We’ll fake the license. I’ll talk with Pastor Jim at the rehearsal—explain about Dad.”
Logan whistled. “That sounds fun.”
“Screw you. It never would have gone this far if you and Monica hadn’t invited yourselves to what would have otherwise been an ordinary weekend.”
“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.” Logan slapped his shoulder. “You were drowning in this from the first day you popped the question to your girl.”
“She’s not my girl and you started this whole thing by suggesting I rent a wife.”
Laughing, Logan said, “I didn’t know you’d be stupid enough to actually do it.”
“Yo—how come no one else is invited to your weddings?” Lion wandered up. Big, blond and sometimes scary, Lion had been given his call sign for his tendency to roar when going into battle. Plus, his furrowed brows made him look perma-pissed.
“Agreed.” Monk was next in the complaint line. His name came from his preference to hole up with his Bible during leave as opposed to hitting bars. He kept his hair buzzed so short that no one remembered the shade other than buzz-black. “Friends don’t let friends hit an open bar alone.”
“Since when do you even drink?” Logan asked Monk.
“I drink plenty—only, since I stick with fine wines, none of you beer guzzlers ever see it.”
The room erupted in laughs.
Wayne slammed his locker door, escaping the crowd to let Logan handle the mess he’d created.
Outside in the blazing sun, he gulped fresh air.
The worst part of this whole thing was that the more he was around Paisley, the more he enjoyed her company. She was a good woman. Sweet and funny. Cute and yet still somehow sexy. She was the kind of total package that if he had been looking, he might be interested in catching. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t. He had his career to consider. His dying father. His mother.
Plus, he’d already tried marriage once and it was a complete failure.
In his truck, he didn’t just drive to his apartment complex, but to Paisley. For some odd reason, he craved being with her. Getting to know her. He wasn’t typically a touchy-feely guy, but for once, considering what he was going through with his dad, he’d go with it.
With her.
“Wayne.” Paisley stood at the partially open door wearing a voluminous pink sundress. With her hair in pigtails, she probably looked twelve—not counting her baby bump. “You’re the last person I expected to see. What happened to you calling first before popping in?”
“What kind of welcome is that for your fiancé?”
“Ha-ha. Look, it’s really not—”
He brushed past her to pace her living room. He was so large that his constant motion cramped the already tight space. “I was thinking...”
“Yes?” She closed the door, then collapsed onto the sofa.
“It occurred to me...”
That you should call before barging in on a woman who is wearing her fave grunge wear?
“You and I are pretending to be engaged. We leave next week for our wedding, yet have never been on a date. Wanna go?”
“Now?” She fingered her dress that was more of a nightgown. “I’m not exactly...”
“You look adorable. Let’s go.” He took her hands, tugging her from the sofa. “There are a couple of things you need to go along with that perfect wedding gown we’ve still got to find you.”
“What else do I need?” Was it wrong that even though she felt perfectly stable she didn’t want to let go of his hands?
“It’s a surprise.” Sadly, he released her to fish under the chair. “Go ahead and put these on.” He set her sandals in front of her to step into. How did he always seem to know right where to find them? The brush of his fingertips against her ankles made her happy she’d shaved last night in the tub. His touch made her a little dizzy. A little too excited to go anywhere he wanted. A little less determined than she should have been to guard her battered heart. “You’ll also need a nice, thick pair of socks.”
“Why?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He grinned.
She wanted to keep a straight face. She wanted to not get suckered by his lone dimple or strong white teeth or perfectly sun-kissed tan. But she couldn’t. Her lips curved into a matching grin, and then she succumbed to the excitement of her first happy surprise in a long, long time.
It wasn’t until she sat beside Wayne in his truck, stealing a glance at his chiseled profile and dashing cowboy hat and strong forearms gripping the wheel, that it occurred to her the last time she’d fallen for a guy, she’d ended up pregnant and alone.
Before she went and did something idiotic like falling for her fake fiancé, maybe it was time she told him to turn around? To take her home. Where she’d be safely tucked away from his mesmerizing slow grin and the sexy scent of Irish Spring. Most of all, she needed to guard her heart from the way he made her feel.
Protected. Sheltered. Needed.
Emotional ambrosia for a woman in her condition.
A ticking bomb preordained to explode the moment he no longer had a practical use for her in his life.
* * *
IN A MILLION YEARS, Wayne never could’ve envisioned himself easing a sock up a pregnant woman’s silky calf, but here he was, literally kneeling at Paisley’s feet in the center of Boot Bonanza. “Above all, when picking a new pair of boots, you should opt for comfort. All these flashy designs look nice in the store, but when you’re twenty miles down a box canyon, searching for a lost calf, trust me, comfort’s gonna win every time.”
Paisley cocked her head, eyeing him funny.
“I’m serious.”
“I know. And it means the world to me that you want my feet well protected, but let’s think this through. I’m an interior designer who lives in San Diego and will soon have a bouncing baby boy. When do you think I’ll find time to traipse through box canyons?”
“You know what I mean. And since when is it wrong for a guy to want to look out for you?”
“Never. Thank you. Just sayin’ that the majority of shoes in my closet were chosen for form over function.”
“That may well be, but on my watch, I think you should be in more stable footwear. Those sandals you wear are totally unsuitable for a woman in your condition. Did you know 35 percent of women reported falling at least two or more times during pregnancy?”
