A Family Kind of Wedding

by Lisa Jackson

  From #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson comes the engrossing final book in the reader-favorite Forever Family series set in Bittersweet, Oregon

  Katie Kinkaid knows what comes of following your heart; she did that once and ended up pregnant and unwed. So a mysterious bachelor—an undeniably attractive one—moving in next door isn’t a complication she needs.

  Still, Luke Gates is the most intriguing man she’s met in years. Katie has no time to figure out Luke’s secrets, though. Her main priority is raising her rambunctious ten-year-old son. But the more Katie crosses paths with the six-foot Texan, the more smitten she is. And although Luke insists he isn’t husband or father material, Katie can’t help dreaming of the man next door…

  Luke felt a sense of belonging, of finally having a place in the world he could call home.

  For the first time in a long time, he experienced a need to be connected, to be a part of something bigger than just himself. It was an odd sensation, really, one he’d hoped he would avoid for the rest of his life. And he suspected it had more than a little to do with Katie Kinkaid. That mite of a woman had found a way to bore herself under his skin, and he found himself thinking about her far too much.

  He envisioned her dark red hair, spread around a face that was flushed with desire, imagined kissing the freckles on the bridge of her nose, saw vividly within his mind’s eye her swift intake of breath and seductively parted lips as he began making slow, sensuous love to her.

  If Luke didn’t know better, he’d think he was in love.

  Also By Lisa Jackson

  The McCaffertys: Slade

  The McCaffertys: Matt

  The McCaffertys: Thorne

  The McCaffertys: Randi

  Lone Stallion’s Lady

  Proof of Innocence

  A Twist of Fate

  The Millionaire and the Cowgirl

  Sail Away

  Tears of Pride

  Secrets and Lies

  Million Dollar Baby

  Obsession

  A Family Kind of Wedding

  Lisa Jackson

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I’m countin’ on you, boy. Now that Dave’s gone, all his mother and me got left is the thought that he might have left himself a son or daughter. Don’t know if it’s true, you know, but he mentioned something about it the last time we spoke to him.” The old man’s voice cracked. “You let me know, hear?”

  “Will do,” Luke Gates promised, cursing himself as he slammed the phone down. How had he gotten himself roped into this mess? Sweat ran down his back, and the sweltering heat of the September day seemed worse in the confines of this tiny, top-floor apartment of an old carriage house in Southern Oregon.

  In Luke’s estimation, Ralph Sorenson should do his own damned dirty work. What the hell was Luke doing, getting caught up in an old man’s hopes and dreams that were bound to cause nothing but heartache and pain? So the old man thought he had a grandson. So he hoped that Luke would find the kid. So he was going to pay him to do it. Big deal.

  But it was. When it came to money, Luke had been born with a weakness, a hunger for it. Having grown up dirt-poor, tossed around from one aunt to another, constantly reminded that he was “another mouth to feed” and that he must “earn his own keep” had only fostered his drive and need to chase after the almighty greenback.

  But this job might be too much.

  Ralph was pushing. Too hard. But then, the old man was desperate.

  Luke’s stomach curdled as he thought of the heavy-bodied man who had helped turn him from a hellion into a decent-enough businessman. Luke had never known his own father, and Ralph was the closest thing he now had to family. He supposed, under the circumstances, the reverse was true as well.

  But still, the thought of dragging forgotten skeletons out of closets and digging up innocent people’s lives didn’t appeal to him.

  Not so innocent, he reminded himself.

  Ralph Sorenson deserved to know his own flesh and blood. Who cared if it fouled up some woman’s life? And besides, there was a pile of money involved.

  Telling himself it didn’t matter what he thought, Luke yanked on his favorite pair of boots and headed outside. Pausing on the upper landing of the staircase, he felt the impact of the late afternoon. The air was as dry as a west Texas wind, and the September sun merciless. Just the way he liked it.

  Sliding his key ring from his pocket, he hurried down the flight of stairs and strode across the patchy dry lawn to a spot of concrete by the garage where his pickup leaked a little oil. He’d lived here for a couple of weeks and planned to stay until he could make the old ranch house livable. It would take a little doing, even by his spartan standards.

  A crow cawed angrily from an eave of the main house, a massive Victorian complete with gables, shutters and gingerbread trim. The turn-of-the-century home had been divided up some years back and now had several apartment units ensconced within its century-old walls.

  He heard the sound of tires on gravel. A convertible, belching blue exhaust, the engine knocking out of synch, careened into the drive. The driver, a red-haired woman he’d caught glimpses of before, stepped on the brakes. She was out of the car before it stopped rolling.

  “Hi!” She waved.

  What was her name? Katie Something-or-other, he thought—a relative, maybe a sister, of Tiffany Santini, the widow who was his landlady.

  Katie strode toward him with an air of confidence he found refreshing. A mite of a thing with fiery red hair, a sprinkling of freckles over a pert little nose and a pixie-ish jaw, she didn’t dally. Sunglasses covered her eyes. “You’re Luke Gates, aren’t you? I’ve seen you around here, and I always wanted to introduce myself.” She flashed him a smile that wouldn’t quit, the kind of thousand-watt grin that beautiful women used to get what they wanted. Her hand was already outstretched as she marched up to him. “I’m Katie Kinkaid, Tiffany’s sister—well, half sister really.” Her teeth were a set of pearls that were straight enough except for a small, sexy overlap in the front two, and her face was flushed, as if she’d been running. He could do nothing but accept the small hand that was jabbed his way.

  “Glad to meet you,” he drawled, though he wasn’t really sure. Katie struck him as the kind of woman who could steamroll right over a man even though she was only a couple of inches over five feet.

  “Me, too.” She shook his hand crisply, then let it drop. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen my son around here, have ya? He’s ten going on sixteen, got reddish-brown hair and is about yea tall.” She gestured with the flat of one hand to the height of her opposite shoulder. “He’s usually moving about a billion miles a minute, and he’s been spending a lot of time hanging out here with Stephen in the last day or two.”

  Luke knew the kid she meant. A gangly kid always on the go. “I think I’ve seen him,” Luke allowed with a flick of his gaze toward the back porch. “But not today.”

  “Hmm.” She shoved her bangs from her eyes, and the scent of some flowery perfume teased at his nostrils. “Tiffany said something about taking the kids out to the farm—you know, the old Zalinski place that Santini Brothers Enterprises bought for their latest vineyard and winery. They probably just haven’t gotten back yet.” She slid her sunglasses off her nose and chewed on one arm as she squinted down the length of the driveway. “I guess I’ll just have to
wait.” Pausing for a second, she turned her attention back to Luke. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask ever since I first saw you, what brings you to Bittersweet?”

  “Business.”

  She was a pushy little thing. She gave him the once-over, a swift glance up and down his body, and her expression said it all. In faded jeans, a T-shirt and his scruffy boots, he didn’t look like the typical three-piece-suit-and-tie businessman. But then this was Bittersweet, Oregon, not New York City or LA.

  “What kind of business?”

  He had to get the word out sooner or later. Though he was going to do a little bit of detective work for Ralph, that was only part of his reason for hanging around. The ranch was his real purpose, and now that the sale of the property was a done deal, he saw no reason to keep it to himself anymore. “I bought a spread a few miles outside of town, and I’m hoping to convert it into a working dude ranch.”

  Her eyebrows arched up as she slid her shades onto the bridge of her nose again. “You mean for tourists to come down here and round up wild horses, and brand cattle, and, well, do all that macho outdoorsy cowboy thing—kind of like the movie City Slickers?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Not that elaborate, but, yeah, that’s the general idea.” There was a whole lot more to it than that, but he didn’t see any reason to fill her in—or anyone else, for that matter—with the details. Not just yet. Until he was sure of them himself. Besides, she had a way of distracting him. In white shorts and a sleeveless denim blouse, she showed off a tanned, compact body with more curves than a logging road in the Cascade Mountains. The V of her blouse’s neckline gave him a quick glimpse of cleavage between breasts that were more than ample to fit into a man’s palm.

  He caught himself at the thought and shifted his gaze back to the truck. Katie Kinkaid’s all-American-girl-next-door good looks were heightened by a bit of raw sensuality that gripped him hard and caused a ridiculous tightening in his groin.

  Obviously it had been way too long since he’d been with a woman.

  He even noticed the dimple that creased her cheek when she smiled. She was sexy and earthy, yet exuded an innocence and charm that, if he let it, might get under his skin.

  “When do you plan to open the doors?” she asked, and he cleared his throat for fear his voice would betray him.

  “By early next summer. Soon as the winter snowpack melts.” He wasn’t used to being grilled, wasn’t sure he liked it.

  “Where is your ranch, exactly?”

  “Outside of town about three miles or so.” He decided to end the conversation before she dug too deep. She was a nosy one, this Katie Kinkaid. If he let her, she’d talk to him all afternoon. “I gotta run.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m a reporter with the Rogue River Review—that’s our local paper—and I’d like to do a story about the ranch when you open.”

  So that was it. He should have known.

  When he hesitated, she barreled right on. “You could think of it as free advertising.” She angled her face upward for a better look at him, and he thought he noticed a hint of defiance in the tilt of that impish chin.

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  “Here—let me give you my card.” Whipping open a small purse, she scrounged around for a second, extracted her wallet and edged a clean, white business card out of a slit behind a picture of her son obviously taken a few years back. “Here. Just give me a call, or I’ll contact you.” She looked up at him expectantly as he flipped the card over and over between his fingers.

  “I don’t have anything like this yet,” he admitted. “The deal just went through, but I’ll call you later.”

  “Or I’ll call you,” she repeated quickly, as if she thought he was giving her the brush-off. Apparently she was used to being in charge.

  “Fine. Nice meetin’ ya.” He slid her card into the back pocket of his jeans and walked to his truck. A black cat that had been sunning himself on the hood perked up his head; then, as Luke opened the driver’s door, the animal shot to his feet and hopped lithely to the ground.

  “Oh, come here, Charcoal,” Katie said, bending down and picking up the slinking feline. “That’s a boy.”

  As Luke rammed the truck into gear, cranking on the steering wheel, he caught a glimpse of Katie in the rearview mirror. One hip thrust out as she cradled the cat against her chest, dark glasses hiding her eyes, lips tinged a soft peach color, she exuded a natural sensuality that caught a man off guard and squeezed tightly. Too tightly.

  His gut feeling about her was simple: Katie Kinkaid was a woman to avoid.

  * * *

  Katie was still petting the cat, staring down the driveway and asking herself a dozen questions about the enigmatic cowboy who had taken up residence in Tiffany’s carriage house when J. D. Santini’s Jeep roared into the drive. J.D., Tiffany’s brother-in-law and soon-to-be husband, was behind the wheel.

  Katie stepped aside as the rig rolled to a stop.

  “I’m sorry we’re late,” Tiffany apologized. Her face was flushed, her gold eyes bright as she climbed out of the Cherokee. “We went to the farm, and the kids swam in the lake and…well, we just lost track of time.”

  J.D. stretched out of the rig. His grin was wide, a slash of perfect white teeth against a dark complexion.

  “Don’t let her kid you,” he said, winking at Katie. “Stephen, Josh and Christina amused themselves and this one—” he slung his arm familiarly over Tiffany’s shoulders “—couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

  Tiffany burst out laughing and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Dream on, Santini,” she teased, but she wasn’t able to hide the sparkle in her gaze. She was, without a doubt, totally and gloriously in love.

  Katie didn’t feel the least little bit of envy. She believed in love—for other people. It just wasn’t in her cards. “I haven’t been here long, and besides, I got to meet your new tenant.”

  “Luke? Hmm.” Tiffany frowned slightly. “He keeps to himself most of the time.”

  The boys climbed out of the back of the Jeep, and Christina, Tiffany’s three-year-old daughter, hopped to the ground. The minute her sandals hit dry grass she ran, black curls bouncing at her shoulders, plump little arms stretched upward to J.D., the man who was her uncle and was about to become her stepfather. “Piggyback ride!”

  “Sure, dumpling.” J.D. lifted her to his shoulders. Christina giggled and clung to J.D.’s head, and for the first time in a long while, Katie felt a touch of sadness that her son hadn’t yet met his father. In time. All in good time, she told herself.

  “Hey, Mom, what’re you doin’ here?” At ten, Josh had teeth that were still too big for his face, freckles that stood out and huge, deep coffee-brown eyes.

  “Picking you up.”

  “Already?”

  “You’ve got soccer practice.”

  “Not until five.”

  “He can stay—” Tiffany started to offer but caught the quick shake of Katie’s head.

  “Another time.”

  “Okay, but at least come into the house for a quick glass of iced tea or lemonade. There’s something I need to talk about.”

  “It sounds mysterious,” Katie said.

  “Everything sounds mysterious to you. Believe me, this isn’t anything you’ll want to write in the paper.”

  “You never know,” she teased. After having grown up in a houseful of older half brothers, Katie was overjoyed to discover she had not one, but two half sisters. For most of her life she hadn’t known that Tiffany was her sister; it was only after her husband died that Tiffany had decided to move to Bittersweet where her grandmother, Octavia Nesbitt, had spent most of her life.

  The boys took off for the house at a dead run, and by the time Katie, Tiffany and J.D. had crossed the shaded backyard and climbed the few steps to the back porch, the wail of an electric guitar screamed through the open window of Stephen’s room. “My son, the rock star,” Tiffany said with a laugh.

  “I wanna see
!” Christina wriggled unsteadily on J.D.’s shoulders until he helped her down to the floor. She scurried ahead of them through the open door of the house and clambered up the stairs. The airy kitchen smelled of dried herbs and wildflowers that were bunched and hung from the exposed beams overhead. Artwork, schedules and old report cards decorated the refrigerator, while a rack of copper pans was suspended over a center cooking island.

  “I’ll bet the boys are gonna love her wanting to get in on the action.” Tiffany opened the refrigerator and hauled out a pitcher of iced tea.

  “If they’re like my brothers,” Katie said, “they’ll lock the door and tell her that because she’s a girl she’s not allowed inside. It’s a plot by all older brothers to mess up their younger sisters’ self-esteem.”

  “Didn’t seem to take in your case,” J.D. observed as Tiffany poured them each a glass.

  “Careful, Santini, you’re outnumbered here,” Tiffany warned him as she sliced a lemon and dropped wedges into the drinks. She handed Katie her glass and waved her into a chair at the table. Leaning thoughtfully against the counter, she asked, “So, are you ready for the wedding this weekend?”

  “Can’t wait.” Katie took a long sip of tea. “How about you?” She pressed the cool glass to her forehead as Tiffany settled into a chair.

  “I’ll be okay, I guess. I’m thrilled for Bliss and Mason, but…” She let her voice trail off as she took a swallow of cold tea.

  “Don’t tell me,” Katie guessed. “You’re still having trouble dealing with dear old Dad.”

  Small lines of concern appeared between Tiffany’s eyebrows. “Let’s just call him John.”

  “Okay, so the fact that John Cawthorne is going to be there is bothering you.”

  “Not only that he’s there, but that he’s giving the bride away.” Tiffany sighed and, resting her chin on her open palm, stared through the window. “It…it brings it all out in the open again.”

  Katie knew what her half sister was talking about. The situation had been painful for everyone involved. John Cawthorne had sired one daughter out of wedlock and hadn’t bothered to marry the girl—Tiffany’s mother. According to Tiffany, there was no love lost between Rose Nesbitt and John Cawthorne. But he hadn’t finished fathering daughters. He’d married a woman named Margaret from San Francisco, and she’d borne him a second daughter—the legitimate one—Bliss.