The Surprise Wedding

by Jean Oram

  Nope. His mind was going down that dirty road again. It seemed like every interchange in his brain looped around to head back in that direction once the vision of her nightie fed in.

  Trish’s eyes seemed to be stuck on their entwined arms, her gaze drifting up to take in Devon’s expression, then Olivia’s tousled curls, her tasteful pearl earrings.

  No. No-o-o. She was somehow linking things that shouldn’t be linked. Ever. She was as bad as Mary Alice.

  “You know, Devon dated someone in uni—”

  “Hey, look at the time!” Devon said suddenly, causing Copter to bark and leap to his feet. “Sorry, Trish. We’ve got to run or we’re totally going to miss the concert.”

  Olivia grabbed Devon’s elbow, allowing him to lead her through the throng of dancers moving to Vapid Magpie’s latest hit. They were in the center of town, at an outdoor stage set up near a large oak tree where a fluffy gray cat was currently yowling, her little kitty voice half drowned out by the music.

  “Look!” She pointed to the feline and Devon gave a smile of recognition.

  “Fluffy. She’ll be up there until someone rescues her.”

  “The poor thing.”

  Devon shrugged and pulled Olivia farther into the warm mass of people scattered across the soft grass.

  “Will someone go get it?”

  “Oz usually does.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The husband of Gran’s granddaughter.”

  “He’s a firefighter?”

  “Nah, the cat just likes his attention.” Devon came to a stop, hollering his approval for the band as the song ended. He looked happy, free.

  How was it that in the middle of all their worries and battles he could just let it all go? They’d been civil for a few hours, but how was his stomach not a tangled nest of concerns and what-ifs?

  Well, he was Devon. That’s who he was.

  She sighed. Maybe, instead of fretting over their differences, she should learn to take a bit of it for herself here and there. It wouldn’t kill her to let loose a little, would it?

  Not fall for Devon like the last time she’d let herself go, but just…enjoy the ride and get off before it got too nutso.

  “How did Nicola get these guys to come here?” she asked, in the momentary quiet before the next song began. The band had recently broken out and was in high demand. Blueberry Springs was a small town out in the middle of nowhere. The two did not fit.

  “She’s got skills.” He grinned, and for the first time since hearing about Devon’s ex-girlfriend Olivia thought she might have competition for his affection.

  Whoa. Stop that thought train.

  She was not competing with anyone for his affection. She’d been down that path and had no interest in being lured there again despite how surprisingly fun this afternoon had turned out to be. They’d worked well together—like they had in their college classes—and she’d seen a new, more mature side of Devon. But that didn’t mean she was in love with him.

  A man in camouflage clothing appeared close to them and Olivia stumbled against Devon, his arms going around her like a natural shield as he caught her. She’d seen the guy around town, watching her.

  “Hey, Pete,” Devon said, releasing Olivia. She immediately missed his warmth, the feeling of safety and comfort that always seemed to come with his embraces. “This is Olivia. Olivia, this is Peter Lunn. He’s Barry’s son.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He nodded, but didn’t reply, the crowd pulling him back in again.

  She turned to Devon. “You have him spying on me, too?” She hugged her arms, feeling exposed.

  “Nope.” Devon leaned closer, speaking into her ear as the music throbbed, “He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a teen. He’s barely spoken since.”

  “That’s awful.” Just another quirky piece of Blueberry Springs history. But why did he keep watching her? It made her uncomfortable. “And what about Logan? Why is he spying on me?” She’d seen him parked near the concert, talking with someone who gave him a wristband, letting him in. He was around here somewhere, too.

  “He’s not spying.”

  “Well, whatever it’s called in Blueberry Springs—what is he doing?”

  “He’s in security.”

  “And?” She gave him a pointed look and waited.

  Devon didn’t want to answer, she could see that. But when his blue eyes flashed to hers, she saw him give in. “He’s following us. Making sure the protesters don’t…I don’t know. He’s just making sure we stay safe.”

  Olivia didn’t know how to react. He’d hired Logan, her best friend’s husband, to tail her because he was worried? Logan had chased Barry off in the meadow with his presence, and he’d also helped them escape from the protesters outside the café earlier. But it all felt unnecessary.

  Her father was overprotective. He was also controlling and domineering.

  Devon wasn’t. In fact, his little stint of protectiveness actually felt kind of…sweet. It made her feel… No, she wasn’t digging into that can of worms. There were too many warm fuzzies ready to come out, thanks to his unrequested chivalrous act.

  No. It wasn’t chivalrous. He didn’t trust her to make decisions that impacted the both of them. It was him trying to take control, keep her from talking to the protesters and making things worse. He didn’t trust her to have a plan that would take care of their mutual best interests. She had to remember that.

  But it was a little bit sweet.

  “You’re protecting me?” she confirmed, realizing Devon was watching her worriedly.

  And see? He was worried how she’d react. How could that not change the way she felt?

  No, he didn’t want her to blow up, shut him out, send him off to the hills on his own. That was all.

  Their eyes met for a long second and Olivia’s body warmed as the two of them drifted closer. She could feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his muscles as her hands landed against his chest. Her head tipped back, lining up with his. Her lashes drifted lower, her mouth opening slightly. Someone jostled Devon, breaking the spell.

  They jumped back from each other, and Devon began to dance like he was trying to shake something out of his system. Olivia joined him. That had been close. Too close. Kissing would complicate things. Really complicate things, because she was pretty certain that once she started kissing Devon Mattson there would be no stopping.

  She allowed the music to take over, send her mind into hibernation as the beat flowed through her, waking up muscles that hadn’t danced in years. As she let herself go, she moved faster, falling into sync with Devon’s moves. He laughed, shaking his body, sending any remaining tension that lingered between them into the darkening mountains surrounding the small town. Her smile grew, real and big. It was like they were free again, their pasts irrelevant.

  She was doing it, letting it all go, and she was not one bit in love with the man she was dancing with, the man she’d somehow linked fingers with so they wouldn’t get separated in the moving throng.

  “I forgot what it’s like,” she shouted as dancers nudged them, sending them into each other more often than not. It wasn’t a hardship being pushed against Devon, but it was awakening parts of her she needed to keep in sleep mode.

  “What?”

  “I forgot…” She shook her head. She’d forgotten how free it could feel, being around him. How her guard wasn’t just let down, but was given its walking papers. It was like…like she was safe to finally breathe.

  Dangerous. That’s what it was.

  She needed to remember why she was here—for Emma. For Grammy.

  Nothing else.

  She untangled her fingers from his, pretending she had to adjust the ponytail she’d put in earlier.

  She could have fun, but she needed to stay focused.

  She continued to dance, but the feeling of being lost in the music was gone.

  Several songs later, a man limped over and handed them two r
ed cups of beer. Devon accepted them, passing one to Olivia. She shook her head. Never accept an open drink from a stranger.

  “Olivia,” Devon said, hauling her closer with an arm around her shoulder as he hollered over the music, “This is my brother Either.”

  “Sorry? What was that?” she asked. Either? There were some strange names out there, but nuh-huh.

  Devon grinned like a brother ribbing his sibling. “Either or, Ethan snores,” he sang.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, her own voice loud enough to carry over the music. “I can’t believe you survived growing up with this guy.”

  Ethan laughed, revealing a white scar along his chin when he tipped back his head. “He might try to convince you he’s a great man...” His brother leaned closer. “…quitting school to come help out when I was paralyzed. But really, he came back because—”

  “Either, shut it.”

  “He was a big, crusty—” Devon gave him a brotherly shove, causing him to switch gears slightly. “I had to live with him for months. After a while I didn’t know who was commiserating with whom.”

  Olivia was struggling to keep up with the conversation. Ginger had mentioned something about Devon dropping out, but not why. Now she knew. But commiserating? Had Devon been as brokenhearted as she had?

  Devon and Ethan were communicating silently now, Ethan frowning, looking serious, Devon stern.

  Finally, Ethan gave a harrumph and moved off.

  Devon held the beer toward her. She accepted the drink, taking a sip.

  “That was nice of him,” she said into Devon’s ear. “Kind of like your stepmom. She obviously cares about you a ton.”

  Devon looked uncomfortable. He downed his drink as dancers moved around them. “Yeah, they’re okay.”

  “So what was that about college?”

  “I came home early to help.”

  “You dropped out?”

  “I finished my last five courses through a local college.”

  “He said you two were commiserating—”

  “He’s a grump. Don’t believe a word he says.” Devon’s expression was closed off, telling her the conversation was over.

  She laid a hand on his arm, knowing he was trying to hide how much their breakup and losing the baby had meant to him. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out differently for us.”

  He met her eye, giving a short nod.

  A new song began and Olivia tried to find her earlier mood of being free, but it was gone. She felt watched. Cold. She wanted to go home, take off her heels, which kept sinking into the soft grass, and just…breathe.

  Devon tossed his empty cup over his shoulder and smiled, back to his unaffected self.

  “You littered!”

  He shrugged. “I’m on the cleanup crew. Wanna help?”

  She could practically see her breath as the sun set over the mountaintops. She’d freeze her butt off if she came out here again late at night to pick up cups that people could have simply placed in the trash receptacles.

  She shook her head just as someone bumped into her arm from behind, sending her cup flying through the air, beer arcing beneath the strobe lights.

  “Oops!” Devon laughed. “Looks like you get to help, litterbug.”

  8

  Monday morning Devon sat in the barber’s chair with Olivia and his barber, George, standing behind him. Olivia’s suitcases had arrived from her hotel that morning and she was dressed much more casually than she had been for the past few days. Her hair was loose, the ends of her curls brushing her breasts whenever she moved, distracting him every time he looked her way. It didn’t help that she was wearing a fuzzy, short-sleeved sweater that hugged every curve and caused his body to forget that those curves belonged to a woman his heart had long ago marked with a giant Danger sign.

  She looked good, relaxed, confident. It was oddly attractive.

  In a purely platonic way, of course.

  Because honestly, he’d have to be blind not to notice that she was still exceedingly pretty—especially when she smiled like she had while dancing last night. She’d crashed into him several times, thanks to other dancers. Which was cool. He didn’t mind having her supple curves pressed against him.

  Not that Olivia was smiling right now, deep in business mode. But she was still pretty, her face an endearing mask of concentration like it had when she’d be working on her costume project in college. It made him wonder if she liked her PR job as much as the career she’d dreamed about, but had ultimately abandoned—fashion design.

  “You were good at designing dresses, you know,” he said.

  Olivia blinked and looked up from the magazine page she’d been showing Devon’s barber. Creating gowns had been a big part of who she was, and he wondered if their breakup had caused her to remove that dream from her life, just like he’d removed everything associated with her from his.

  She tapped the page, indicating the look she wanted George to recreate on Devon. “This one.”

  All right. So she didn’t want to talk about it.

  He yawned, exhausted. They’d been up late picking up trash after the concert, and he hadn’t been able to unwind afterward. He’d actually expected the high princess of Carrington to waltz home to bed, but she’d stuck around, helping. He wasn’t sure how it made him feel, but it had definitely melted some of his reserve toward her princess side. That and seeing her all muddy from the meadow yesterday. Yeah, it probably wasn’t a good thing. But when had any kind of warning from his brain stopped him from doing dangerous “not good” things? Pretty much never.

  But things were okay. This morning they’d signed the final version of the Carrington-Blueberry Springs agreement, so if he messed up, the town would at least be a little bit protected.

  Well, no. There were still ways everything could go south. She could declare that she hadn’t found what she wanted, and walk away. The agreement gave her exclusive rights for a year, which meant he wouldn’t be able to pull in anyone else to try and save the town from the dam.

  Which meant he needed to put his easily persuaded libido on ice.

  George and Olivia were arguing over the proposed haircut, and Devon shifted uncomfortably, reminding himself that he wasn’t changing for her. It was for the town.

  And it was just a haircut. It didn’t mean he was becoming a fake. But a haircut for a man was basically a makeover.

  No, not a makeover. “Reframing him.” That was what she’d called it. And he’d seen the power of that strategy yesterday when she’d managed to sway everyone in the continuing care wing to sign his petition in less than twenty minutes.

  Every last one of them.

  Help me help you.

  It was brilliant.

  She was brilliant.

  “That’s almost the same haircut I’ve been giving him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper,” George protested.

  “It’s different,” Olivia insisted. “Here.” She reached for his sheers, adjusting the length guard. She went to place it against the back of Devon’s head, but his barber intervened.

  Whew. There was confidence and then there was overconfidence.

  “He’s paying me to do that job,” George said, “and I don’t think it’s best for you to try your hand at this today if he has to be in front of cameras later.”

  Right. The press conference Olivia had called. That woman got things done, that was for certain. And she saw things, too. She’d picked up what Ethan had been laying out for her last night. He’d figured out that Olivia was the one Devon had been brooding over when he’d returned to Blueberry Springs, and his dodo-head brother had, for some reason, thought she should know. And then she’d apologized to Devon, bringing up all those feelings again. Feelings that were like a tumbling waterfall, never seeming to stop when she was around.

  Olivia began fussing with Devon’s hair. “I want it longer here, shorter here. Definitely shorter everywhere. It’s much too shaggy.” She slid her fingers into the strands at the t
op of his head, grabbing a chunk of it. The move sent shivers down Devon’s spine, as a woman hadn’t pulled on his hair in a very long time. Even just platonically.

  George met Devon’s eyes in the mirror. “You sure about this?”

  Devon shrugged. “Is my head lumpy?”

  “You have a nicely shaped head,” the man assured him.

  “In that case, give it a go, and if it sucks, shave my skull.”

  “You will not!” Olivia scolded, standing between Devon and the barber as though they were about to go straight to plan B without trying A first. “It’s going to look fine.”

  “It’s true. I can make everything look good,” Devon said, pretending to buff his nails on his chest.

  “I said fine, not drool-worthy, you conceited man.”

  Devon grinned. She was definitely relaxing, letting her guard down, becoming someone he could enjoy spending time with again.

  Danger!

  Man, but he missed her. Missed this fun version of the best girlfriend he’d ever had—even though she’d torn his still-beating heart straight out of his chest.

  George went to work, his scissors snipping madly, Olivia at his side, supervising and holding up the magazine every once in a while. She was critically watching every cut, frequently referring back to the image at hand.

  Devon watched the hair fall from his head, fairly confident that Olivia knew what she was doing with her “makeover.” Funny how quickly he’d come to believe in her, trust her. Well, with his appearance anyway.

  “If all else fails I’ll at least save some money on shampoo,” he said.

  “You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Olivia said, barely looking away from George’s work.

  “Funnier?”

  “Nope.” She sent him the smile he’d always felt was reserved just for him.

  Wow. He probably needed to shake off that feeling.

  But man, he longed for it, even though it brought a familiar pang of loss to the surface.

  George spun him around, putting Devon’s back to the mirror to finish up, before plunking his scissors and comb into a jar of blue liquid. He squirted some sort of gel or mousse or something onto his hands before running them through Devon’s hair, shaping it. Devon tried to lean away. George was supposed to just trim and let him be. Not style it. That’s why he went to a barber and not a salon. He was a man. He didn’t want to give up his man card in exchange for a haircut.