Cowboy SEAL Daddy

by Laura Marie Altom

  “How are you feeling?” Wayne asked.

  “Good, good.” His dad patted Wayne’s back. “I am sore from horse ride, but thinking about wedding and baby make me strong. For them—for you and your momma, I want live forever.” Tears shone in his eyes.

  Wayne’s heart squeezed like a fist.

  “What does your doctor say?”

  Peter waved off the question. “He know nothing. He say I have cancer and that all I hear. It bad. Very bad.”

  “But, Dad, aren’t you getting treatment? Cancer isn’t always the death sentence it used to be. Thousands are cured every day.”

  “I no cure. Don’t tell your momma. It break her heart.”

  That explained a lot. Another suspicion confirmed. His dad really hadn’t told his mom. No wonder she’d acted so normal. She had no idea of the magnitude of the secret her husband was keeping.

  “Dad...” Wayne stopped him before they’d reached the massive Pinyon pine and iron front door. “You can’t keep this from her. It’s wrong. Cruel. She deserves to know.”

  “How do I tell woman I love goodbye?” Wayne’s dad showed his age and poor health by all but collapsing onto the entry hall bench. “The pain of that kill me before cancer.”

  Fighting to keep it together, Wayne asked, “Would you at least let me talk to your doctor? Maybe something’s getting lost in translation?”

  Peter shrugged. “If you must. But it make no difference.”

  “It might. After the wedding, we’ll go—together. It’s about time you let me shoulder some of this burden.”

  His dad’s head was bowed, but he nodded. “Yes. I suppose that is good.”

  Together, they took their time walking to the barn.

  It was inconceivable to Wayne that his once strapping father was now a shell of his former self. On the surface, he seemed healthy enough, but the more little things he noticed, the more his diagnosis added up. His difficulty that morning in his saddle. His sagging shoulders and defeated attitude. At least he’d agreed to finally allow Wayne to be involved in his recovery.

  It might not buy more time, but maybe it would?

  In which case, that opened a whole new can of proverbial worms with Paisley. But would staying pretend married to her be all bad?

  * * *

  IF ANY WOMAN was more of a ballbuster than Monica, it was her wedding planner. Over and over they rehearsed their placement at the altar and the women took turns walking down the aisle. He didn’t like the stern set of Paisley’s normally upbeat expression.

  He supposed it was selfish of him to expect her to put on even more of a show for his folks than she already was, but it would have been nice to at least once see her smile.

  Finally, with the practice vows behind them, and a long night of dinner and toasts ahead, he got a second alone with his pretend bride.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked while waiting their turn to climb into one of the three horse-drawn wagons transporting guests and family. On the itinerary Monica distributed, this was supposed to have been an old-fashioned hayride, but the seats lining the white wagons were upholstered in white and the wheels festooned with vines and flowers. Even the white horses’ manes had been braided with flowers. “This is turning out to be an even bigger spectacle than I’d imagined.”

  “No kidding, right?” She hid a yawn behind her hand. “I’d love a nap, but the show must go on.”

  He leaned close, whispering into her ear, “Speaking of shows, I just want to thank you again. I had a talk with my dad, and the two of us—the baby—are making him happy. He even said he’d allow me to join him on his next doctor visit.”

  “Thank goodness.” Her sigh sounded as if she’d carried the weight of nearby Monument Valley between her shoulders. “Your mom brought me breakfast in bed, then drilled me about why we both seemed concerned with Peter’s health. I didn’t let anything slip, but I’m guessing if he’s as sick as he claims, he won’t be able to hide it much longer. I didn’t have the heart to pile it on by admitting her new daughter-in-law is also a big, fat liar.”

  Wayne shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Yeah, well, her son is, too. Which is why I have to ask—are you sure about this? You’ve heard his crap English. If I go to his next appointment and learn there are viable treatment options he’s ignored, that might mean he makes a full recovery. You didn’t sign on for that. If you want to back out, I understand.” He took her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb, praying, hoping, holding his breath for her response.

  Paisley groaned. “Wayne, keeping this lie is hard. Of course, I want to help your dad in any way I can, but—”

  “There you two are!” Monica had a glowering Jules and Peter in tow, along with a woman Paisley assumed was the official event photographer, judging by the three cameras strapped around her neck and four terrified-looking assistants. “I want to get a family photo before the sun sets.”

  “I no like picture,” Peter said.

  Jules said, “I prefer to have my portrait taken with just my son and daughter-in-law.”

  “What’s going on?” Wayne asked low enough for only his parents to hear.

  His mother wiped tears. “Imagine my surprise when I dashed back to the house for my lipstick and heard you two talking in the entry hall. How could you—both of you—keep this from me? Peter? You have cancer?”

  Wayne’s heart stopped.

  Chapter Eleven

  “No,” his father said. “Horse have it. Not me. You misheard.”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t. If something’s seriously wrong with you, Peter, I have a right to know.”

  His dad cast Wayne a beseeching look. One that begged him to hold tight to his dignity at least a short while longer.

  “Honest, Mom, Dad’s fine. He was telling me how the vet thought Buttercup may be sick, but turns out she’s healthy as a horse.” Cue forced chuckle. “See? We’re all good.”

  “But, Wayne,” Paisley interjected. “Don’t you think—”

  Framing her lovely face with his hands, he kissed her quiet. “Let’s go take a nice picture, then stuff our pieholes with beans and ribs and corn bread.”

  Looking wide-eyed and dazed—hopefully, from his kiss—Paisley asked, “How do you know that’s what we’re having?”

  “Duh,” Monica said, exchanging a look with Wayne. She knew the score, and for supporting him, he’d cut her some slack. “It’s on the itinerary. Are we good?”

  “Perfect,” Wayne said. “We’ll catch up as soon as the photo’s done.”

  Wayne held Paisley’s arm as they trudged behind his parents to the lawn’s farthest edge.

  Bruce the bull gave them a snort on their way by.

  Peter paused to rub the massive creature’s snout.

  Under his breath, Wayne said, “Mom’s right. Dad does love that bull more than the rest of us combined.”

  “He does not. He’s probably feeling like up until tonight, Bruce was his only confidant. But why didn’t you use your mom overhearing your conversation to your advantage? You and your dad could have come clean about everything—even us. And what was that kiss?” Paisley demanded. “You’re supposed to be stopping this madness. Not perpetuating it with more fake romance and lust and...and...starry dew dust.”

  “What exactly is ‘starry dew dust’? I’m not familiar with that substance.”

  “Hush. You know exactly what I mean.”

  “I can guess. But are you trying to tell me you want out of our arrangement?” Waiting for her answer made his heart pound to an alarming degree.

  “Honestly? I’m not sure what I want. But then I remembered the way your dad’s gaze brightened when he felt the baby kick and when he sees the two of us together, and I can’t bear to be the one who breaks his heart.”

  “So we’re still good?”

  She no
dded. “But we shouldn’t be. Someone’s going to get hurt. Me. You. Your mom and dad. We’re playing a dicey game, Wayne. It’s only a matter of time before we get caught.”

  “Unless we don’t.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  He wasn’t sure. Maybe that he’d already known her for so long, and that he enjoyed being with her so much, kissing her so much, that despite his utter lack of faith in the whole concept of love, he felt something true and deep and frighteningly real for this friend who had somehow become more.

  The photographer waved them over. “I’m going to need all four of you against the hedge. Mom, Dad, how about you frame the bride and groom. Then we’ll get individual shots and mix and match pairings. Sound like a plan? Great! Let’s do this!”

  Assistants leaped to their marks.

  Wayne was thrilled for the distraction. He and Paisley’s talk had gotten way too heavy for his liking. It was in his best interest to keep all of this casual—at least as much as possible when faced with the undeniable fact that his father was dying.

  Posed against Mount Rockwell and the valley and the sky in its orange, violet and blue splendor, Wayne somehow managed to smile through shot after shot. He’d made a solemn personal vow to never again marry, yet he found himself in the unfamiliar territory of wanting to always be with her. And her baby boy. Making him not only a husband, but instant dad.

  Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  His stomach turned queasy.

  “Blotting! Groom needs blotting!” The photographer waved to a minion who burst into action by pressing a dry cloth to Wayne’s face.

  Wayne brushed the twentysomething kid aside. “I’m done.”

  “We still have a few more shots,” the photographer said.

  “Wayne, honey?” His mother chased after him. “Are you okay?”

  “Leave boy alone!” Peter said. “He must learn be tough like man!”

  “Hush! The last thing Paisley needs is stress.”

  “Let’s call it a wrap.” The photographer gestured for her crew to hurry.

  Jules poked her finger at her husband’s chest. “I’m still not sure I believe you and Wayne that you were talking about a horse. And now that I think about it, you haven’t been yourself. I swear to God, if you truly are sick and haven’t told me, I’ll make you that much sicker myself. Over the course of our marriage, you’ve pulled some harebrained stunts, but if you have cancer and aren’t telling me...” Her rage dissolved into sobs.

  Peter pulled her into his arms. “I so sorry to worry you. I promise, I am very fine.”

  “Guys,” Wayne said, “please, stop fighting. For Monica and Logan, for Paisley and myself, could you please put on happy faces and at least pretend you’re having a wonderful time?”

  “I try,” Peter said. “But your momma... She test my patience.”

  “Me? Oh—that’s rich.” Jules swiped tears from her cheeks.

  “Okay, great. So you’re both working on family unity. I appreciate the effort. Paise? You and our giant baby ready to eat some ribs?” Wayne turned a one-eighty, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Paise?”

  He angled the rest of the way only to find her gone.

  “Where do you think she went?” his mother asked, voice laced with concern.

  “No clue, but she can’t have gone far. You two entertain our guests. I’ll find her.”

  * * *

  “PAISE?”

  “Go away!” Having run from the shame and embarrassment of the scene unfolding with Wayne’s parents, Paisley had escaped to her room where she’d collapsed onto the bed. And now put a pillow over her head.

  Maybe if Wayne couldn’t see her, he’d go away?

  “There you are.”

  No such luck.

  “What’s wrong? You’re missing the barbecue.” He removed the pillow, so she closed her eyes. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “Am, too.”

  “I also know ribs happen to be one of your favorite foods.”

  “No. I’m allergic.”

  “You weren’t that time a few years back when Logan had them catered poolside for our buddy Gideon’s going away party.” He smoothed his fingertips maddeningly up and down her bare upper arm. “If my memory serves me correctly, you ate at least three racks all by your lonesome. All my SEAL friends were in awe. They kept asking, ‘Where did you find that human rib vacuum and where do I get one of my own?’”

  “Stop it. I hate you.” She summoned the energy to grab another pillow to put over her head.

  “No, you don’t.” He joined her on the bed, big spoon to her little. “Come eat ribs with me. I’m sure Monica misses you.”

  “She probably doesn’t even notice I’m gone. And, anyway, I can’t keep watching you lie to your poor mom. She deserves better.” Wriggling free of him, fighting to regain some small semblance of logic she couldn’t seem to find whenever he held her in his arms, Paisley scooted up in the bed and rested her back against the pile of pillows. “Because I do have affection for you as a friend, I’m going to pretend not to have noticed your suddenly panicked expression. You were actually sweating with terror. Let me guess—you realized the lunacy of a fake marriage that lasts a few years rather than months.”

  “Maybe. Hell, I don’t know.” Whereas she’d moved up in the bed, he moved down, resting his head on the baby. “Think he hears me?”

  “I think so. I read an article that said it’s been proven babies are born recognizing their parents’ voices.”

  “It could work, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Us getting married. We’d at least know what we’re getting into. Having both been burned at love, neither of us is in the market for another romance. But your little guy will need a dad and you could use the help. My parents stay happy—at least about us and the baby. No one’s ever the wiser. I don’t have to look for a new roommate when Logan leaves our place for Monica’s. It’s a win-win for all involved.”

  Paisley closed her eyes and groaned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  What’s wrong? she wanted to screech. Forcing a deep breath, she tried maintaining a civilized tone. “Here’s the thing... What if I do want romance? What if I want passion and flowers and dancing and laughing and great sex and eating ice cream together with only one spoon?”

  Silence.

  “Exactly. That’s why it’s probably best if we come clean with your parents tonight. We’ll go ahead and stand up for Monica and Logan at their wedding as planned, but after that, I’d like to head back to San Diego.”

  “Paise...” He rubbed her belly. She could have grounded her little guy for kicking. “Did you feel that? Even John Wayne Jr. knows we should make this engagement official. Let’s get married for real.”

  “Did you lose your hearing on your last mission? What didn’t you understand about all I just said? The thought of being trapped for the next fifty years in a platonic friendship is untenable. I don’t want to marry a friend—well, I do, but you know what I mean. I want the total package. A friend and a lover.”

  “Those kisses were hot as hell. I never said anything about us being platonic.” He kissed a trail up her neck while easing his hand beneath her blouse. She should have pushed him away, but didn’t. Damn her body for its instant arousal. Nipples standing at attention, practically begging for his tongue. The V between her legs throbbing with moist heat. Her need for him was downright embarrassing. “Hell, yes, to sex.”

  “You’re an idiot.” She brushed him away and rolled off the bed, struggling to her feet. Standing before the window, she stared out at the lavender-and-plum sky. “This isn’t about bedroom bingo, but the kind of deeper feelings that sustain a couple through stuff like your parents are currently going through. I guarantee that if we were to join them at the barbecue, they’ve already kis
sed and made up.”

  “You think?” He left the bed to sit in one of the chairs beside the window, hugging her waist, resting his stupid-handsome face on the baby. Wayne’s proximity set off dozens of tingly proximity alarms. How could she physically and emotionally distance herself from him, when she craved getting closer?

  Clearing her throat, Paisley said, “Your mother adores your dad. From all I’ve seen, he feels the same for her. That’s the kind of marriage I want, Wayne. Thank you for your offer. I really do appreciate it. But we’ve been over this before. When—if—I do decide to marry, my son and I deserve a man like your father who’s all-in. Yes, his keeping his cancer from your mom is horrible, but he’s doing it out of love. Just like we pretended to be engaged with good intentions. But if there’s anything we can learn from this, it’s that two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  She bowed her head, combing her fingers over Wayne’s soft buzz cut. The knot in her throat had grown to the size of a baseball.

  How easy it would be to agree to be his wife for as long as he’d have her. Her fears about being a single mom would be instantly appeased. But what happened when weeks turned into months of sharing a bed with him and breakfasts and play-fighting over the remote? They’d raise her baby together, and her son would grow up believing Wayne was his father, and every time she saw Wayne bathe him or blow raspberries on his tummy or wipe drool from his chin, she’d grow a little closer to falling for him—assuming she hadn’t already. When he failed to ever return her affections, she would be in no way prepared to face unrequited love for the next fifty or sixty years. Even worse—only a few years until someone hotter or more fun came along.

  “Wish you’d reconsider,” Wayne said, kissing her baby bump. Weakening her carefully thought out resolve. “If we don’t marry, think of how disappointing that would be to my folks.”

  “I’m sorry,” Paisley somehow managed, removing her ring, reaching for his hand to place it on his palm. “But as much as I love Jules and Peter, marrying you strictly to please them is wrong. This deception is killing me, and keeping your dad’s cancer from your mom is cruel. She deserves to know the whole truth.”