Marrying Dr. Maverick

by Karen Rose Smith

  She picked up the bags she’d rested on the porch while she was opening the door and went inside. It was one floor with two bedrooms, a spacious living room, a small dining area, and a basic kitchen. It was obvious he didn’t spend much time here. There wasn’t a loose sneaker or a stray newspaper or magazine anywhere. The kitchen looked pristine, as if he never cooked in it. Most of all, she admired the floor-to-ceiling fireplace. She could imagine being curled up on the tan corduroy sofa that sat opposite, sharing a cozy evening with Brooks. Maybe more than a cozy evening.

  Thoughts like those were invading her waking as well as sleeping hours now, and she wasn’t pushing them away quite as forcefully. After all, love made you think about all aspects of being together. She now knew exactly what had caused those looks on Laila, Abby and Annabel’s faces when they’d been falling in love.

  Whenever Brooks entered her mind, she had to smile. Whenever she thought about him caring for an animal, her heart warmed. Whenever he got close, her stomach fluttered. All signs she’d never had before. Now she knew what they all added up to—love. This marriage wasn’t going to be one of convenience for her. She was going to mean those vows when she said them. And Brooks...well, maybe a year would make a difference. Maybe, in their time together, he’d tumble head over heels in love with her, too.

  She planned supper for around six-thirty. The time had seemed reasonable. After all, a pot roast could cook a little longer if Brooks was late. She’d wrapped baking potatoes in foil before popping them in the oven. Blueberry cobbler would stay warm for a while or could be reheated in the microwave. But at seven-thirty, she was still telling herself all that as she worried in earnest. At eight o’clock she got the call.

  “Are you all right?” She tried to keep the note of panic from her voice.

  “I’m fine. There was a break in fencing at one of the ranches and some calves got wound up in barbed wire. I ended up working by flashlight and I didn’t have a cell signal to call sooner. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get home.”

  “It’s probably ruined.”

  “Nope. The meat might be a little stringy, but it’s salvageable. What’s your ETA?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Sounds good. See you then.”

  Jazzy hung up the phone, relieved that Brooks was okay. More than relieved, really.

  Fifteen minutes to the dot later, she heard the garage door go up. She heard the door open into the mudroom. When Brooks appeared in the kitchen, she couldn’t help but gasp. He was practically covered in mud!

  “I haven’t been calf-roping, but close to it,” he joked.

  He unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it. It was wet as well as muddy, and he didn’t know where to lay it.

  She took it from him and plopped it in the mudroom sink. “I can get clothes from your room if you don’t mind me opening your closet or drawers.”

  “I don’t mind. I don’t want to track mud in there. Second long drawer in the dresser. Just grab sweatpants and a sweatshirt.”

  Hurrying off to his room, she switched on the light and looked around. There was a four-poster, king-size bed, a dresser with a detached mirror, a chest of drawers by the closet and a caned-back chair next to the bed. His bedspread was imprinted with mountains and moose, and the blinds were navy like the background of the spread. This was a thoroughly masculine room, and when she thought about that bed and him in it—

  Quickly she went to the dresser and pulled out pants and a shirt, then hurried back to the mudroom. He’d shut the door. She could hear the spigot from the sink running, so she knocked.

  “I’m washing off,” he said. “Just drop them on the other side of the door and I’ll grab them.”

  After they were married, would she be able to open that door and just walk in? Would he want her to?

  Crossing to the kitchen, she pulled the food from the oven and arranged their plates. The vegetables had practically disintegrated, but the meat was surely tender. She fixed two plates, but instead of arranging them on the table, she took them into the living room and set them on the coffee table.

  When Brooks came into the living room, he looked like a different person from the mud-splattered one who’d come home.

  “Soap and water make a difference,” she teased.

  “Soap and water might not make a difference for those clothes.”

  “That’s why man invented washing machines. You’d be amazed.”

  He glanced at the meal on the coffee table. “I already am.”

  She patted the sofa next to her. “Come on. I bet you’re cold. It’s supposed to go down to freezing out there tonight. A hot meal will help you warm up again.”

  He smiled and sat on the sofa beside her. That butterfly feeling in her stomach wasn’t because of hunger.

  They ate side by side. Jazzy was aware of every bite Brooks took, each sideways glance, the lift of his smile that said he approved of her cooking. She finished before he did, and she went to the kitchen for the whipped cream and cobbler.

  After Brooks laid his head back against the sofa cushion for a moment, he eyed her soberly. “Do you know, I’ve never had a meal like this cooked for me before?”

  “So no woman has tried to make inroads to your heart through your stomach?” she asked in mock horror.

  To her surprise, instead of taking a lighter road, he admitted, “Lynnette didn’t cook. We had takeout or meals at a local diner, much like Dad does.” He paused and added, “And I haven’t dated much since then.”

  And she knew exactly why. Handing him the cobbler, she said, “I’ll cook when I can, for your dad, too.”

  “I think you’re going to deserve more than a piece of land when our year is up.”

  Did that mean he could possibly give her his heart? But then he added, “I might have to raise your salary.”

  She felt her hopes wither but she wouldn’t let him notice. “Try the cobbler,” she encouraged brightly.

  He did and she did. When she glanced over at him, she saw he was watching her with that deep intensity that darkened his eyes. A ripple of excitement skipped up her spine.

  “What?” she asked.

  He leaned toward her and stroked his finger above the skin over her lip. “Whipped cream.”

  She could imagine him using that voice in bed with her. She could imagine him using that voice in between kisses, in between—

  He lifted his finger to his lips and licked off the whipped cream he’d taken off hers. Then he leaned closer to her.

  Jazzy’s insides were all a-twitter. Maybe he was going to kiss her. Maybe she’d actually feel his lips on hers, like she’d dreamt about for so many nights now.

  But as soon as she had the thought, he must have realized what he was doing. His expression closed down, that dark, male intensity left his eyes, and he was once again essentially her business partner. Nothing more.

  That was it, she thought. She’d have to deal with a year of wanting him to kiss her...a year of wanting more than that.

  But she had her pride, too. She certainly wouldn’t throw herself at him. She wasn’t going to set herself up for a huge fall. She’d have to be as calm and practical about this as he was.

  Calm and practical, she told herself once again. “We really should get back to your dad’s.”

  Brooks’s expression didn’t change, though she could feel his body tense beside her. “Just let me get my boots.”

  As he hiked himself up off the couch and strode toward his bedroom, she whispered to herself once more, “Just be calm and practical, and you’ll be fine.”

  But she didn’t believe it.

  * * *

  The next few days sped by as Jazzy manned the phones at Brooks’s clinic and tried to forget
that he’d almost kissed her, tried to stop asking herself the question—why hadn’t he kissed her? The day before the wedding, she was getting ready for work in the morning when Cecilia came to her room.

  After Jazzy let her friend in, Cecelia said, “I’m kidnapping you this morning.”

  Jazzy ran her brush through her hair. “What do you mean kidnapping me?”

  “I told Brooks you had something important to do for the wedding this morning. He said that was fine. There aren’t any appointments on Buckskin Clinic’s schedule and you could take the morning off.”

  “Then I really should go check on his dad—”

  “Nope. You’re going with me to Bea’s Beauty Salon. You are getting a makeover.”

  Jazzy spun around. “A makeover?”

  “A hair trim, some highlighting, and I brought a bunch of makeup along. We’re going to get you ready for the wedding.”

  At first she was going to protest, but then she thought about her relationship with Brooks thus far. She thought he found her attractive, yet something was holding him back. Maybe his past romantic history. Maybe his broken engagement. Maybe he just didn’t want to delve under the surface of the murky waters of their business arrangement. Maybe all of the above. But Jazzy knew she wanted more than a marriage on paper. If she was going to be married to Brooks, then she wanted to be married to him. She was afraid if she told him that, he’d call off the whole agreement. Possibly this whole deal had made her a little crazy. They certainly hadn’t known each other very long. But she felt more sure of this marriage than she’d felt about anything in her life.

  “My family’s arriving today,” she murmured. “Abby and Cade are driving my car up and parking it at Brooks’s condo.”

  “All of your family is coming?”

  “Everyone.”

  “But you don’t look as happy about it as you should. What’s going on, Jazzy?”

  Oh, no. She couldn’t confide this marriage of convenience to anyone. Not anyone. Not for her sake, not for Brooks’s sake, and not for his dad’s sake.

  “Just jittery, I guess. Maybe a day at the salon is just what I need,” she joked.

  She’d never been that fashion-conscious or put much store in spending hours in front of a mirror. But Cecilia didn’t wear gobs of makeup and she certainly looked pretty. Maybe she couldn’t find a guy because she didn’t care about all that as much as she should.

  Not that she wanted just any guy anymore. She wanted Brooks Smith.

  “I have something I want to show you.” Jazzy went to the small closet, reached up for a hanger, and brought out her wedding dress for Cecilia to see. It was a Western-cut, three-quarter length dress with just the right amount of fringe. “I bought it online, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s perfect for you. Oh, Jazzy, you’re going to look so pretty.”

  Jazzy reached up to the shelf above where her clothes were hanging and pulled down a Western hat with a bit of tulle around the brim and down the back. “And this goes with it.”

  “I’m so glad you showed that to me. We’ll keep that in mind when we’re getting your hair done. I have you set up for a manicure and a pedicure at the same time. A facial first.”

  “Cecilia, that’s too much.”

  “Nonsense. It’s part of my wedding gift to you...and Brooks,” she said with a wink. “Believe me, he’ll appreciate it when you’re done over.”

  Done over.

  “So what are you wearing tonight for the rehearsal dinner?” Cecilia asked.

  “There isn’t a rehearsal, per se. We’re going to dinner with our families and then the minister is going over the basics at the church. I’m not having bridesmaids. Jordyn will be my witness. Brooks’s dad is going to be his.”

  “So where are you all going to dinner tonight?”

  “The diner. They’ve reserved a big table. I just hope my family behaves. You know how they can get. Mom tried to talk me out of getting married. Dad asked a lot of questions. Laila, Abby and Annabel would have taken over the ceremony and everything about the reception if I hadn’t put my foot down...hard. Brooks and I had everything planned and we knew exactly what we wanted. I wasn’t going to let my family mess with that. We don’t want a big shindig for Brooks’s dad to have to deal with. I’ve explained that to everyone more than once so I hope they’ll be on their best behavior.”

  “You don’t want a fuss or argument that could cause a heart attack.”

  “Exactly. I’m worried about Barrett as it is, how he’s going to be, how he’s going to feel, what he’s going to think.”

  “Think about you and Brooks?”

  “And about my family’s attitude. Barrett actually believes in love at first sight. He and his wife had it. So he’s going to be right in there rooting for us. He could be at odds with my parents.”

  Cecilia suddenly took Jazzy’s hand. “Jazzy, what do you want?”

  “I want a happy, committed, long-lasting marriage with lots of babies.”

  “Have you and Brooks talked about babies?”

  “No. But we have time.” They had a year...at least. She had to be hopeful.

  Cecilia ran her hand down the delicate fabric of the wedding dress and the silky fringe at the sleeves. “This really is magnificent. That means everything that goes with it should be, too. Do you have shoes?”

  “High-heeled boots. I ordered those online, too. But they’re a little big. I’ll stuff tissue in the toes and in the back.” Pulling them out from the bottom of the closet, Jazzy showed Cecilia the calf-high boots.

  “I was hoping you’d have open-toed shoes, so everyone could see your pedicure.”

  “It’s mid-October in Montana. I don’t want my feet to freeze.”

  Cecilia shrugged. “The boots will make you look sexy. Brooks will still be taller than you, even with those heels.”

  Actually, Jazzy liked the effect of Brooks towering over her. She liked the fact that when he hugged her, he surrounded her.

  “What color for the toenails and fingernails? What will you be wearing after the wedding?”

  Jazzy certainly hadn’t thought about that, either. They’d be going back to Brooks’s condo. It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere special. “I guess I’ll wear something I brought along.”

  “You are not talking flannel pajamas, are you?”

  “No, I brought along a nightgown and robe.”

  “Yeah, I bet it’s the kind you feel comfortable in. That’s not what you need. Something else we’re fitting in this morning. We’ll be stopping at the General Store. Nina has a rack of nightgowns and robes. Maybe if there’s time when we’re done, I’ll drive you into Kalispell to a cute little dress shop I know there. You need something special for tonight, too, Jazzy. Something that shows your family you know exactly what you’re doing...something that shows this town that this wedding isn’t of the shotgun variety.”

  “Is that what everyone’s saying? That I had to get married because I was pregnant?”

  “I’ve heard it at the beauty salon, around the General Store, around the volunteers at the elementary school.”

  “I hope you squelched it.”

  “You know each one of those gossip conversations is like a little bonfire. It takes a lot of water to douse them out. The best thing would be seeing you looking slim and confident and ready to go into this marriage as if it’s just any other marriage. And it is like any other marriage, right?”

  Oh, how Jazzy wished that were true. “It’s a marriage that Brooks and I will work at to make last.”

  That’s what she had to believe.

  * * *

  That evening when Jazzy took off her coat at the diner, all eyes in the place seemed to be focused on her. Especially Brooks’s.

  Cecilia had insisted she buy a r
ed dress. The one she’d chosen was simple and sleek enough—even understated with its high neckline and just-above-the-knee hem. But there was a slit in the side and when she turned around, there was a keyhole in the back.

  But Brooks wasn’t looking at her back; he was looking at her front, and boy, was he looking at her front. Not only the dress, but her hair and her face, too. She’d used mascara, lipstick and some kind of powder that almost shimmered on her skin. With her newly highlighted blond hair tapered around her face in a fresh style, she’d never felt more confident as a woman.

  Brooks was looking at her as a very stunned man.

  “There she is,” Barrett said with a wide smile. “I knew she wouldn’t run out on you.”

  But Brooks didn’t seem to hear his father. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. And she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He’d worn a dressier Western shirt tonight with bolo tie and black jeans with boots. Tall and handsome and ultimately sexy, she found herself trembling just standing there.

  “Don’t you look beautiful,” her mother said, motioning to the chair next to her. “Not that you don’t always look pretty, but tonight something’s...different.”

  “She’s dressed to bowl over any guy she meets,” Brody said, not looking as if he approved.

  But she squelched that statement right away. “Only one guy,” she assured them all. Was she acting or had she really said that? She meant it.

  Brooks stepped closer to her like a fiancé would, took her hand and squeezed it.

  Leaning close to her ear, he murmured, “You look gorgeous.”

  Was he acting, too?

  He led her to the chair her mother had gestured to and pulled it out for her. She sank down onto it before her legs gave way. This was some way to start the evening with her head feeling as if it were filled with cotton and her mouth totally dry.