* * *
“IT’S ABOUT TIME you got here, buddy.” Logan patted the empty seat on the picnic table bench alongside him. The table was filled with strangers who chattered up a storm. “Did you get that happygram text from the CO?”
“Yeah. How’d Monica take the news that we’re shipping out next week?”
“I’m too scared to tell her. Figure I’ll wait until after we get back to San Diego. No sense in ruining her big day.”
“Wise man. I’ll follow your lead—not that it matters.” Wayne set his loaded plate and a beer on the red-and-white-gingham-covered table.
“What’s that supposed to mean? And where’ve you been? You and Paisley sneak off for—”
“Knock it off. I’m not in the mood.”
“Damn, boy. What forked-tongued scorpion bit your ass?”
“Point of fact—scorpions have stingers.” He tipped his hat in the direction of Paisley who seemed to be having fun at her table with Monica and a bunch of her family, and even his parents who had, sure enough, made up and now fed each other bites of baked beans. “But when it comes to Paisley, hell, maybe she’s got both.”
“Whatever happened, she’ll get over it.”
“Not happening. The wedding’s off. She even gave back her ring.”
“Wait—she’s so pissed at you that she broke off your pretend engagement?” Logan laughed so hard, he swallowed a bite of potato salad the wrong way and had to down his entire beer to quit coughing.
“Yuk it up, pal. Yuk it up.” Wayne shoved his food away in favor of beer and glowering.
Everyone aside from him seemed to be having the greatest time.
Monica had thought of everything. A country band played on a makeshift stage. Couples danced and laughed beneath tiny white lights strung through aspens and cottonwoods. A chuckwagon provided plenty of food and a bar served probably too much liquor.
“In all seriousness,” Logan said, leaning in so the guy next to him wouldn’t hear, “what happened? Monica said Paisley denies it, but she’s pretty sure she has a thing for you.”
“I thought so, too. But about an hour ago, I asked her to marry me for real and she turned me down cold, then starts spewing all this crap about feelings and sharing ice cream with one spoon. I get that she’s looking for the kind of solid commitment you and Monica share, but I can’t offer that. I could be a great friend to her, though. And a dad to her baby.” He chugged a good bit more of his beer. “I’m a good catch. I know we went into this because of my dad, but she’d be getting a pretty sweet deal.”
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?”
“No. Should I?” He pushed himself up. “Hell, I’ll go tell her right now.”
“Bad idea.” Logan shoved him back down. “This situation calls for finesse. Way more than I have. Mind bringing Monica in on the situation?”
“Of course, I’d mind. This is my own personal business. You know what happened the last time I got hitched. My marriage to Chelsea was the equivalent of filling my heart with gunpowder, then lighting the fuse. The woman destroyed me. No way I’m letting it happen again.”
“What if you already did?”
“Huh?” Wayne wrinkled his nose.
“Hear me out. What if you already fell for Paisley, but it happened so slow—like over a period of all the time we’ve lived next door—that you never even saw it coming? But now that you’ve had a taste of what it would be like to be a couple, you find yourself liking it. You might already be in love with her. But you’re too scared to admit it.”
Wayne finished his beer. “I’m not scared of shit.” But maybe he was?
“Here’s what I think,” Logan said.
“I don’t care what you think.”
“Tough. Next time there’s a slow song—because I’ve seen you dance to fast stuff, and that sight shouldn’t ever be repeated—ask for her hand, then lead her around the dance floor nice and slow. Woo her a little.”
Wayne rolled his eyes. “I’m a freakin’ soldier. I don’t know the first thing about wooing.”
Logan clamped his hand over Wayne’s shoulder. “Then you’d best start Googling. Otherwise, it’s gonna be a long, lonely life.”
Chapter Twelve
“Stop being stubborn,” Monica scolded while Paisley ate her weight in ribs.
Paisley hated that Wayne had been right about her loving ribs. Even worse, she hated herself for fearing she just might have already fallen for him. If she had, how was she ever supposed to recover? Being neighbors, she saw him all the time. Plus, there would be dinners shared with Logan and Monica. Holiday parties shared with her baby boy and mutual friends.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Monica asked.
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“This is the car birthday gift refusal all over again.”
Paisley rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“Oh—trust me, I’m started, and I intend to keep going. Deny it all you want, but you’ve been crazy for Wayne since we first laid eyes on his pecs and abs at your apartment complex’s pool. Now the guy genuinely wants to marry you and you’re turning him down? Nope. Not happening. I say you’re defaulting back to your comfy old relationship fail-safe of claiming you don’t want to use anyone or you’ll be like your mom. News flash—you couldn’t be more unlike your mother if you tried.”
Tears stung Paisley’s eyes. “But what if I am like her? Make no mistake, I wanted to take Wayne up on his offer. It would be a dream come true to raise my baby with him. To have Wayne with me through every milestone. But if he’s only there out of a sense of obligation, or to up the stakes in this lying game we started, then he has no business getting married. I’d be using him just as surely as if he were one of my mother’s meal tickets.”
“How are you using him if you love him?”
“I don’t.”
Monica sighed. “For the sake of conversation, let’s say you do. How would you be using a man if you love him heart and soul? And did you ever stop to consider he might feel the same about you, but he’s still gun-shy from his divorce? What if after the baby is born and you two live together for a few months, you settle into a blissful routine that results in a lifetime of shared happiness and devotion and—”
“I adore you, but please stop. Just because you and Logan are living out your fairy tale, doesn’t mean the rest of us will ever get a turn.”
Monica’s voice softened. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Mom?” Paisley’s gaze widened. Why was her friend pouring more salt in an already gaping wound? “Last year? I don’t remember. The airfare to Miami is expensive, and then we were so busy at the shop. I got pregnant. Now I’m too far along to fly.”
“Do you think it might help to talk to her?”
“No. I don’t even want to be in the same room with her. I’m mortified by what she’s done. Why can’t she be normal? Why couldn’t she work hard like everyone else instead of being a user? If I did see her, what would I say?”
“What’s in your heart? Might be cathartic.”
“I don’t know.”
Logan and Wayne sauntered up. Both held beers.
“Dance with me, woman.” Logan held out his hand to Monica.
“Do I look like a cave girl to you?” She smoothed her already perfect hair. “Ask again—this time, in a manner befitting a princess who by this time tomorrow will be your queen.”
Paisley didn’t try hiding her smile. She did hide her deep longing to share the same silly banter with Wayne.
Logan tossed back his beer, then showed his shrieking and laughing bride-to-be the true meaning of caveman by hefting her over his shoulder and onto the dirt-turned-dance floor.
“They seem happy,” Wayne said, setting his longneck bottle on the table.
; “They sure do.” Paisley had been so deep into her conversation with her friend that she hadn’t noticed the thinning crowd. At least a third of the older set must have already left for the nearby dude ranch where they were staying.
“Look, Paise...” Wayne bowed his head, kicking at a grass clump with the toe of his cowboy boot. “I’m sorry if I came across as a hard-ass, trying to steer you to my way of thinking.”
“No apology necessary. We both went into this for the express intention of helping your father. Mission accomplished, right?”
“Not if you bail.”
“Wayne...” She bowed her head. “Your mom already suspects what’s going on. It’s only a matter of time before she learns the whole truth. I’m sorry, but I’m having serious doubts as to whether this was ever a sane idea. The two of us—we...” We couldn’t be more different in terms of what we want for our futures. I want love and commitment. I don’t have a clue what you want, and I suspect you don’t, either.
“Logan says I should level with you.” He removed his hat. Fanned himself. Clamped his hat back on top of his head. Was he nervous?
“Okay?”
“What if I like you?”
“As a friend? Or more?” Really? Are we back in fourth grade?
He cleared his throat. “I think maybe more. I don’t know. But you deserve to know. So that’s why I don’t know what to do. I want to take you out on that dance floor and hold you and kiss you. I can’t wait to hold your hand through labor and the thought of you not inviting me to share in that special moment eats me alive. But in the same respect, what if you and I connect on that deeper level you get all fired up about, and then we fall apart? We both would have invested a lot of time and emotional energy into something that might not pan out. Not because either of us haven’t tried, but—”
“I’d planned to confess to your parents tonight, but since they seem so happy, how about you and I mend fences with a dance. If the dance works out, we might share another. After that, I wouldn’t mind falling asleep the same way we did last night. Does any of that sound good to you?”
He sharply exhaled. “All of the above. And the wedding? You’re going to marry me?”
“No. Not until you can stand before me, hat in hand, admitting that you don’t just like me, but love me.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded, scratching the stubble already shadowing his jaws. “I’m going to take that to mean you already do—love me?”
She shrugged. “Cowboy, you sure do talk a lot when all I asked you to do was dance.”
* * *
WAYNE HELD PAISLEY as if there were no tomorrow, because he might not have the pleasure of them sharing another day.
That text from his CO had caught him off his game. Ordinarily, he was psyched by new deployments, but this time around, there was a hesitancy holding him back. He’d felt that way the first few times leaving Chelsea. Her tears gutted him with guilt. Then he discovered her tears had been more of the crocodile variety.
That adage about the mouse being away and the cat playing had applied. He’d probably never know the full extent of her betrayal. The clandestine meetings and calls.
It sickened him.
She was the last person he wanted to think about while holding Paisley in his arms.
She’d never let him down.
“Your parents seem happy,” she said while he swayed her to an admirable cover of Aaron Lewis’s version of “What Hurts the Most.”
“I’m sure they are.” I used to be. How twisted was it that in a way, at least where he and Paisley were concerned, he’d been far happier when they were a fake couple. At least then, his life had purpose. Drive.
Give his dad some peace. Practice developing a convincing relationship with Paisley.
Only the joke was on Wayne, because all that work had developed into far more than he’d bargained for. She was a beautiful, smart and funny companion he’d be proud to call his wife. He’d be even prouder for the privilege of calling her son his own. With all of that in mind, what would it take to once and for all exorcise Chelsea from his system? Why couldn’t he realize that every day, people all over the world took second chances on love?
If they could do it, why couldn’t he?
Maybe he was no longer broken for the simple reason that Paisley’s love had miraculously pieced him back together?
Was it possible?
Could boneheaded Logan have been right?
Leaning in, he cocked his head sideways to nuzzle Paisley’s neck. The night was warm, and her sweat-dampened skin smelled of lilacs.
“You shouldn’t be doing that.” She gently pushed him back to a safe distance.
“Why not? Give me a crumb here, babe. I’m trying. Do I have some huge declaration of love all set to go? No. But I’m working on it. We’re working on it. I don’t know about you, but I think that given the chance, we could lead an amazing life together. Marry me tomorrow. Don’t overthink it. Don’t stop to obsess over whether it’s right or wrong. Let’s just do it.” He took her hands, raising them to his mouth, kissing her left-hand ring finger. How was it possible he didn’t yet know where his team was being shipped, yet already missed her? “Since I bought the companion to your engagement ring, seems like a shame letting it go to waste.”
“True, but...” He kissed her quiet. He kissed her soft and slow, parting her lips to sweep her tongue with his. He’d have all the time in the world to figure out what she wanted from him. In the meantime, he refused to let her go. When the song ended, he drew back for air, but not for long. He wanted Paisley to have zero doubt as to the matter of meeting him on that wedding altar.
Which is why his next move was to put her engagement ring back where it belonged—on her finger.
“If we do this,” she said, eyes shimmering and lips kiss-swollen, while looking at her ring, then back to him, “what are your plans for a wedding license? All we have is the fake.”
“Excellent point. There are two ways around this minor issue. One—we wrangle up a local license first thing in the morning. I’ll make a few calls. After all, you are marrying a navy SEAL. If I can’t pull off such a no-brainer task as getting a wedding license on a Saturday, my CO should strip my Trident.”
She rolled her eyes. “What was your second plan?”
“We move forward with our original plan, use the fake, then have a simple civil ceremony back home. Or in Vegas. Wherever you want. No big deal, right?”
“That right there,” she said with a poke to his chest, “is why it is a big deal. Because I still believe this sudden frenzy to marry has far more to do with fulfilling your dad’s dying dream than your own.”
Leaving him, Paisley ditched her friend and the remainder of the party in favor of hitching a lonely ride back to the house on a wagon, then retreating to her room and a hot bath.
She wished the long soak made her feel better, but if anything, time alone with her jumbled thoughts only made her more confused.
Did she want to be with Wayne? Of course! But on her terms, which weren’t fair to him. As for her irrational fears that she’d be using him in a way similar to what her mom had done with her male targets, Monica was right. Nothing could be further from the truth. But how did Paisley get to the heart of her truth when she’d fallen so hard for Wayne that she could no longer fathom a life without him?
Needing to talk, she dried and dressed and crammed her hair into a messy bun, then padded barefoot through the silent, dark house to his room.
Heart pounding, she found the nerve to knock on his door.
For the longest time, there was no answer. Assuming he was already asleep, she turned to leave, but then he startled her by abruptly opening the door, and she stepped back.
By the light of a dim bedside lamp, she saw him wearing khaki cargo shorts. And nothing else.
“Hey.” Paisley gulped.
His chiseled abs and chest were the reason for poetry. Pure masculine beauty from which she felt powerless to look away. In the face of her giant baby bump and cankles, his perfection wasn’t fair. If they were married for real, she could touch him. All of him. Whenever she wanted. Alas, she’d only signed on for the sham marriage package which made him strictly off-limits.
“What’s up?”
“Can I come in?”
“I guess?” He stepped back, waving her inside. “You left the party in an awfully big rush. I figured you’d rather be alone.”
“I tried that, but it didn’t make me feel much better than when I was with you.” While she stood alongside a dresser lined with rodeo memorabilia and sports trophies, trying to focus on anything but his near-nakedness, he closed the door.
“Thanks? I think?” Compared to his apartment, this room was crammed with childhood and teen mementos and color. Rumpled blue bedspread. A blue chair. Big oak desk stacked with books. The walls were lined with photos of Wayne smiling on horseback. Leaping for a football pass. Waving his arms high in victory atop a mountain. In all the years she’d known him, it was odd to just now meet this version. Paisley instantly liked him—except for the shot of him and a pretty teen all dressed up for what a photo stamp labeled Pine Ridge High Prom.
Like her room, his sported a window wall with red curtains closed on the view.
“Sorry about the mess.” He stooped to grab a dirty T-shirt and boxers and tossed them both atop his leather satchel. “I wasn’t expecting a late-night guest.” His slow and sexy grin didn’t do much for her resolve to hold tight to her convictions regarding not going through with their wedding.
“Have a seat,” He took hold of her arm, guiding her toward the foot of the bed.
“Wayne...”
“Paise...” There he went again with his grin. Would someone kindly remind her why she was here?
She toyed with the tie to her robe, wishing she’d put on more under it than just panties. “I wanted to apologize for what I said at the party. I didn’t mean to trivialize our original mission—making your dad’s last days better.”
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