by Kim Karr
“Jules,” I yelled, dashing out and around.
She was climbing up the car door before I reached her. “Nothing to worry about. Just twisted my ankle. That’s all.”
I helped her the rest of the way up and then pointed to the passenger seat. “Sit down and let me see it.”
“I’m fine,” she said as she waved me off.
I pointed. “I’m the doctor, not you. Now let me see it.”
Begrudgingly, she sat and extended her leg.
“Can you flex your foot?”
She did.
“Wiggle your toes?”
She did.
“Move your foot in a circle.”
She did.
There was no swelling. She was fine, and yet I didn’t let go. With my hands firmly gripping the bare skin of her ankle, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering how it would feel to have those ankles wrapped around my neck.
“Well, Dr. Kiss? What’s your diagnosis?” she asked.
Normally I hated, no despised actually, when anyone called me that. Yet, hearing her say it in that saucy tone of hers zapped a bolt of electricity through my veins.
Confused by my reaction, I stood straight and put my hands in my pockets. “It’s pretty serious.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Why? What’s wrong?”
I leaned in and fixed my gaze on her. “I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but you have a severe case of clumsyitis, and I suggest you stop wearing shoes you can’t walk in.”
She narrowed her stare at me. “Not funny.”
I shrugged. “Hey, you’re not the only one with a sense of humor around here.”
Jules shook her head. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay you for that diagnosis?”
The corner of my lips tilted. The answer on the tip of my tongue was anything but appropriate, so I kept it to myself and extended my hand. “Come on, klutz, let’s check out this place so we can leave.”
When she got to her feet, she gave me a slight shove and headed toward the barn. “Don’t call me that.”
I gave her a second to make sure she could walk without pain, and when she could, I quickly strode up beside her. “What’s the matter, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”
She snorted. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
This could go on all day, so I stopped and looked up at the barn. “Yep, that’s a barn all right,” I muttered.
It was old.
Weathered.
Big.
Old. Did I already say that?
And again, it was nothing I saw my city girl sister getting married in.
“It’s charming,” she remarked. “Not quite magical, but I can fix that.”
A woman in her early sixties with gray hair and a blue dress came walking out. She looked surprised to see us. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Jules said, “We’re here to take a look at your venue.”
The woman patted her hair and smiled. “George, come out here, we have a happy young couple who’d like a tour.”
“I’ll be right there, Ethel.”
“No, you got—” I started to say, but was cut off.
“George and I just love when newly engaged couples come to visit. This hasn’t happened in quite a while. Lately, it seems like we’ve had a parade of those snotty-nosed wedding planners from the city who want to change everything about our place to make it more sophisticated.”
Jules, who I thought had been attempting to correct her at the same time I was, grabbed hold of my hand. “Yes, well, Jake and I wanted to see firsthand if this was the right place. Didn’t we, honey?”
Honey?
No one had ever called me that. The shock on my face was hard to hide, especially when she batted her lashes at me.
A man, also in his sixties, wearing overalls and cowboy boots came rushing out of the barn. “This must be the happy couple.”
“Yes,” Ethel responded. “Aren’t they darling?”
Darling?
He wiped his hands on the denim of his pants. “Looks like the picture of real love right here,” he said. “And it just happens, we have a wedding starting in about an hour. Let me show you around first, and then, of course, you’ll stay for the event.”
Love?
Stay?
I felt a cold sweat coat my brow.
“Yes, you must stay. We insist,” Ethel echoed.
“Ethel! There aren’t enough mason jars for the punch,” someone called. “The rest are up at the house,” she answered. “I’ll go get them.”
Mason jars.
Punch.
My sister would go out of her mind. She was more of a crystal and champagne kind of girl.
George looked at his wife. “You go on, sweetheart. I’ll take care of the lovebirds,” he told her.
Lovebirds?
I thought my airway might be closing up.
“I’ll see you two in a bit.” She smiled and walked over toward an old Chevy pickup that was cherry red, and pretty damn cool.
I let go of Jules’ hand. “I appreciate all of this, but—”
“We’d love to . . . stay,” Jules spoke up, cutting me off. “I’m Jules, and this is Jake.”
Fuck, that sounded so monogram.
So couple-like.
“Nice to meet you,” George said. “Now, follow me. We don’t have a lot of time.”
I stared at Jules and consciously had to keep my jaw from dropping.
All she did was smile back and then she retook my hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not keep George waiting.”
Sweetheart?
What. The. Hell?
Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover
JULES
THE MENU WAS DOWN-HOME SOUTHERN barbecue-style. From ribs to chicken to coleslaw to biscuits, even peach cobbler.
I sat back in my chair and placed my red-checkered paper napkin next to the china-looking plastic plate. “I’m so full.”
“Me too,” Ethel said, setting her mason jar of non-alcoholic punch down.
I took a sip of my Pinot Grigio. Jake had gone up to the main house to get the bottle. George had insisted when he learned it was my favorite. He said a friend of his from California sent him a case, and it was the best wine he had ever tasted.
Turned out his friend was Steve Johnson, the winemaker for Cupcake Wines. Go figure.
Jake took a sip of his punch, and I could tell he was biting back the bitter taste with a grin.
He was larger-than-life.
Sitting beside me, he was talking rather animatedly with George about country life and how far away the nearest physician was. I was surprised how at ease he was.
Then again, we both had our fingers crossed that no one, especially the bride and the groom, asked any questions about our relationship.
Our fake relationship.
So far, other than what we did for a living, Jake and I had gotten off easy. He more so than me. He, at least, had told the truth. I hadn’t exactly lied. I simply left my answer vague, stating that I worked for my uncle in his small business.
A sparkle of moonlight hit my wineglass just right, and it looked like fairy dust had been sprinkled from the ceiling.
I glanced up wondering if it had but knowing that was ridiculous.
Nope. No fairy dust, but still, the inside of the barn was beautiful.
Thirty-foot ceilings with twinkling lights strung across the rafters made the place seem right out of a fairytale. Round tables with white billowy covers and white chairs brightened up the parquet wood floors. The scent of water and rain and everything outdoors filled the air.
There were huge floor-to-ceiling windows in the back, which overlooked a river. A wooden fence ran along it with the most beautiful wildflowers growing all around it. I could imagine sofas placed here and there with overhead swaths of fabric as the perfect backdrop for photos . . . just not for Rory’s photos.
Inwardly, I sighed, but then I smiled when I noticed the
same wildflowers from outside were what filled the tin cans that served as centerpieces.
Ethel was quite the wedding planner herself. The perfect touches here and there proved this.
This place was magical. Just not Rory’s kind of magical. And although I was sure I could transform it into anything, it was clear that George and Ethel took a lot of pride in what they had created, and changes were out of the question.
“Isn’t that right, sweetie?”
An elbow nudged me, and it wasn’t until then that I realized I was sweetie.
Sweetie?
Could he find something a little sexier to call me? Sugarcakes. Honeypie. Cookie, even.
“What’s that, Chocolate Cake?” I smiled big and wide when I said it.
Jake draped an arm around my chair just as Shania Twain’s “Any Man of Mine” came bellowing through the speakers.
When his fingertips brushed my shoulder, I wasn’t listening to the beat of the music though because butterflies took flight in my belly, and this time they drifted even lower. I had to remind myself this was part of the show, but still, I found myself having to squeeze my thighs together to sooth the ache his touch had ignited.
“I was just telling George how much you love to dance. Especially square dance,” he said.
I had been reaching for my water, and I practically spilled it when he said that. Was he out of his ever-loving mind? I didn’t know a thing about country dancing other than the fact that the word do-si-do had something to do with it.
I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Yes, big boy, I do like to dance, but you know I prefer to watch you line dance because you’re so great at it. Besides, don’t forget, I did hurt my ankle not that long ago.”
His grin was beyond wicked. “You can be a klutz sometimes, but I seem to recall you assuring me your ankle was absolutely fine, and after I checked it out, I did concur with your self-diagnosis.”
Ethel tapped George on the shoulder, and when he looked at her, she whispered something in his ear.
“Did you say you wanted to dance, Jules?” George asked me over the music.
Before I could say no, George was on his feet and standing beside me with his hand extended. “Would you do me the honor of having this dance with me?”
Like I could say no now.
He really was so sweet. Dr. Kiss, on the other hand, well he was the devil incarnate. “I’d be delighted,” I said and glared at Jake as I stood.
“Have fun, Sweetie,” Jake grinned.
I bent to whisper in his ear. “While I’m gone, do you think you could come up with something to call me that doesn’t make you sound like you might be George’s age?”
He narrowed that blue-eyed stare at me.
Satisfied with that, I pivoted around and didn’t look back.
The bridesmaids, in their short, peach dresses and cowboy boots, were having a blast stomping their feet and clapping their hands all while shaking their behinds and pressing their thumbs into their sides.
How on earth were George and I going to dance to this?
Thank God just when we reached the center of the dance floor, the music changed, and Tim McGraw’s voice came overhead. As Tim sang about how no one ever made him feel the way she did, George and I stepped into position.
He took my hands and started to move, ballroom style. This type of dancing I knew how to do. “So,” he said, “when are you and Jake planning on getting hitched?”
Up until then, I had been able to twist what I said so it didn’t sound like a blatant lie, but this question was pretty straightforward. “We haven’t decided yet.”
Which was true. In fact, we hadn’t decided a lot. Like, as a starting point, if we were friends or enemies.
“I noticed you ain’t wearing a ring. He not gotten you one yet?”
“That’s complicated,” I answered.
And it was. He hadn’t gotten me one and he never would because he didn’t even like me, and after tonight, I was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to stand me.
“Well, he’s a good man. Give him some time. He’ll come around.”
Yes, he’d come around all right. Come around to telling me I was fired, which reminded me of Finn.
Where had he gotten his information?
I leaned back. “Is Labor Day weekend available for a wedding?”
George started to laugh. “You’ll give the man a heart attack if you make him move that fast.”
“Oh, I know, but just in case, is it?”
“As a matter of fact, it might be. A lad called here today inquiring about it though, and I told him to come up and see the place before I reserved it for him. Since he ain’t shown, I reckon it could be yours.”
“Good to know.” I winked.
He raised a curious brow.
I shrugged. “Just in case.”
Yes, just in case I decided to come clean. And just in case I could figure out how this place was suitable for Rory. But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t.
I nearly missed a step when I caught a glimpse of Jake leaning against the wall, watching us.
He threw me off, and I had to order myself to tune back into George for the remainder of the dance. My lack of focus had to cease right now because the bottom line was that at the moment I couldn’t allow myself to be thrown off course.
When the music ended, I stepped back and curtsied.
“Thanks for indulging me.” George gave my hand a squeeze. “You and the Doc are really quite a couple.”
“Thank you,” I told him, but I knew I should have been correcting him instead. I hated the lie, but I couldn’t undo it now, nor could I stop what he was doing. George had signaled Jake over, and he had started to move.
All tall, dark, and handsome, he strutted my way with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face. I wanted to wipe it away—with my lips.
No, I didn’t mean that.
“It’s your turn,” George told him.
“Oh, but he only likes to line dance,” I said.
George laughed like it was a joke and strode toward his Ethel, who had started clearing the buffet table.
“May I?” Jake asked, all debonair-like.
“I don’t know, may you?”
He shook his head. “Just give me your hands, will you? I’d hate to ruin George and Ethel’s night by admitting this was all a ruse.”
“Grrr . . . You are so frustrating,” I said offering my hands.
He laced his fingers in mine and drew me close. “Did you just growl?”
With a frown, I placed my hands on his shoulders. “I did no such thing.”
His hands fit my waist like they were made for me. “Yes, you did. And smile, they’re looking at us.”
Forcing myself to keep the corners of my mouth tilted upwards was very difficult because I could barely breathe when he slid his thigh between mine.
The crowd surged around us, and just like that, I forgot it wasn’t real. We were aligned thigh-to-thigh, belly-to-belly. If I turned my head, our mouths would be close enough to kiss.
Silly thought.
We moved together, and when my hands slid from his shoulder to cup the back of his neck, the edges of his soft brown hair tickled my knuckles. The heat of his skin was almost too much, as was the feel of his body so close to mine.
When his fingers splayed against my back and lingered there, I could have sworn the music thumped in the pit of my stomach, my wrists, and especially between my thighs
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He moved closer to me. “I believe it’s called dancing.”
“Are you still acting? Because if you are, George and Ethel are no longer watching us,” I whispered this in his ear.
“Does it matter?” he answered back, and when he did, his breath caressed my ear.
“Do you want it to?”
He pulled back to look into my eyes, his smile less bemused and his gaze bright. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
>
“Only when . . . I’m talking to you.” My hesitation sounded coy, but I hadn’t meant it to. Scared of something, but no idea what of, I said, “This place isn’t that bad. It just needs some sparkle.”
“Sparkle?”
“Yes, like crystal chandeliers hanging from the beams.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think crystal chandeliers are George and Ethel’s style.”
“No,” I said. “We should probably go. You were right to begin with, this place isn’t appropriate for your sister’s wedding.”
All of a sudden the music ended, and before I could say another word, I was being pushed into a very grabby crowd of women.
Oh, no! The bouquet toss!
I had to get out of there. I bent down and crawled around, through, and practically under, a number of jumping cowboy boots.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Rushing out of the side of the crowd, I stood up, and I could hardly believe it when the bouquet landed at my feet.
Without thinking, I picked it up to throw it back into the crowd, but it was too late.
“Oh, Jules, you caught it.” It was Ethel, and she was escorting me to the front of the room. When I saw George leading Jake there as well, I wanted to end this charade.
It was too much to handle.
Having him so close was too much to handle.
He was too much to handle.
George and Ethel pushed us both together, and all the girls started chanting, “Seal the deal. Seal the deal.”
“What are they talking about?” Jake muttered.
“Kiss her, Doc,” George clarified for me, and before either of us could step away from each other, George and Ethel were once again pushing us together.
I landed against Jake’s hard chest. My mouth flew open in surprise, and a small sigh escaped.
My lips were so close to his.
Tantalizingly close.
The need to close the distance between us was strong.
He was breathing heavy, and I could see the muscle twitch at his temple, witness how tight his jaw was. Everything about him screamed he was holding himself back.
We were both losing that battle though.
Whether out of obligation, pressure, or need, his mouth came crashing down over mine in the hardest, heated, and most demanding way.