Pretend Boyfriend

By Kathryn Kaleigh

Landscape artist Arabella St. Claire lacks the one thing every artist seems to lack-having enough time to paint. It might be the twenty-first century, but Arabella's family expects her to marry a man she has no interest in. Accustomed to spending time alone, her world tilts on its axis when she meets Samuel Lewis.

 

Stuck in the

• Language: English
• Publisher: KST Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Feb 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869199782

Kathryn Kaleigh

Kathryn Kaleigh is a bestselling romance novel and short story writer. Her writing spans from the past to the present from historical time travel fantasy novels to sweet contemporary romances. From her imaginative meet-cutes to her happily-ever-afters, her writing keeps readers coming back for more.

Book preview

Chapter One

ARABELLA ST. CLAIR

October

High in the mountains of Colorado, the white barked aspen trees shimmered with shades of red, orange, and yellow, displaying one final burst of color, like the finale in a fireworks display, as they shed their leaves for winter.

A low haze of wood smoke spoke to the unseasonably cold day that brought fireplaces back in season along with the elk’s rutting season.

The shallow Whiskey Springs River, rushing over the rocky riverbed, supplied steady background noise for the flutter of hummingbirds as they hovered over wildflowers in their own little splash of yellows and lilacs.

White clouds clustered around the snow-capped peaks of the tall rugged Rocky Mountains. It was snowing in the high country. Some would argue that Whiskey Springs, at an elevation just over nine thousand feet, was the high country. Nine thousand five hundred twenty-two to be precise as printed on countless t-shirts sold in the downtown shops.

It was easy to see what lured tourists to the little town of Whiskey Springs this time of year. It was a time of apple cider, maple syrup, and pumpkin pie.

I was fortunate enough to have a private display of nature’s wonders in my backyard.

Sitting on a wool blanket spread on the ground near the riverbank, I had the perfect seat to nature’s show.

When the wind turned just right, little mists of water from the bubbling river splashed onto my face.

I didn’t mind. My paint canvas, sitting on a little wooden easel, faced away from the mist.

Taking my time, using precise brushstrokes, I captured the water flowing in a blur over the boulders in the river on my canvas.

With a newly minted college degree in art, I painted with the freedom that came from knowing that no one would judge my art. Nothing I did would ever be for a grade again. The only judges would be from potential consumers.

I had graduated with a double major. Fine arts and graphic design.

Fine arts for the love of the brushstroke on canvas. Graphic design for its practicality.

I liked both subjects, but I loved acrylic painting. Drawing on a computer screen was completely different from getting paint on my hands. Using a paint brush was pure and real.

Considering my next color from my pallet, I wiped my hands on my apron. I wore a pair of boyfriend jeans and an oversized gray sweatshirt. My long brunette hair was pulled back messily and secured by a clip.

Tapping my phone, I checked the time.

My mother insisted that everyone be home for dinner by six thirty. Dinner promptly at seven.

It was quite an accomplishment when that actually happened, considering that Mom and Dad had six adult children, all of them living at home. There was ample room in the house. The house had nine bedrooms. A theater room. An exercise room. A game room. Several studies. Just to name a few.

It was one of those multi-generational homes, specifically designed for a large family, built in the 1800s.

The house had a distinctive history. Built by Nathaniel St. Clair from France while he waited the arrival of his mail order bride, also from France, the house had been full of life since the moment Sophia had arrived. She and Nathaniel had been married quickly and quietly, unknowingly cementing the bond that led to generations living in what was now and always had been called St. Clair Estate.

I had thirty more minutes before I had to start for home, following the little path that led through a grove of blue spruce trees.

The sun would be setting soon and it promised to be a beautiful colorful sunset. I’d been trying for days to capture a perfect sunset on canvas.

Perhaps I would be late for dinner.

Capturing the sunset on canvas was far more important than family dinner.

Not that I would ever tell my mother that.

She knew it, of course.

She knew that out of six children, five of them were practical and business minded. I was the anomaly. The artistic one.

The youngest of six children.

In all truthfulness, both of my parents’ two girls had an artistic bent.

My older sister, Natalie, was a social influencer with her own YouTube channel, TikTok channel, and other channels I couldn’t even know anything about.

Natalie had a recording studio on the third floor of our house. I had a small alcove for my paint supplies, also on the third floor, but I preferred my studio to be outside beneath the sky.

An endless canvas of inspiration. From the roaring river to the hummingbirds and wildflowers to the sun setting and rising.

An airplane passed overhead, leaving behind a white stream.

Annoyed by the interruption in my pure natural world, I decided to pack up my brushes and head home.

Not a good night to be late to dinner anyway. Natalie’s sister-in-law Hannah was coming to dinner tonight, bringing her new baby and her toddler.

With her husband working out of town, she spent at least one evening a week at our house.

I folded up my blanket and looped it over my tote bag.

I was lucky. Not everyone with an art degree got to actually use it. Most art major graduates had to go out and get jobs working for wages. I knew of several classmates who worked as bartenders and servers to pay the rent.

They said I lived a charmed life. I didn’t necessarily believe the charmed part, but I did acknowledge that was a lucky girl.

I sighed and started down the path toward home.

The evening wouldn’t be so bad except that Hannah and her two babies wouldn’t be the only guests at dinner tonight.

Harold would be there, too.

Chapter Two

SAMUEL LEWIS

Having Noah Worthington, the owner and founder of Skye Travels, aka the big boss, in the copilot’s seat was a little unnerving.

Fortunately, adept at the wheel of the Phenom, I was comfortable in the pilot’s seat.

I’d been with Skye Travels for three years now. Up until now, I had pretty much been left alone to take my flights, but for some reason, I had recently come up on Noah’s radar.

It was common knowledge that when he had important meetings out of town, he often took one of his pilots with him.

This trip, my first, to the little town of Whiskey Springs was my turn with the big boss.

A lot of rumors swirled about the big boss, all of them positive.

Noah treated his people right, especially his pilots, and they were all loyal to him.

I was no exception.

In fact, when Noah asked me to accompany him to Whiskey Springs for two weeks, I had been honored.

I’d always heard that Noah preferred to take the pilot’s seat, but apparently not today. He was getting up in age, though one wouldn’t know it by looking at him. Not unless they considered the streaks of gray hair that made him look more distinctive than old.

In his defense, he had spent most of the fight on his iPad, reviewing what looked like a mountain of digital paperwork.

After banking low for a turn to approach the runway from the west, I took the Phenom in for a smooth landing.

Good landing, Noah said.

Thank you, Sir. It was good, if I had to say so myself.

You’ll have a lot of free time on your hands this trip, he said. If you like hiking, you’ll find plenty to do.

I nodded. I wasn’t so much a hiker as I was a jogger. Since hiking trails often doubled as jogging rails, I wasn’t deterred.

I don’t mind, I said. I have a new book I’m looking forward to reading.

Betty gave you the corporate card?

Yes sir.

Good. Most people go to the Hungry Biscuit. Personally, I prefer the smaller places downtown.

I’ll try them out. I taxied down the runway to the little building that served as the terminal. Since there were no other airplanes within view, I parked the airplane not far from the terminal and began going through my post-flight checklist.

Our ride is here, Noah said as a nondescript sedan came driving down the runway.

An Uber?

If you want to call it that. He was an Uber driver before Uber was a thing.

Great. We were officially in the backwoods. Being from Houston, I definitely preferred the city life, but a lot of my flights with the private airline took me to small towns. With little to do in those small towns, I had taken up reading fiction. I read it all. Science fiction. Romance. Mystery. Anything with a good story.

I had a Kindle, of course. Who didn’t? But I preferred holding a physical, preferably hardback, book in my hands.

I blamed that habit on my grandfather. He was the one who had given me my love of reading. Probably genetic, like everything else, but he was the one who had solidified in into my psyche.

Grandpa had just been a regular guy. A postman. But Noah reminded me of him. Stalwart as a soldier with buckets of determination to live life to its fullest.

There is one thing I’d like you to do, Noah said as I lowered the stairs so we could disembark.

Sure, I said. Anything.

I’m having dinner at my nephew’s house tomorrow night. I’d like you to come with me.

So much for my two weeks of peace and quiet.

I couldn’t imagine why Noah could possibly want me to have dinner at his nephew’s house. But it came with the territory.

Chapter Three

ARABELLA

After dinner, I escaped with my oldest brother Gregory to the game room, not for a game of pool, but because it had comfortable seating, good light, and it was quiet.

And it had been a convenient place for me to avoid Harold.

Natalie and her husband had taken over the living room with Hannah and her two little ones. My other three brothers had gone out, no doubt to see what they could get into tonight.

Our parents went upstairs to their rooms. They had a bedroom with its own living room. It was a little two-story apartment of its own within the larger house.

Want a whiskey? Gregory asked. Gregory was like me. A homebody.

Thanks, but no. I held up the glass water bottle that I carried around with me.

Suit yourself. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and took it with him to sit in one of the oversized armchairs.

I opened up my