His Best Friend's Sister

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “Oliver? You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Or you, I guess.”

  “Thanks, brat.” But he let go of the breath he’d been holding all the same. “How are the negotiations coming along?”

  The conversation thankfully veered off into business then, but Oliver couldn’t get Renee out of his mind. When he ended the call, he couldn’t do anything but sit there and stare at the pictures lining the far wall—all those artistic action shots of the rodeo that Renee had noticed the moment she’d waltzed into his office.

  He hated the rodeo—the smells and dirt, the bulls, the young idiots who risked life and limb for a belt buckle—and that absolutely included Flash. Oliver hated the whole damned thing. But if Renee wanted to go see one and Chloe could disguise her appearance...maybe they could pull it off.

  He had so much he needed to do. He should have Bailey order some flowers—delivered to the office so that he could give them to Renee in person. And more baking things—he’d make sure Lucille brought plenty of supplies with her. He needed to find out who Renee’s lawyers were and make sure they were doing their job. And he should get the name of a trustworthy doctor. He didn’t know how long she’d be here, but if there was a problem, he didn’t want to take her to the emergency room and hope no one recognized her. A private doctor who would be on call—for a price, of course—was the solution. And...

  Well, she’d be here at least long enough to go to the rodeo in three weeks. And after that?

  A vision of her rounding out with her pregnancy materialized in his mind. She absolutely glowed, damn it, and he had a powerful urge to tell her she wasn’t going anywhere until after the baby was born. But it wasn’t like she could just up and relocate with a newborn. She’d need help then, too. And that baby—Oliver would have to make sure that the media didn’t descend like locusts and turn that innocent child into nothing but clickbait.

  Would she want him to be there when the baby was born? Would she want him by her side, holding her hand and telling her how amazing she was? Would she want him to hold that whole new person that was the best of her? Or...not?

  A sickening wave of loss twisted his insides at the thought of Renee giving birth without anyone beside her to fight for her and that baby. Even if it wasn’t him, at least he could make sure Chloe was there. Just so long as Renee knew she wasn’t alone.

  He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself by months. Years. Doctors and lawyers were all well and good, but it wasn’t like he was asking Renee to stay forever. Chloe was right about that, at least. Renee’s life was too complicated for anyone to be thinking about anything more long-term. There were still trials and plea deals to work through and the media to avoid. He needed to focus on the next three weeks. After that, he’d focus on the next three weeks.

  Right. He needed roses and chocolate chips. And more condoms. But those he was getting himself. Because, while he trusted Bailey completely, there was no way in hell Oliver was asking anyone else to pick up protection.

  Because that’s all this was. He was protecting Renee, damn it.

  And if that meant he had to go to the rodeo, then he’d suck it up.

  For her. Only for her.

  * * *

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Breathing hard, Renee managed to open one eye and peer up at him. “I’m going to need five minutes to recover,” she wheezed. The man was simply the best—and most intense—lover she’d ever had.

  At least this time they’d made it to his bed. There was something to be said for actual sheets and pillows. Plus, the air was scented with roses and the smell of them together.

  He’d brought her flowers. It was a ridiculously sweet thing and if she thought about it too much, she might get teary.

  He grinned. “Not that.” Moving slow, he skimmed the sheet down her body. At first, Renee thought he was going for another seduction—right until he unveiled the scars. “These.”

  Renee’s lungs seized up. How could she have thought that he wouldn’t notice them? Oliver was the most attentive, thoughtful and observant man she’d ever know.

  But old habits died hard. She felt her chin lift and her shoulders square, which was impressive considering she was sprawled out over at least three of the four pillows on the bed. “These what?”

  “Renee,” he said, giving her a look. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” But even as the words left her mouth, she winced. Stupid defense mechanisms.

  “That. When you put on your armor. You don’t have to do that with me. And these are...weird.” He looked at her thighs, catching her hands before she could cover them. “I thought they were freckles but they’re too regularly spaced and all grouped together. And your right leg has a lot more of them.”

  How, exactly, did someone say, Oh, those? That’s just what happens when you repeatedly jab a fork into human skin. What of it? She had no idea.

  But if she said, I don’t want to talk about them, then Oliver would wonder. And he’d ask again. He wouldn’t take the pat answer at face value because he was the rare man who actually wanted the truth instead of pretty little lies.

  And she didn’t want to lie to him. She wanted there to be truth and trust between them.

  Funny how those things were easier said than done.

  Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the rows of tiny scars. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want. But if you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

  Really, the man was too perfect. She exhaled slowly and then, when she was sure her hand wasn’t shaking, ran her fingers through his hair. “All right.”

  He rested his head on her leg, staring up at her with something that sure seemed like adoration. She was just happy he could still see around her belly. Honestly, between the pregnancy and the cookies, she was impressed she hadn’t got bigger than she already had. “Do you want to go to the rodeo?”

  “Maybe.” She relaxed back into the pillows and stroked his hair. “But you hate the rodeo.”

  He grinned and she almost wished she could take a picture to show Chloe and say, See? He can have fun. “I can be mildly inconvenienced for an evening if you want to see the Princess of the Rodeo in action,” he said as he moved to lie down by her side again. She couldn’t help but think he sounded resigned to the fact. “Who knows—maybe we’ll get lucky and Flash will get stepped on.”

  She burst out laughing.

  He notched an eyebrow at her. “What?”

  “Chloe said the same thing. I’m sensing a theme.”

  “It’ll be fine. We won’t be in the stands—there’s usually a separate seating section for the VIPs,” he said, stroking a finger down her cheek. “Brooke Bonner is the musical act that night, too. We’ll make a date of it. If you want.”

  She thought about that. “It can’t be any riskier than going to a museum, right? And I do like Brooke’s music. Country rockabilly or whatever—it’s good girl power music.”

  “Then we’ll go.” He squeezed her tight.

  Her heart ached with a strange sort of happiness. It was such an unusual feeling, knowing that someone was willing to do something they didn’t want to just for her.

  She curled back against his side. “Oh, I ordered a few things today to go with the clothing Chloe’s sending.”

  “Hmm?”

  “A new bra. And matching panties.”

  Oliver groaned, which made her laugh again.

  She hadn’t been able to spend the money on her usual brand—La Perla was not cheap. But she’d found some cute sets at a discount site for less than fifty dollars, which was as much as she could comfortably spend. Then she’d done her best to guess on sizes, erring on the side of caution. If they were too big right now, they’d fit eventually.

  “I can’t wait to see them.”

  “Well, you’ll get to do that before me�
��I didn’t know the address here so I had them sent to your office.” It wasn’t like she couldn’t have found out the street address of this condo. But there was something to be said for upping their pranks to a more mature level. One that included a lingerie delivery to the office.

  Oliver rolled onto her, pinning her beneath his weight. The man was amazing—five minutes really was all he needed. She giggled as they struggled to get the sheet out from between their bodies.

  Then, holding himself over her, his smile faded and was replaced by a look of such intensity that it took her breath away all over again. “God, Renee, you destroy me,” he said before he captured her lips with his and it was a good thing he was kissing her because she didn’t know what to say to that.

  Oh, what a mess. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the scars, about why she and Clint had always been at the Lawrence house instead of their own. But the longer she kept quiet, the more he’d feel like she hadn’t put her faith in him when he did find out.

  And the longer this not-dating thing they were doing went on, the more time he spent with her, the bigger the implosion would be. She knew all of that and, sadly, she was too selfish to put a stop to it.

  Because Oliver was the best thing that had happened to her in a long, long time. So she kissed him back and wrapped her legs around his waist and, after he rolled on the condom and plunged into her, she dug her fingers into his bottom to urge him on because she wanted him.

  She might not ruin him. Not like she’d been ruined. But his personal life would become public fodder and his business would take a hit. Because of her. Because of this.

  But at least he knew it.

  Hopefully he’d never find out about the rest.

  * * *

  After two and a half weeks of playing house, Renee was more than ready for a change of scenery.

  Not that she was complaining. She’d managed to produce not just a decent chocolate chip cookie on a consistent basis, but had also turned out surprisingly edible sugar cookies and even a batch of snickerdoodles. She was giving Lucille a solid 75 percent of the credit for that, but still. Oliver was taking cookies to work to share with his staff on an almost-daily basis. She had no idea how he was explaining that, but no one had died of food poisoning so it must be okay.

  The amount of satisfaction she felt when she opened the oven and pulled out a sheet of nearly perfectly round cookies that not only looked right but tasted good was amazing. Even better was when Oliver came home and, after a kiss—okay, sometimes after a lot more than kissing—he’d try a cookie and tell her it was good. The first time he’d pronounced a snickerdoodle she’d made all by herself “really good,” she was so happy she’d actually started crying.

  Stupid hormones.

  The day he’d brought home the underthings she’d ordered, they never made it to the cookies. Hell, they didn’t even make it to the bedroom—not at first anyway. The only time Oliver had hesitated was to ask if the oven was off.

  It was.

  The day the box of clothes arrived from Chloe, Renee spent the whole afternoon playing dress up and video chatting with Chloe about what worked and what didn’t, what Renee liked, what she might change. She got two tunic tops that might last her a few months and two pairs of super-skinny-leg jeans two sizes larger than she normally wore that fitted comfortably with the addition of a rhinestone belt. Chloe had even included a pair of boots—because everyone wears them and you should break them in now, she’d said.

  Which is how Oliver came home one night to find her in boots and not much else.

  They barely made it to the hallway that night.

  She baked and learned how to wash dishes and do laundry and clean up after herself. She pestered Lucille for information about babies and pregnancy and also how to vacuum when the older woman came every Monday to clean the condo. Renee watched baking shows and kids’ cartoons and whatever else struck her fancy, including a kung fu movie with subtitles.

  And when Oliver came home from work, they had fun together. There hadn’t been any breathless updates on the Preston Pyramid Princess being spotted in Texas so Renee didn’t dread leaving the house. They went to late showings of movies and picked up carryout food—she’d never eaten so much barbecue in her entire life but it was glorious—and when she announced that maybe she’d like to learn how to crochet, he took her to a craft store.

  He didn’t ask about the scars again and she didn’t tell him. But then again, he didn’t ask about her former husband or her family and she wasn’t about to taint their time together by bringing any of that crap up. She was surprisingly, amazingly happy right now. If only they could stay this way.

  It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Renee knew this like she knew her name. The way she burned for Oliver was something white-hot and clear—but, like all raging infernos, it would burn itself out soon enough. After all, she’d once believed that Chet loved her beyond distraction, and see how that had turned out?

  She knew Oliver wasn’t the same kind of person Chet had been. She knew that. But it was hard to unlearn a lifetime of lessons. A few really great weeks didn’t change things, not in the long term. Her family was still toxic and she might be called back to New York City at any moment and there was still a pregnancy to deal with. She had no idea how long she and Oliver could share a bed and a condo before things got awkward and even less of an idea of where she would go when it did. She couldn’t imagine him relishing the idea of a crying newborn upending his world.

  But that was months off. Right now, things were good.

  And in a few days, Chloe was coming.

  Then they were all going to the rodeo.

  Twelve

  He wasn’t wearing a hat and that was final.

  Oliver had no problem putting on the boots and the belt buckle, and jeans and a button-up shirt with a sports jacket were fine, but he drew the line at a hat. Yes, Flash looked decent enough in his black felt hat but Oliver was of the opinion—the correct opinion—that his father looked like a life-size Howdy Doody doll in his enormous Stetson.

  No hats.

  Oliver was fully aware he was being irrational. But he had barely seen Renee for the last few days. When Chloe had blown into town like a twister, she’d swept Renee up and together they’d decamped to Chloe’s place for “quality girl time.”

  Which was fine. He was perfectly capable of entertaining himself. He’d been doing it for years.

  But when he came home to an empty condo and no fresh-baked cookies, it bothered him and it had nothing to do with actual cookies. Renee wasn’t there to breathlessly tell him about everything she’d accomplished that day. Whether it was successfully baking a loaf of bread or managing to crochet a small pot holder—at least, that’s what they were calling that lopsided square of yarn—she did so with such raw joy that he couldn’t help it if he wound up wrapping her in his arms before she’d even asked how his day was.

  She glowed, damn it. Every day, her body changed a little bit and the haunted shadows under her eyes became an ever more distant memory and he was helpless to do anything but stare at her in wonder.

  Because she was wonderful. And he’d missed her more than any reasonable man should miss a houseguest for the last two days.

  But that was just it, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a houseguest, not anymore. She was...

  His. She was his.

  Wasn’t she?

  He was in a foul mood by the time he made it to the Fort Worth Stockyards. He was hours early, but he wanted to talk to security and make sure Renee wouldn’t have any problems.

  Plus, now that he was here, he was duty-bound to check in with the promoter and the stock manager about how Chloe was doing. The attendance numbers were good and her clothing line was selling well, as were the other souvenirs, but he wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

  He gritted his teeth and grinned
his way through handshakes and back slaps. Everyone had good things to say about Chloe’s management, which was great.

  Where the hell were she and Renee?

  Then, like something out of a damned movie, the crowd of riders and horses and calves all parted and there she was. His breath caught in his throat as he stared. He barely recognized her, but he felt it when Renee looked up and their eyes met across the crowd. She gave him a little smile, one that sent a thrill all the way down to his toes, which were firmly wedged into his damn boots.

  Chloe had worked magic on Renee. Her hair curled and artfully arranged under the brim of a straw hat, she was wearing a lot more makeup than usual. Her jeans clung to her curves and her button-up top sparkled with sequins. Her curves were more pronounced, her belly rounding out behind a ridiculous sequined buckle. He guessed that, if someone didn’t know she was pregnant she might not look it. She looked like a cowgirl, one that could walk in this world.

  Even though it’d only been two days, he could still see how much her body had changed and he was pissed that he’d missed a single moment.

  Leading her over to where the calves for the calf-roping event were penned up, Chloe said something to Renee and they laughed.

  This was how she should always be—laughing and having fun and no doubt making cooing noises to the calf that sniffed her hand.

  God, he’d missed her. Too much. He’d done his best to focus on the last three weeks instead of game planning the next few months or years, but he couldn’t help the fantasy that spun out of control in his mind.

  He could marry her. He could adopt her baby and they could be a family. He’d grow old with her by his side, teasing each other while eating cookies and spending long evenings in bed and doing all those things parents did with kids—parks and soccer games and school plays. All those things that his parents had done with him—and her—when they were kids.

  She could make him happy.

  Then a thought jolted him almost completely out of his chair. All those happy scenes?