Her Accidental Husband

by Mallory, Ashlee

  Whatever news she’d received Payton clearly needed some time to process. And at least for the next couple of hours, she couldn’t get into too much trouble. Right?

  Cruz continued down the narrow aisle, keeping his laptop bag in front of him until he reached his own seat, several more rows back. The bag held some basic necessities as well as his laptop and phone charger, so it took a little effort to squeeze it under the seat in front of him. He managed, even if it made the already sparse legroom even tighter.

  He clasped the seat belt and angled his head to get a better view of his charge. But other than the top of her head, he couldn’t see anything. No surprise since standing, even in those modest heels, she barely grazed his chin. She was on board the plane, though. His babysitting duties were nearly over.

  He closed his eyes, ready to relax.

  But the image of that bright smile and those laughing eyes still burned in his mind. Once again.

  Dimples were just the tip of the iceberg with Payton Vaughn. With that reddish-golden hair that could best be described as strawberry blonde, a pert nose, and wide, welcoming lips that tipped into a smile without the slightest provocation, she was hard to tear one’s gaze from. And that was from the neck up. Because even with her petite frame, she was still slim but curvy in just the right way.

  Fortunately for them both, Payton was not his type. He preferred his women tall and leggy, to match his own towering height, and without the regular vivacious commentary that Payton couldn’t help but share with everyone, which, when she was around him, was usually about him.

  Then there was that effervescent personality that, combined with her beauty, drew attention wherever she went. Something he usually tried to avoid. Before she’d made her phone call, half the men in the terminal were slobbering after her. Even the kid at Starbucks had grinned like an idiot when he saw those dimples, and Cruz was almost certain he had thrown in the bottled water for free. Something that was particularly ironic considering Payton Vaughn could probably supply the population of a small third-world country with bottled water for a year with her hefty trust fund.

  It was disgusting really.

  And when she married the golden boy next month, who also, coincidentally, was the son of Dick Eastman of Eastman Motors and a former classmate of Cruz’s, between the two of them, they’d want for nothing. Have to work for nothing.

  Completely the opposite of his own life. Not that he was complaining. He loved his family, and the hard work and long hours he’d put in at Sorensen Construction while attending business school had helped him appreciate his success all the more. It just irked him when he saw people get everything without so much as breaking a sweat.

  And now he was stuck babysitting the little princess who couldn’t even see her way to board the plane alone. But he’d promised Dominic, and his little brother didn’t need anything to draw away from this weekend.

  All the same, the sooner they arrived in Puerto Vallarta and reached the hotel, the sooner Payton Vaughn would no longer be his responsibility.

  Payton secured the safety belt and sank back into the seat. She was going to be fine. Everything would be fine.

  “Can I get you something, miss?” the flight attendant who’d absconded with her luggage asked her in an over-solicitous tone as she handed the guy next to her his drink.

  That was probably the right idea—a little something to take the edge off the terrifying panic that was fighting to take hold of her. “Bloody Mary?”

  The attendant nodded and went to the front, leaving Payton to stare outside at the tarmac. What was she going to do now? It was as if the world as she knew it—the world where her fiancé worshipped and adored her and she was secure in the knowledge they were going to have a picture-perfect life—was falling out from under her and she was being sucked into a whirlpool.

  How could he do this to her? To them?

  It was her parents all over again. Payton had learned in junior high about her father’s propensity for cheating on her mother and her mother’s propensity to pretend that everything was okay. Which was why she’d told herself that she didn’t need that one-of-a-kind, heart-stopping love they talked about in movies and fairy tales—something she hadn’t thought even existed up until her best friend found it. She just needed someone she could respect and who would love and respect her enough to not sleep with someone else.

  They hadn’t even gotten out of the gate and Brad already was fooling around.

  Was it her? Had she done something to bring this about? Sure, the last time he’d been in town they had both been too busy with wedding stuff and, later, too exhausted to do anything more than kiss and snuggle. Something at the time she’d been pleased about, thinking she had found someone who was happy just to have her in his arms. When in reality he’d probably needed a breather from the all-star porn marathon he was running from his apartment in New York.

  Okay, that might be a stretch. She didn’t know how long this thing had been going on with that woman. Or any other women. But it was throwing a new light on the past few months of last-minute cancelations and aborted weekends.

  The attendant returned with her drink and Payton took a sip.

  The alcohol crept over her like a warm, fuzzy blanket almost immediately. She should probably be eating that PowerBar. She took another sip instead and waited.

  Her head didn’t seem to be pounding as hard as before. No, everything actually seemed to blur a bit around her. She could close her eyes and blur her whole life out if she wanted.

  The announcement overhead warned passengers they were going to be leaving the terminal momentarily, so all electronic devices would need to be off or in the flight mode. Two hours without contact?

  Well, she’d better get the ball rolling before anymore time was wasted on this monumental failure of a wedding. Pushing the screen on her phone, she saw three missed calls and three voicemails.

  From Brad.

  She hovered over the voicemail option wondering what he thought he could say to make what she’d seen look anything different than it was.

  Not a chance, buster.

  She tossed the rest of her drink back, almost choking on an ice cube and scrolled though her calls until she spotted the number for her wedding planner. She drummed her fingers on the seat as it rang until, on the fifth ring, it went to voicemail.

  Probably even better. She wouldn’t have to hear the small woman’s scream of panic when Payton told her the bad news.

  “Yes, hi, Camille!”

  Was that her voice? It sounded all high and whiny. Better take it down a notch.

  “It’s Payton. Look, I’m on my way to Mexico, and I’m going to lose cell service here in a minute, but I thought you should know that there isn’t going to be a wedding after all.” She paused, daring herself to say it. “I’m not getting married.”

  See? The earth didn’t stop spinning. It’s going to be fine.

  “You may want to start notifying everyone as soon as possible so other arrangements can be made. If you happen to have a moment, you might share this news with my mother? Oh, look. I’m being told to turn off my phone. Well, thanks for all your help. You’ve been great, and I’ll be sure to recommend you to everyone. Take care.”

  There. She wasn’t going to sit around and be made a fool of. She certainly wasn’t going to be another Emily Vaughn, brushing affairs under the rug because she valued her social standing more than her dignity.

  Things were looking infinitely better already.

  She had chewed and swallowed the last ice cube in her cup just as the plane reached the proper altitude. Perfect timing. She raised her hand to the attendant, signaling for another drink. She ignored the wariness that crossed the woman’s face.

  She had the second one down in less time than the first.

  Hmm. She’d better pace herself, even if she still had two hours to work the alcohol out of her system by the time they landed. Last thing she needed was to be sick when she arrived. She could see
Cruz’s disapproving face now. No way. She wouldn’t do anything as disgraceful as barf in front of him.

  Maybe she should find that PowerBar. She leaned forward and tried to grab her handbag tucked under the seat in front of her.

  Suddenly, the plane lunged, and she smacked her head on the tray.

  What the—

  She tried to sit up as the plane dived again more violently.

  Holy hell.

  She was going to die.

  Chapter Two

  The blinding light of the Texan sun broke into the cabin as the doors were thrown open. They hadn’t even reached Mexico before the plane, thanks to some sort of mechanical failure, had been diverted to the nearest airport in Laredo.

  Payton’s head was throbbing now, and she breathed in deep gulps of the dry air, trying to stop the wooziness. She’d stared at death, and somehow, for some reason, the fates decided to hand her another chance.

  It was like they’d known she needed a redo.

  Even if in those long, agonizing moments as the plane careened around in the sky, she hadn’t been sure what prospect was more terrifying. The possibility of meeting her maker, or living and facing her mother’s wrath when she learned that the modest four-hundred-guest wedding she’d been planning was being called off.

  Everyone around her leaped to their feet, digging out their luggage from the overhead bins, eager to get off this death ship. She started to get up, too, only to realize that she didn’t have her luggage, as it was stored in the belly of the plane. Instead, she scooped up her handbag and waited for the handful of passengers in front of her to leave.

  At least she’d have a head start to the ticket desk before the rest of the herd stuck in coach. She glanced back, expecting to see Cruz’s smug face staring at her but the crush of passengers was too thick.

  A few minutes later, she stepped out into the sunlight, grateful to feel its warmth on her face again. It was a little after five in the evening and eighty-two degrees—if the pilot could be believed.

  He had almost killed them, after all.

  She took a step out on the metal contraption they’d brought out to the tarmac, her feet unsteady as they tried to hold her up. Crap. Two Bloody Marys?

  Payton gripped the railing even tighter and climbed down the steep stairway. Last thing she needed was to take a swan dive from the top step while Cruz Sorensen watched. With her luck, she wouldn’t die and would have to live with the knowledge that he’d witnessed one more humiliation.

  And to think, once, for the briefest moment, she had actually kind of liked the guy.

  Immediately on landing, when everyone else was throwing themselves around the cabin, trying to get off the plane, Cruz remained in his seat. Turning his phone on, he was relieved to see he still had cell service and dialed his assistant.

  “Hey, Cathy. Sorry to bother you so late, but my flight from DFW was diverted to Laredo. Can you try and find something that will get me to Puerto Vallarta, ASAP?” He glanced out the window and spotted his charge walking a little unsteadily across the tarmac and sighed. “Actually, I’m going to need transportation for two.”

  “Oh, really?” It was hard to miss the interest in the woman’s voice. “Anyone I know?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s Payton Vaughn, who isn’t only my future sister-in-law’s best friend and maid of honor, but also—”

  “—also the future daughter-in-law of Dick Eastman. CEO and president of Eastman Motors. Wow. Small world.”

  That was one way of putting it. “Anything you can find us will be great.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he was walking inside the airport, his optimism that Cathy could get this trip back on track slowly deteriorating.

  Despite the “International” in the Laredo airport title, all passenger flights were direct to U.S. destinations only, including a flight back to Dallas Fort Worth, where they had just left. Returning to Dallas would, ordinarily, be their best chance at finding a connecting flight to Puerto Vallarta.

  That is, if it weren’t for the fact it was late March and every outbound flight tagged with Puerto Vallarta as its destination—be it from Dallas, Texas or Monterrey, Mexico—was booked for the next two days. They could get on a standby list, but that meant sitting around airports for the next twenty-four hours, on the slim-to-none chance they managed to get on.

  They were going to need an alternate mode of transportation.

  “Okay, thanks, Cathy,” he said after she explained their options. “I’ll let you know what we decide on.”

  Cruz stopped short when he saw the long line in front of the ticket counter where several dissatisfied passengers were loudly making their anger and disappointment known. He scanned his eyes over the crowd, trying to find Payton in the chaos.

  Her soft, pretty lavender top and bright golden hair was an immediate draw. She was at the front of the line, of course, holding the woman at the counter captive if the woman’s face was any indication.

  Only, she didn’t look very charmed.

  He’d better get over there. He ignored the shouts from other passengers who thought he was cutting and came to stand behind Payton.

  “You have to be kidding me,” Payton was saying. “There are no flights from this airport that can take me into Mexico? But aren’t we right on the Mexican border?”

  “That’s right, ma’am. But this airport only provides passenger flights to Dallas, Houston, Las Vegas, and Orlando. We will be happy to board you on the next scheduled flight to Dallas, where you’ll have several options for getting to your destination. Unfortunately,” she said, continuing to click away at the keyboard, careful to keep her gaze diverted from Payton, “we don’t have any flights returning to Dallas until tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow? No, no, no, no, no. Tomorrow I’m supposed to be enjoying a day on the bright beaches of Puerto Vallarta. Killing time until my best friend’s rehearsal dinner. In Puerto Vallarta. Toasting the happy couple. In Puerto Vallarta. I’m not supposed to be catching a flight heading north. South,” Payton said slowly, enunciating the word in case the woman didn’t understand, which didn’t earn her any favors from the daggers the woman was shooting in her direction. “I need to head south.”

  It wasn’t hard to miss the waft of alcohol on Payton’s breath. How much could she possibly have consumed in the short amount of time they’d been airborne?

  The ticket agent pinned on a fake smile. “Yes, ma’am. I’m well aware where Mexico is. But your best option if you plan on flying to your destination is getting a flight into a bigger airport with several outgoing flights.

  Payton settled her hands, palms down, on the ticket counter and took in a long measured breath. Then exhaled. “Would you mind terribly seeing—once I get to Dallas tomorrow—what flights you could book me on that would get me to Puerto Vallarta by five o’clock?” At least she’d managed to sound reasonable.

  The woman smiled again and ducked her head, clearly not buying the suddenly sweet act of the crazy lady in front of her. She turned her attention to her screen, her fingers clacking away for another minute.

  Cruz thought about interrupting the exchange, but knowing Payton, she wouldn’t believe it unless she heard it for herself.

  A moment later, the woman’s mouth pursed tighter, and she glanced uneasily at him then Payton. “There seems to be a little difficulty getting you on an available flight from Dallas-Fort Worth to Puerto Vallarta tomorrow. All three of our flights are at capacity. As you’re probably aware, March is a pretty busy time of year for any beachside destination. I can place you on standby, but the earliest confirmed seat I have would be…Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Payton shook her head. “No. No. That’s not going to work. I have to be there by tomorrow. I have to give my best friend the last night of her life as a single woman. We’ve been planning this since we were twelve. I’m her maid of honor. I have to be there by tomorrow. Friday.” He could hear the edge of hyster
ia in her voice, as could the woman who was glancing around her, as if for support.

  This was probably where he should try and intervene. Cautiously, he tapped Payton’s arm. “Hey. I think I have a solution for us.”

  She turned around, her eyes widened when she saw him, then narrowed in suspicion. “Unless you’re about to confide that you’re wearing tights and a cape under your clothes and can fly us both out of here, pronto, then maybe you can wait. I’m not giving up this place in line, buddy.”

  He smiled at the ticket agent. “Perhaps you can indulge us for a moment, but is there any chance you can guarantee us a seat on any U.S. or Mexican airline that will arrive in Puerto Vallarta by tomorrow night?”

  This time the woman delivered a wide smile at him. “I’m afraid not.”

  Satisfied, he looked back down at Payton. “So are you ready to hear me out now?”

  She looked disgruntled but gave a terse nod. She threw an annoyed glance over her shoulder at the ticket woman before he dragged her away.

  “Look, Payton, I’m as invested as you are in getting to Puerto Vallarta in time to see my brother get married. But unless we want to spend the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours sitting in airports hoping to snag a seat on an already oversold flight, then we need to come up with another plan.”

  She folded her arms in front of her, looking as stubborn as a mule.

  Damn his brother. It was his fault Cruz was on babysitting patrol. If not for his promise, he’d be enjoying a cocktail on the beach right now, having arrived the day before. Or at the very least, be making his way to the nearest bus terminal, not giving a second thought to the beautiful but aggravating blonde terrorizing the airline staff.

  But he had promised.

  And to be honest, helping Payton, Dick Eastman’s future daughter-in-law, might give him the boost he needed to settle his business deal in time for breaking ground in early June.

  “You can release my arm now. I’m quite capable of holding myself upright.”

  He raised his brow at that comment, deciding not to mention her near fall earlier today, and released her arm. She tottered for a moment but stayed on her feet. “We have two options. One would be to cross the border, rent a car, and drive ourselves to Puerto Vallarta. It’s almost nine hundred miles and, driving straight through, should take us around fifteen hours. Second option. We could buy two tickets at the bus station in Nuevo Laredo that would take us to Puerto Vallarta. Even with the added four or so hours, my choice would be to take the bus. We could just relax and do some reading without any of the stress of driving.”