“Well, calling ourselves Studs wasn’t one of the brighter things we ever did. And whatever you do, don’t tell Gwen,” Steve grumbled.
“Married a month and already he’s whipped.” Ki shook his dark head sadly. “Watch out, Tripp. Next it will be you.”
“Come on, Ki,” Steve put in. “Quit giving him a hard time. You know it’s not for real. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find the real thing, and we’ll all be back here in a year or two, giving him another bachelor party.”
Tripp’s jaw tightened.
“Hey, buddy, we all know the story.” Steve leaned back against the railing of the deck he had built so many years ago, on one of their trips to the cabin. “It’s okay.”
“I think it’s a really great thing you’re doing, making your mama happy,” Deke put in. “I always did have a thing for Miss Kitty Belle. My kind of woman.”
The perfect set-up line. They might as well have said it in unison. Ki spoke first. “Yeah, but, Deke, they’re all your kind of woman.”
And the four of them laughed out loud, still enjoying their oldest, most tired jokes.
It punctured the tension nicely. Tripp relaxed, now that he knew they knew, and he didn’t have to pretend anymore that there was anything normal at all about this wedding. But of course they knew. They knew him better than anyone. Anyone except Bridgie.
And when the evening was ready to wind to a close, they were all feeling pretty mellow. Deke looked like he was going to fall asleep right there in his lounge chair, and Steve stifled a yawn.
The Studs were getting out of practice at this carousing business.
They roused Steve and Deke, and the four of them lumbered over to the door into the upstairs part of the cabin.
“Well, none of us have a whole lot of practice at bachelor parties, especially bachelor parties where the groom has every intention of being a bachelor again very soon, but let me wish you all the best, old friend,” Steve said fondly. He reached over and gave Tripp a hug.
“I hope you know what you’re doin’.” Deke offered his hand. “Good luck, pal. You’re gonna need it. Matrimony is a very strange business if you ask me. And this one is stranger than most, seeing as how you’re the groom.”
“Wait, I remembered. Egghead. That’s what we used to call her. Egghead Emerick. You guys remember?” Ki asked suddenly.
Bridgie deserved better than that stupid, unpleasant nickname. Anger blazed through Tripp. Even though he had always been the one who walked away from fistfights, the one who broke things up and calmed things down, Tripp had the overpowering need to punch Ki Jones in the face.
Stumbling a bit, Ki hung on to the door for balance. “Egghead Emerick. Isn’t that a hoot? Tripp getting married, and picking Egghead Emerick.”
Before Tripp could stop himself, he’d grabbed Ki by the collar and slammed him against the rough outside wall of the cabin.
That woke them all up.
Steve and Deke jumped in to pull Tripp away, but he held on, furious with Ki, furious with himself.
“Hey, what’s this?” Ki held up his hands to show that he wasn’t fighting back. “Slow down, Tripp. No offense meant.”
“I swear, I will personally rip to pieces anyone who ever calls her Egghead again. Got that?”
“We got it, we got it,” they murmured. “Come on, Tripp, buddy, calm down. You’re getting married in the morning.”
* * *
INSIDE THE CABIN, Bridget quickly moved away from the door. Her ears were ringing as she raced down the hall to her own bedroom.
Egghead Emerick. Isn’t that a hoot? Tripp getting married, and picking Egghead Emerick.
She’d come up to tell Tripp it was getting late, that maybe he and his Stud buds ought to come in now, but she hadn’t gotten any farther than the door when she’d heard Ki’s voice from outside.
Isn’t that a hoot?... Picking Egghead Emerick...
She hadn’t minded the nickname back in the old days. She was glad she was smart and focused and a lot less silly than other women. Even now, it represented something important to her, and that was a willingness to be who she was no matter what a bunch of jackass men thought. Jay appreciated her intelligence. Jay appreciated her for what she could accomplish, whether she was soft and charming or not.
Whereas Tripp... Well, Tripp had appreciated her intelligence, too, at least as long as it kept him in school and on the track team.
But he had certainly never been attracted by her brain. In fact, until a few days ago, he’d never been attracted by anything else of hers, either.
Back in Chicago, just for a moment, she’d thought maybe Tripp was starting to feel something for her. When he’d kissed her, when he’d held her, even when he’d asked her if marriage to him was abhorrent, she thought she’d seen something in his eyes.
But it was impossible.
To Tripp and his buddies, she would always be Egghead Emerick, the too-earnest, too-solemn girl with the brain. The girl who was about as erotic as the economics textbook under her arm.
“So who cares?” she muttered, as she tossed herself into bed. “I’ve always known Tripp and I have nothing in common. He’s a Stud, and I’m an Egghead. And never the twain shall meet.”
Chapter Ten
“Come on, it’s your wedding day,” Tripp told her. He was obviously trying to be charming, and he was doing a good job.
It didn’t hurt his case that he looked fabulous. He’d gotten his hair cut on the way to this wedding breakfast, so it was a little shorter, a little crisper. And it also shone lighter than usual in the bright sunlight on the hotel terrace. Strands of gold mixed in with the warm brown of his hair, making Tripp the golden boy she’d always imagined him.
And his eyes were so blue.
When he unrolled that effortless charm, it was quite something. He focused all his attention on her, flattering her, making small, private jokes for her. He did everything but cut up her food and feed her.
After about five minutes of that treatment, she was ready for the old, careless, irreverent Tripp. This one, this Stepford Tripp, sapped her strength.
Kitty Belle had arranged this breakfast, inviting the Stud boys, the justice of the peace—who, rather disappointingly, was a regular old judge of some sort and not an Elvis impersonator—the photographer and the happy couple. It seemed the least they could do to let his mother throw the breakfast, since she had so graciously accepted the end to the rest of her huge, elaborate party-giving plans.
Here, on the glass-enclosed terrace of one of Tahoe’s smaller, prettier hotels, with all kinds of flowers blooming around them, Bridget began to feel like this was a wedding, after all.
It made her want to cry.
“Cheer up,” Tripp cajoled. “Do you want people to think it’s such a horrible fate to marry me?”
“It isn’t exactly a walk in the park,” she whispered back.
“I know just what will cheer Bridget up,” Kitty Belle said gaily. She was drinking a Mimosa, splashing a liberal amount of champagne with her orange juice, and she seemed giddier than usual.
Bridget had a moment of worry. Was Kitty Belle supposed to be drinking alcohol with whatever medication she was on? But that was odd. She couldn’t recall Kitty Belle ever taking any medication. But surely, for a life-threatening illness...
She had no time to finish the thought, because Tripp suddenly stood up, welcoming a rather grubby newcomer to their little gathering. Who was that?
Kitty Belle clapped her hands together. “What perfect timing.”
“For what?”
“Why, for your father to arrive. Here he is now.”
“M-my father?” she sputtered, giving this man the once-over. Holy smokes! She didn’t know whose father this was, but he definitely wasn’t hers.
“Surprise, darling,” Tripp said, tossing her a meaningful look. “I brought your dad here from St. Paul, just in time to give you away.”
Bridget felt her mouth drop open. Was this some kind of joke
?
“Everyone,” Tripp offered, “this is Bridget’s father, Frank Emerick.”
“Howdy, all,” he said, hooking his weathered thumbs under the waistband of his polyester pants. “Proud to know you.” He inclined his head at Bridget. “Howdy, darlin’. Awful glad this here boy of yorn arranged so’s I could be here. Wouldn’t want to miss my little gal’s nuptials.”
Did people really talk like that, or was this a put-on? He sounded like he’d just ridden over from “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.”
There were wide eyes around the table, but the most curious glances were directed at Bridget, who still hadn’t said a word to this father of hers. It was as if they were all waiting with bated breath to see what she would say.
But she hadn’t a clue.
Luckily, Kitty Belle jumped in to fill the gap. “There’s a little bit of an estrangement,” she whispered loudly to the judge and the Studs. “But I’m sure they’ll patch it up now that everyone’s together again.”
So this father impostor was plopped down right between Tripp and Kitty Belle, and he began wolfing down champagne and eggs Benedict like there was no tomorrow. Bridget squinted across the table at him, and he smiled back at her, revealing a gold tooth and a friendly disposition.
Still, she could swear she’d seen those grizzled cheeks and rheumy eyes somewhere before.
“Thank you so much, Tripp,” she said with false brightness, “for bringing my father. Isn’t that just too fun for words?”
“I was hoping you’d feel that way.” But she saw the mischief in his eyes.
“Tell us, Mr. Emerick...or should I call you Frank?” Kitty Belle inquired politely.
“Oh, Frank’s fine. That okay with you?” he asked Tripp.
“Fine with me.”
“Okey dokey, then. Glad we got that squared away.”
“Anyway, Frank, we’re so glad to have you with us.” Kitty Belle leaned over closer. “You must tell me about Bridget as a child.”
“Great little gal. A real pistol.” The old man launched into a story about gambling debts and using Bridget as collateral that was simply appalling. Nonetheless, she thought she recognized it from a Shirley Temple movie. If this really were her father, she imagined any prospective mother-in-law would have grave doubts about her gene pool.
But Kitty Belle drank it all in, murmuring, “Isn’t that fascinating?” at appropriate moments.
Well, it was fascinating. It just wasn’t remotely true.
The minute Tripp got up from the table, she did, too. She cornered him behind a potted palm, and she hissed, “Who is that horrid old man?”
“Your father, you mean?”
“He’s not my father. He’s nothing like my father!”
“He’ll do for one day.” Tripp shrugged. “Kitty Belle was really upset that you weren’t going to have any family here, and the only way to calm her down seemed to be to produce one. As long as everything else about this wedding was a fraud, I thought a fake father was par for the course. Besides, the old coot is kind of entertaining. I figured contending with him might take your mind off whatever it is that has you so blue.”
She blinked. He was right. The minute she’d been saddled with an extra father, she’d forgotten she was terminally depressed about this whole charade of a wedding.
“So where did you dig him up? Wait, don’t tell me. He lost all his dough at a casino, or maybe his gold mine went dry. So out of the goodness of your heart, you gave him big bucks to be Dad for a day.”
“Nope. Not even close. His name is Jedidiah Leland, and he runs the general store off Route 28.” A crooked smile curved his narrow lips. “And it didn’t cost anything. Well, not much.”
“Rent-a-Dad. At least you didn’t get the Elvis impersonator from Cupid’s Chapel.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“Thank goodness. You know, no one with half a brain would ever think that man was a plumber from St. Paul,” she chided.
“Kitty Belle seems to like him.”
Bridget shook her head in disbelief. “She does. She loves him. Oh, Tripp, this is so awful of you.”
“I’m just glad you’re enjoying it.”
“Enjoying it? I’m outraged! Now there are...” she counted quickly “—six people who think that man is my father. How will I ever live this down?”
“He’s harmless, Bridgie,” he said, angling an arm around her. “Kitty Belle is happy, the guys all know he’s a fake and what do you care about the other two? They’re hired help.”
“Why don’t I find that comforting?”
Over by the table, she caught sight of Jed, trying to hide a bottle of champagne in his coat pocket.
“You chose a petty thief to be my father,” she grumbled. “Couldn’t you at least have picked someone presentable?”
“There’s always that Elvis impersonator.”
She punched him in the shoulder, but she was smiling. And they were arm in arm as they walked back to the table.
* * *
THE WEDDING WAS OVER before it began. “Do you take this woman?” went sailing past, along with sickness and health and forsaking all others.
Bridget was so nervous, she knew the only way she was going to get through this thing was to hang on to Tripp, and hang on tight. She couldn’t look at any of his Stud pals; she knew what they thought of her and this wedding. What a hoot, picking Egghead Emerick.
And she couldn’t look at Kitty Belle without thinking of the reason behind the whole performance.
So she didn’t have any choice. She looked at Tripp. She gazed into his eyes. She drank him in.
He didn’t seem to mind.
Not for the first time, she and Tripp were a team. Just like when they’d pulled an all-nighter to get him through his history final, or when he’d boosted her up the ivy-covered wall of her dorm to sneak her back in after curfew, they had a common purpose.
And they also had a real bond—trying to keep a lid on the pack of lies they were telling.
Standing next to Tripp as the judge read their vows, Bridget could read his emotions as well as her own. They were both anxious, guilty, afraid that at the last minute someone would stand up and yell, “Stop this wedding! It isn’t real!”
And yet she knew, too, that they were each glad they had a friend to lean on. There is no one I would even consider doing this with—except you.
He’d said that at the very beginning, but it was even truer now.
Kitty Belle had festooned flowers all over the cabin, but Bridget wouldn’t even have noticed, except for the fact that Jed Leland, a.k.a. Dad Emerick, tripped over a miniature tree of roses and sent the whole thing flying, right before the judge launched into “the power vested in me” part.
“You can certainly tell he’s your father,” Tripp said for her ears only, as Steve and Ki tried to clean up the scattered flowers and leaves and Deke offered a steadying hand to old Jed. Meanwhile, everybody else just stood there, waiting to finish up the ceremony. “Something in the way he moves—definite family resemblance.”
She should’ve been insulted, but she had to bite down hard not to laugh. It was the most ridiculous wedding that ever was, but she could hardly start chortling when Kitty Belle was sitting back there beaming and swooning with joy. It might be impossible, it might be torture, but seeing Mrs. Ashby so ecstatic almost made it worth it.
Besides, she got to lean on the most handsome man in captivity, even more gorgeous than usual in stark black formal wear, and she could pretend for a few hours that he really was hers.
It was perfectly acceptable for a bride to cling to her groom for support, to clutch at his warm, strong arm, to edge in as close as was humanly possible without sharing the same space. It happened all the time at weddings. Didn’t it?
Everything else around her was a blur. The next thing she knew, the judge said, “You may kiss the bride,” and Tripp gave her a funny, uncertain look. Bridget just waited, clutching her bouquet.
&nbs
p; Finally, when she had all but decided he wasn’t going to do it, he leaned over, framed her face with his hands and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet, small kiss that made her bones melt. She hung on, bouquet and all, kissing him back like there was no tomorrow, and she felt the surprise and tension rise in his body. Obviously, he had expected the kiss to be as big a fake as everything else about this wedding.
But she didn’t care. She just put her heart and soul into that one kiss. How many chances was she going to get to kiss this kind of groom?
Somewhere in the periphery of her consciousness, she could hear Tripp’s mother crying, “Look how in love they are. Isn’t it wonderful?”
And then Kitty Belle started to sob and wail. The sound grew louder, it lasted longer, and Tripp pulled away from Bridget’s embrace. Slowly, regretfully, he brushed a soft kiss across her cheek, and then he went to his mother.
“Are you all right?” he asked, clearing a path to a chair so Kitty Belle could sit down. “Are you feeling okay, Mother?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s just all the excitement,” she whimpered. But then the tears started to flow again, and Kitty Belle sobbed, “Tripp, I’ve been waiting so long, and you’re finally married. Finally married. I can hardly believe it.”
There was a pause. And then Tripp said lightly, “I can hardly believe it, either.”
Kitty Belle wailed even louder, as everyone ran around looking for tissues. Tripp patted his mother’s arm, and Bridget just sort of hovered.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked gently. Kitty Belle seemed so agitated. No one knew exactly what her condition was, but it couldn’t be good. What if the excitement of the wedding was too much for her? What would they do?
But her new mother-in-law assured them that she was really fine. She dabbed at her tears, she sniffled a little and then she sat up like the iron-willed aristocrat she was.
“Finish the ceremony,” she commanded.
Once Upon a Honeymoon (Harlequin American Romance) Page 14