echo.

“So you won’t track dirt all over the house.”

“Oh
, okay,” said Avery, slipping off his shoes, aped by his brother.

Marissa waited for another question
. When none was forthcoming, she washed her sticky hands then walked over to the fridge and pulled out the fixings for some fancy grilled cheese. The boys seated themselves on barstools at the breakfast counter and watched her.

Marissa set the pan on the stove to heat then started buttering the bread and slicing the cheese.

“Do you have any kids?”

Startled, Marissa almost took off the end of her finger with the knife. “Uh no, no kids,” she replied.

“Are you married?”

“No
, not married either.”
What is this, an interview?

“My dad was kinda married to my mom. I remember her a little, Mason doesn’t. She left when he was a baby.”

Marissa paused, uncertain of what to say to that statement, so calmly made. She definitely could not ask what came to the tip of her tongue.
How could anyone leave their child?
“At least you have your dad. I know he loves you very much.” Or at least she assumed so from what she’d seen of him.

“Yeah, I’m glad we’ve got
Dad now. When we lived with Grandma, we used to visit him when he was in prison. But that place was scary, and Daddy was so sad there.”

“Prison?”
Marissa couldn’t help but exclaim at those words as she dropped the buttered slices into the pan.

“Yeah
, Grandma says Daddy did some bad things, and that’s why he had to go to jail. But he learned his lesson, and he’s not going to be bad no more. He promised us.”

Marissa was finding this conversation very interesting, so interesting
she almost forgot about the sandwiches on the stove. Saving them from burning, she itched to ask Avery more about his dad. But how to do so without looking like she was fishing for information?

“So you lived with your grandma a while. Did you like that?”

“Grandma’s nice, but her house is like a million years old, and she didn’t even have video games.”

“That’s too bad,” replied Marissa
, who’d never played a video game in her life. Hell, she didn’t even know how to use an mp3 player.

“Dad says if we’re good that Santa might bring us an X
box for Christmas.”

“I wanna Wii
,” said Mason stubbornly.

“Wii is for babies,” Avery scoff
ed. “Xbox has all the cool fighting games.”

“Not a baby,” said Mason, his lower lip trembling.

Marissa felt a moment’s panic—
oh no, don’t cry!
“Maybe Santa will get you one of each,” she said, trying to save the situation.

Mason’s face brightened.
“I wike Mario. And Wuigi.”

Marissa had no idea what he was talking about but nodded her head and smiled anyway.

Sandwiches almost ready, she pointed to the sink. “Time to wash up for your lunch.”

“Why?”
came Avery’s predictable question.

“Because one should always wash one
’s hands before cooking, eating, or after going to the bathroom.”

Avery gaped at her.
“Really?” His shock was almost comical.

She managed not to smile—and cringe.
“Really,” she said firmly. Scooping up short Mason under the armpits—a non-sticky area—she held him up to the sink so he could wash his hands with his brother, who barely reached on his tippytoes.

Their sandwiches ready, she cut them into triangles and then pulled out a bottle of ranch
dressing, which should be on her no-no list, but it tasted so good. The boys eyed the white dipping sauce dubiously, but after cautiously trying it, they wolfed down their sandwiches, and Avery asked for seconds.

Once
they were done eating, though, she eyed the boys nervously.
Now what?

“Ms. Master
s,” said Avery politely. The boy caught on quick. “May we go look at your garden again? It’s got a lot of plants. My grandma has plants, but hers are all vegetables. Yuck!”

“Pwease, Ms. Massy,” begged Mason.

“Tell you what, why don’t you boys call me Mari? It’s a little easier than Ms. Masters.” Marissa couldn’t believe the words that again came out of her mouth.
I’m actually being nice. Must be a full moon tonight. Or maybe,
said her sly mind,
you’re remembering who you used to be. You used to be a pleasant person, once upon a time. And you used to love children.

Marissa ignored the voice in her head and led the children outside, their excited chatter melting a spot inside her she’d thought frozen forever.

Tugging her by the hand, the boys pulled her from plant to plant, exclaiming over each one. Avery asked a million questions and listened attentively as she replied.