Книга - Cowboy Seal Daddy

Cowboy Seal Daddy
Laura Marie Altom


THE ENGAGEMENT ARRANGEMENTAfter his divorce, cowboy-turned-Navy SEAL Wayne Brustanovitch swore he’d never remarry. Now he needs a wife–and fast–in order to fulfill his ailing father’s final wishes. Wayne has a plan, but for it to work, he’ll need his pregnant friend Paisley to agree to……A make-believe marriage! Paisley Carter knows her hunky neighbor’s idea is a bad one, even if it’s for a good reason. Then again, after her ex left her pregnant and alone, a no-risk relationship is the only kind Paisley wants. But as she and Wayne play pretend at his parents' Arizona ranch, the line between the ruse and reality begins to blur. Can Wayne and Paisley resist falling for each other for real?







THE ENGAGEMENT ARRANGEMENT

After his divorce, cowboy turned Navy SEAL Wayne Brustanovitch swore he’d never remarry. Now he needs a wife—and fast—in order to fulfill his ailing father’s final wishes. Wayne has a plan, but for it to work, he’ll need his pregnant friend Paisley to agree to...

A make-believe marriage! Paisley Carter knows her hunky neighbor’s idea is a bad one, even if it’s for a good reason. Then again, after her ex left her pregnant and alone, a no-risk relationship is the only kind Paisley wants. But as she and Wayne play pretend at his parents’ Arizona ranch, the line between the ruse and reality begins to blur. Can Wayne and Paisley resist falling for each other for real?


LAURA MARIE ALTOM is a bestselling and award-winning author who has penned nearly fifty books. After college (go, Hogs!), Laura Marie did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boy-girl twins and a bonus son. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.

When not immersed in her next story, Laura plays video games, tackles Mount Laundry and, of course, reads romance!

Laura loves hearing from readers at either PO Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or by email, balipalm@aol.com.

Love winning fun stuff? Check out lauramariealtom.com (http://lauramariealtom.com).


Also By Laura Marie Altom (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)

Cowboy SEALs

The SEAL’s Miracle Baby

The Baby and the Cowboy SEAL

The SEAL’s Second Chance Baby

The Cowboy SEAL’s Jingle Bell Baby

The Cowboy SEAL’s Christmas Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Cowboy SEAL Daddy

Laura Marie Altom






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08375-1

COWBOY SEAL DADDY

© 2018 Laura Marie Altom

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


“It really is a half-baked plan, but...”

Wayne worked past the knot in his throat that hardened every time he thought of a world without his father. “If we can pull this off and bring my dad comfort in the last weeks of his life, it could be worth it.”

“When you put it that way...” Paisley wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. “Maybe we should throw caution to the wind and go for it?”

“You think?” Relief and the thought of doing something—anything—proactive toward helping his dad made his pulse race.

“For the record, you have to know this could end in disaster.”

“True.”

“Just give me a couple days to wrap my head around the logistics.”

“Deal.” He stood, then crossed the short distance between them to shake her hand. When their hands touched, was it his imagination, or was there a spark that had never been there before?

Not cool. Sparks were the last thing he needed.


Dear Reader (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7),

At the time I’m writing this, the US has just witnessed the heartbreaking devastation of hurricanes Harvey and Irma. What an awful pair, right? In Oklahoma, we’ve had a lovely start to our autumn. Warm, sunny days and cool nights—pleasant enough to make it inconceivable how much damage is taking place in other parts of the country.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all who were affected by these terrible storms. Hope your lives soon get back to normal. In a few weeks, I’m traveling to Florida for a long-planned conference and I dread seeing homes and businesses that didn’t fare so well.

In Wayne and Paisley’s story, they’re both dealing with the kind of pain that can’t be fixed with a hammer and nails or fresh coat of paint. Wayne has learned his father is dying of cancer, and oddly enough, his best friend and very pregnant neighbor, Paisley, is the only one who can help. To find out how, you’ll have to dive into their story.

Happy reading!

Laura Marie


For my mom, Louise. I love you. xoxo


Contents

Cover (#u12f8a6d5-68ff-5f3e-bd4f-e81aa2f20680)

Back Cover Text (#u172bd648-023a-5eec-b364-bf2c68e072a0)

About the Author (#uaaeac0a5-6362-545b-8aeb-a15d4ae96445)

Booklist (#u87dfbd12-1c2f-5605-b5a8-f30b90c4ea15)

Title Page (#uc6754aad-c4b2-54c2-a76c-f9f6006f0b96)

Copyright (#u616a04c5-175d-542b-b34a-4081cd45ebe7)

Introduction (#u5f1b383c-2cc0-573e-9109-6d80a46d73ac)

Dear Reader (#u4f81b48a-dca9-5992-815c-662c0ab62fd0)

Dedication (#u82eed45d-66ce-5e57-94f2-d43ca54d1b02)

Chapter One (#udabaf6c9-87cf-565b-bcfc-cb462a6a37c9)

Chapter Two (#u5f997820-a525-5ac1-8d42-3347d5893230)

Chapter Three (#u3b39961a-c61a-5614-a5ac-79a7362b38f3)

Chapter Four (#ub2a3503b-c7e3-593b-bcc0-a1d8d4d99e04)

Chapter Five (#u44073038-9457-5474-af7a-6ac3ae3bfbcb)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)

“This team sucks! You look more like rubber ducks than SEALs. If it was up to me, I’d strip your Tridents and replace them with flight attendant wings!”

Navy SEAL Wayne Brustanovitch sat alongside the rest of his twelve-man team on the Mark V Special Operations Craft jetting past the Coronado coast at forty-five knots while their pissed-off CO handed them their asses on a platter. It was 0300, and they’d been running beach landing drills for the past eight hours.

It was late March. Cold, wet, tired and hungry, Wayne needed a beer, burger and bed. Hell—at this point, he wasn’t even choosy about the order.

Twelve hours later, they’d finally achieved an insertion time their CO deemed acceptable—at least good enough to earn a meal and hot shower.

“How’s your dad doing?” Logan Crenshaw served as the closest thing Wayne had to a brother. While they dressed before heading for the chow hall, Wayne welcomed the chance to run a predicament by his roommate and friend.

“Bad. Our last call, he said the doctor had basically given him a death sentence.”

“Damn...” Logan whistled. “That’s rough. Sorry, man.”

“Thanks. But that’s not the half of it.” He pulled on boxers, then gray sweats. “He told me that it’s his dying wish to see me married and to hold his grandchild in his arms.”

“Ouch. Way to pour on the parental guilt.”

“No kidding, right?” Wayne added deodorant, then a white T-shirt with Navy written on the front.

“Too bad you can’t rent a wife and kid, huh?”

“I wish. That’s the only way I’d take vows again.”

“Got nothing but love for you, brother. That sorry SOB can rot in hell.”

A fist bump relayed Wayne’s similar sentiment.

But the SEAL brother who’d broken ranks to cheat with Wayne’s ex wasn’t solely to blame. Like the old saying goes, “It takes two to tango,” and Chelsea had lied and schemed right up to their marriage’s official end.

Dressed, the two men joined the rest of their exhausted team in line for mystery meat and mashed potatoes. It wouldn’t have mattered what was served. Wayne was hungry enough to eat cardboard—a good thing, considering the potatoes’ dried consistency.

After another verbal lashing during their meal, the CO declared them officially dismissed until 0200 the next morning.

Since Logan was in an on-off relationship with a Hooters waitress who had apparently decided to be back on, they’d driven separately to base.

Most of the single guys drove Mustangs or Chargers, but Wayne stayed true to his country roots by maintaining his red 1976 Ford F-150 Ranger truck. Of course, he’d souped up the engine and cab, but the original body was pristine.

He might be a SEAL, but he was also a cowboy through and through. Next to him on the custom red leather seat was his trusty straw cowboy hat. The thing looked like it had been trampled by a herd of mustangs, but he never felt truly dressed without it. As soon as he put in his twenty years until retirement, he’d move back to the family ranch. Wayne knew his dad wanted him there now, but with eighteen months remaining on his current enlistment, even if he opted for early retirement, he couldn’t just tell his CO he was leaving.

Traffic was hell on I-5 and it took forty minutes to reach his apartment complex.

As he pulled into the lot, his neighbor Paisley Carter struggled to roll out of her friend Monica’s low-slung Jaguar convertible. The two of them owned an interior design business located in a trendy part of town. Monica, who was hot as hell, once had a thing with Logan, which made her off-limits to anyone else on their team. Whereas Monica was pure sex in her tight black dress and the red-soled shoes every woman on the planet seemed to go nuts for, Paisley was more the take-home-to-Mom type in weird pink pants and a white blouse big enough to be a painter’s smock.

She was adorable—even more so pregnant.

She was also a good girl who’d fallen prey to a two-timing bastard. The guy who’d knocked her up didn’t seem to be in the picture, which made Wayne want to punch him into the next county for leaving Paisley in such a rough spot—especially with her crap car apparently in the shop again.

He knew firsthand how much it sucked being cheated on. A nice girl like Paisley didn’t deserve that fate.

Like you did?

Squashing that old insecurity like the scorpion he’d found in his boot on their last Middle East mission, Wayne eliminated that line of thought.

After pulling into the first spot he saw, he killed the engine, then hopped out to help Paisley to her feet.

“Give me your hand,” he said, looking past her to wave to Monica. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Great. How’s Logan?”

“Good.”

“I hate to hear that. In fact, I hate—”

“Excuse me,” Paisley said. “Pregnant lady struggling to get out of this motorized skateboard.”

“Sorry.” Wayne skipped taking Paisley’s hand in favor of scooping her into his arms. He knocked the Jag’s door shut with his hip. “Catch you later, Monica.”

“Bye. Tell Logan to suck it. Feel better, Paise!” The brunette gave them a backhanded wave before revving the engine and peeling out of the lot.

Wayne said, “Logan’s an idiot for letting her go.”

“You’re an idiot for lusting after her. You do realize she’s an heiress and more high maintenance than my car—that’s broken down again.”

Horsing around, Wayne feigned a dreamy sigh. “A man can fantasize about Monica. Not that heap of metal you call a car.”

“Be nice.” Paisley landed a light smack to the back of his head, then flung her arms around his neck while he took the stairs two at a time. “How’s Logan doing with their breakup? Monica’s a tad bitter.”

“No kidding?” Wayne laughed. “I never would’ve guessed. So, what’s wrong with your car this time?”

“Needs a new transmission.”

“Ouch.” He set her on her feet in front of her apartment door. They’d been neighbors for a few years. They barbecued a couple weekends each month and whenever he was deployed, she watched the cactus his mother had given him. She made cookies for him and Logan at Christmas and a special meal for them on Veteran’s Day. She would make some lucky guy an incredible...

Wife.

Logan’s locker room joke might not be such a bad idea. Obviously, Wayne would never be in the market to marry again for real. But he was totally on board with a rental spouse.

The trick would be convincing Paisley that taking his money for posing as his temporary wife would be a mutually beneficial arrangement as opposed to charity.

Over too many beers at the complex pool party last Fourth of July, she’d admitted Monica had bought her a car for her birthday, but she’d made her friend take it back. She hadn’t gone into too much detail, but Wayne gathered the gist was that she’d been raised by a single mom who’d had no qualms about taking all the handouts she could get.

She opened her door and now eyed him funny. “Everything all right? You look almost as green as I usually do.”

“Actually, I have something I’d like to run by you. Want to grab a bite to eat? Maybe Italian?”

She blanched.

“Your little one still making you sick?”

She nodded on her way into the living room. “He didn’t get the memo that morning sickness isn’t supposed to last day and night for months.”

“Is there anything you do crave?” Wayne shut the door and followed her into her apartment.

“Gummy bears and beef jerky—oh, and split pea soup. But with my car out of commission, I haven’t been to the store.”

Now Wayne was the one making a face. “You do know that’s a nasty food combo?”

She patted her baby bump. “Try explaining that to this guy. These days, he calls all the shots.”

“Hang tight. I’ll grab everything.”

“Wayne, no. I’m not even hungry. Monica brought me home for a nap.” She stretched out on the sofa with a soft sigh.

“Great. You have a snooze, and by the time I get back, you’ll be ready for a talk.”

“Why?” She rolled onto her side, jamming a hot pink pillow between her knees. What was it with her and loud colors?

“Does it matter?” He didn’t blame her for being suspicious.

“I suppose not.” She’d closed her eyes and, at least for a moment, looked at peace. Then she opened one eye, staring dead at him. “But it is curious. Why would a career military man and confirmed bachelor suddenly want to suck up to little ol’ me?” Both eyes now open, she cocked her head, shooting him the cutest devilish grin. How had he never noticed her pistachio-colored gaze?

“You know,” he said with a forced chuckle. “That is a good question. One I will be happy to answer once I have you all buttered up with gummy bears, beef jerky and split pea soup.”

* * *

BEFORE PAISLEY RECEIVED an adequate answer from Wayne, he was gone. Just as well. Her baby was practicing soccer kicks against her ribs and the pain made a task as simple as talking too big of an effort to enjoy—even with a too-handsome-for-his-own-good SEAL like Wayne.

She’d crushed on him for three years.

Ever since watching him move into the apartment next-door, hauling boxes and furniture bare-chested past her living room window all day long. Sadly, she’d soon enough learned the score for not only him, but his SEAL friends. They were a cocky lot—admittedly for good reason—but the constant string of bikini models and flight attendants made it clear that a plain Jane such as herself was strictly friend material.

Probably a good thing.

If Paisley had managed to catch hard-bodied Wayne, she wouldn’t know what to do with him. Guys like him no doubt possessed skills she’d never dreamed of in certain explicit areas...

Hands to superheated cheeks, she grinned.

Yes, it was a good thing Wayne had already left.

She was also thankful for the fact that she’d firmly sworn off all males over the age of three months. Dr. Dirtbag had burned her badly enough to leave scars.

Paisley had met him at the corner Starbucks.

David was cute in a glasses-wearing, nerdy way. As an ER doctor, he’d always been dressed in scrubs and brimming with thrilling stories of the latest lives he’d saved. It had never occurred to her that he could have been lying—stupid given her family history. But she supposed if you wanted to believe something badly enough, you did. She’d never thought to question why she only saw him early weekday mornings. He was a doctor. Of course, his schedule would be tricky. Any amount of time he’d carved for them had been precious. Their routine had been lovely. She’d prepare him breakfast, they’d make love, shower, then go about their days.

Never once had she thought to question why in over three months of dating, she’d never seen him at night. Or why his car was crappier than hers. Or why his scrubs were faded and frayed from too many washings.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Her pregnancy had been an accident.

When she told him he was going to be a father, she’d expected happy tears and an engagement ring. She’d daydreamed of finally living out her lifelong vision of belonging to a real family.

What had she gotten?

Ugly accusations.

You got pregnant on purpose, didn’t you? Just like your mom did with all her men, you set out to trap me.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Nothing could have cut deeper than to be compared to her mother from whom she’d worked all these years to distance herself.

Ever since her release from prison, her mother had been calling. The calls now came frequently enough that Paisley dreaded looking at her phone.

She regretted having told David her deepest secrets. It wasn’t a mistake she’d ever make again.

Even worse? He wasn’t even a doctor, but a phlebotomist.

Paisley was too ashamed to tell Monica—or anyone else. Monica would probably post some directive to her fifty-thousand Twitter followers to toilet paper Dr. Dirtbag’s house.

A knock on the door jolted her from her sleepy state.

“Come in!” she shouted, praying Wayne would enter and not a random robber.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” Wayne said. Crinkling paper told her he’d set grocery bags on her kitchen counter.

“You shouldn’t buy out half the store when you were only going for three items.”

“Touché. But I’m hungry, too. Hope you don’t mind if I use your grill? Mine died.”

“How does a grill die?” Feeling like an upside-down turtle, she struggled to flop over to face him. The apartment’s kitchen and living room shared the same space. Another dream was of one day owning her own home, but with Southern California real estate prices, that could be a while. She couldn’t wait to decorate to her heart’s content with no lease restrictions. Until then, she was stuck with beige walls, carpet and tile. She was at least fortunate to have bought a Christopher Guy sofa and matching armchairs from a client who had deemed them so last season.

“I left the grill out. It apparently collapsed from exposure.” She watched him rummage around in one of the shopping bags, and then he presented her with a pack of gummy worms. “Hope these are okay? I used to love ’em when I was a kid.”

She took one look at the slimy confection and bolted for the restroom. Thankfully, she made it in time, but as she rinsed her mouth and washed her face with a cool washcloth, Paisley found herself reluctant to face Wayne.

“Everything okay in there?” he asked from behind the closed door.

“Sort of.”

“Can I help?”

Just thinking about the worms brought a fresh onslaught of nausea. She dashed for the commode.

The door burst open at the worst imaginable time.

“Damn, girl...” Wayne knelt beside her, holding back her coppery hair, rubbing her shoulders, making soothing sounds the way she’d fantasized David would. “How long have you been like this?” He left her to refresh her cool rag, then pressed it to her flushed forehead.

“Forever. I don’t mean to sound like a diva, but could I ask you a teensy favor?”

“Anything.”

“As soon as humanly possible, could you get those w-worms out of my apartment?”

“Absolutely, but I thought you were craving gummy stuff?”

“Cute bears—that’s all. No sharks, either.”

“Got it. My bad.” He flushed the commode, then took off running for the kitchen.

By the time he returned from disposing of the offensive edible creatures, she’d cleaned herself and once again collapsed on the sofa.

“This is probably going to make me sound like an idiot—” he sat in the armchair opposite her “—but is every pregnant woman this sick?”

“I don’t think so. My ob-gyn says this far into my third trimester I should be feeling better—but then she said that about my second trimester, too, so...” She shrugged.

“Well, look...” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Considering what’s going on with you, I’m going to make your soup and my steak, then table my question for another time.”

“What question?” She’d forgotten his big mystery. “Whatever it is, you might as well ask. At least it’ll take my mind off those disgusting worms.”

“Sorry about that.” He winced. “I’ll grab bears next time I’m out.”

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“Babe, hate to break it to you, but you’re in no condition to do squat. So actually, my proposition could be mutually beneficial.”

“But you haven’t proposed anything. Spit it out. We’ve been friends for years. We’ve discussed work, politics and religion. Surely, this mystery question can’t be too bad?”

“Not at all. In fact, once you think about it, it’s really no big deal.” His crooked grin had her tummy doing happy flips. The man was criminally handsome. “How would you feel about me renting you to be my temporary wife?”

“What?” Paisley took a moment for the question to sink in, then bolted for the bathroom.


Chapter Two (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)

“That could’ve gone better,” Wayne mumbled, as he stood outside Paisley’s bathroom door. He’d tried letting himself in, but she’d locked it. “Paise?”

“Go away!” Her voice might have been muffled, but her tone rang through loud and clear. She thought he was crazy. He’d be first to admit he was, but he hadn’t asked her to be his rent-a-wife for himself, but for his dad’s dying wish. There was a huge difference. If she’d just let him explain.

“I want to help!”

“You can’t—” The sound of her tossing her cookies told him she wasn’t naked or anything, so he made a short jog to her kitchen’s junk drawer for a safety pin, then picked the bathroom lock.

Sure enough, when he entered, she was back on her knees in front of the commode. Her complexion was gray. Her expression when she glanced his way shattered his heart. He could kill the guy who’d knocked her up, only to abandon her.

Wayne went through his cool washcloth routine again, then sat on the floor behind her. Legs spread, he drew her back to lean against him. His every nurturing instinct, that he usually reserved for horses, had him smoothing her hair back from her forehead, wishing her free of pain.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered.

“Sorry.”

She waved off his apology. “It’s not your fault I was stupid enough to have unprotected sex with a married man.”

“I know you well enough—or, at least I think I do—to be sure you wouldn’t have been with him if you hadn’t loved him and not known about the wife.”

“True.”

“I saw you kiss him a few times. You seemed happy.” The sight of her with another guy initially set Wayne on edge. He and Paisley were friends. He wanted the best for her. Without personally vetting her new guy, Wayne couldn’t be sure he was good enough. Clearly, he hadn’t been, which pissed off Wayne even more. “How did you find out he was married?”

“After I told him about our baby, he told me he’d pay to have the problem go away.”

“Bastard!”

“Right? I told him I’d always wanted to be a mom and have a family. I thought the pregnancy was a surprise blessing. That’s when he announced that he and his wife had already been blessed three times, and he wasn’t interested in having another.”

“I assume he’s at least paying child support?”

“He said if I promise not to contact him or try talking to his wife, he’ll cover labor and delivery costs, but that’s it.”

Wayne snorted. “I’m no lawyer, but I don’t think he gets that choice.”

She began crying softly. “H-he made me feel so dirty. Like I’d done something wrong. I—I loved him, but now? I feel empty inside.”

“No. You did everything right, hon. Even better? In a few months, you’ll have a gorgeous son and all your pig of an ex will have is a child support bill.” It ate him up inside to see her so defeated.

“I don’t want the legal system involved. As much as I’ve been hurt, his wife would be devastated to know David had been fooling around. Never in a million years would I have dated a married man. He’s scum.”

“Agreed. You’re too good for him.”

“But what about you?” She turned to face him. “What in the world were you talking about earlier? Wanting to rent a wife?”

“It was a stupid idea. Sorry I brought it up. I’m especially sorry it upset you enough to make you sick.” He grappled to his feet, then knelt, scooping her into his arms.

“I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“And it wasn’t your bizarre question that made me sick, but thinking about those nasty gummy worms.”

He walked down the hall to her bedroom and set her on her unmade bed. After slipping off her pink Converse sneakers, getting her comfy by bunching pillows behind her and under her knees, he drew her floral comforter up to her neck. “Better?”

She nodded.

“I grabbed Sprite at the store. Want some on ice?”

“Yes, please.”

He returned to find her asleep.

Not wanting to leave her alone with her door unlocked, he made his steak, then found extreme winter games to watch on ESPN.

By the time he heard stirring from the bedroom, the sun had long since set.

Paisley wandered down the hall. More hair had escaped her ponytail than was in, and her dress looked more like a rumpled prison uniform than her usual classy style. Everything about her kicked Wayne’s protective streak into overdrive.

“Let me help you.” Up from the sofa, he guided her to where he’d been sitting, then plucked a faux fur throw from the back of the sofa to cover her.

“Thanks, but why are you still here?”

“I don’t have a key. What if I’d left you alone and killers or drug dealers strolled inside?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because we have so many of those in our gated community.”

“Hey—anything could happen. My job is all about safekeeping our American way of life.”

Laughing, she said, “Not to detract from your actual military service, but I’ve seen you and your buddies protecting—especially bikini models. Yeah...” She winked. “You all kept them super safe.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I...” The twinkle in her eyes told him she was not only feeling better, but sassy. It made her kooky hair extra adorable. “Did you ever get my beef jerky?”

“I see how it is—you’re just using me for meal delivery?”

“Wayne...” Something about his teasing question served as an instant vibe wrecker. Not a good sign for a guy in serious need of a favor.

He got her snack and poured her another Sprite before sitting across from her and muting the TV. He cleared his throat. “So earlier...”

“When you asked me to be your rental wife?” Eyebrows raised, she shook her head.

“I wasn’t going to bring it up again, but since you did, hear me out.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “I haven’t told you—or pretty much anyone besides Logan—but my dad has cancer.”

“Oh no.” She dropped her piece of jerky back into the bag. “Wayne, I’m so sorry. Is he getting treatment?”

“That’s just it—he says he’s too far gone for that. I’ve drilled him for more details, but he refuses to talk about it. He doesn’t even want Mom to know, but I don’t understand how if he’s that sick, she hasn’t noticed. When I try broaching the subject with her, she tells me he seems tired, but is otherwise fine, Which makes no sense considering his doctors gave him...” His voice cracked with emotion, recalling how much time they’d spent together on the family ranch. It was the little things that now meant so much. Fishing together and building a tree house. The time his junior prom date bailed, so his dad took him camping instead, and told him he could be anything he set his mind to. Even when his marriage crashed and burned, his dad had helped stomp out the fire. “They gave him a couple months to live. He says his sole regret is not having grandkids.”

She gasped and covered her mouth, but then hugged her baby bump. “Which is where I come in? You want me to pretend this is your baby? That we’re together, so your father rests in peace?” Her gaze welled. “Wayne—that’s the sweetest thing ever. But I’ve met your parents lots of times. Surely they’d remember you and I are just friendly neighbors?”

“Exactly. Think about it. That’s what makes this whole plan perfect. What could be more natural than two friends falling for each other and having a baby?”

“Wayne—” She released a long, slow exhale. “You know I love you, but not that way.”

“That’s the best part. I feel the same. You’re a great girl, but—”

She frowned. “I’m not your type?”

“I was going to say I’m career military and blow shit up. You, on the other hand, spend your days making the world more beautiful with your design business.” Plus, Wayne’s divorce left him one hundred percent certain he didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to marry again. Give him a bomb over a bombshell of a woman any day. “You’re an amazing soul. Any man would be lucky to have you. But this engagement wouldn’t be real.”

“But what about your mom? She’s not dying. What happens when she wants to spend time with the baby after your dad passes?”

“Great question.” Now Wayne was the one wearing a frown. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought that through.”

“Although... I suppose after he dies, you could tell her the truth?”

“Does that mean you’re at least willing to consider my plan?”

“For you, for your sweet father, of course. But there’s a lot involved. We’d have to really be in sync—not just act like friendly neighbors, but...you know.” Her blush told him her mind had gone straight to the gutter.

Yeah, he did know.

Once upon a time, a couple weeks after moving in, he’d considered asking Paisley on a date, but then he’d been deployed—hell, maybe a better way of looking at it was that six months in Iraq had given him an overdue reality check. He couldn’t put himself through another potential breakup. The pain of loving and losing was too damned intense.

Survival was about keeping his head in the game—not on a woman.

“Thank you.” Wayne was caught off guard by the profound gratitude he felt for her in the moment. “It really is a half-baked plan, but...” He worked past the knot in his throat that hardened every time he thought of a world without his father. “If we successfully pull this off and it brings my dad comfort in the last weeks of his life, it could be worth it.”

“Absolutely.” She wiped silent tears with the backs of her hands.

“This is good.” Damned if his eyes weren’t also stinging from the relief of having her onboard. “Nutty-as-a-drunk-squirrel crazy—but good.”

“For the record, you have to know this could end in disaster.”

“True.” But more likely, his plan would bring his father much-needed peace.

“Just to be clear, I refuse to take money. This would strictly be a humanitarian mission.”

“Deal.” He stood, crossing the short distance between them to shake her hand. Was it his imagination, or was there a spark that had never been there before?

Not cool. Sparks were the last thing he needed from the neighbor he considered one of his best friends.

* * *

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. Back up the truck.” In the glorified closet that served as Velvet’s break room, Monica tossed her usual frozen breakfast burrito in the microwave, then slammed the door before setting the time. “Wayne—hotshot, abs-of-steel navy SEAL—wants to rent you and your unborn baby? Sweetie...” She shook her head. “That’s more than a little twisted.”

As if on cue, Paisley’s cell buzzed. Her mother. One more problem she’d prefer avoiding. Paisley touched the decline button for the call.

“You can’t keep this up forever. One day, you will have to talk to your mom.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second, but that day isn’t this day. Now, where were we?”

“You were trying rather unsuccessfully to explain why you’re agreeing to Wayne’s crazy scheme.”

“His dad is dying.” While Monica ate her smelly meal, Paisley struggled not to retch as she relayed pertinent details. “With all of that in mind, how could I turn him down?”

“Gee—did it ever occur to you to just say no?”

“Well, sure, but then he looked so sad, and—”

“The man’s no doubt been trained in psychological warfare. Playing dirty was the only way Logan got me to date him.”

“Let’s be real—Logan’s ass in a pair of jeans worked most of his magic.”

“Language!” Monica scolded. “You’re about to be a mother.”

“And if you for one second pretend you weren’t just as hot for Logan as he was for you, then you’re a liar.”

“All right. What can I say? The guy has it going on. But he also thinks commitment is a four-letter word. Besides, my dad would never approve.”

“Wait—” Eyebrows raised, Paisley leaned across the table. “Are you saying that if Logan proposed and Daddy Conrad actually approved, you might still be together?”

Monica chewed extra fast before swallowing, then said, “I’m not sure how you turned this issue around on me, but it’s not going to work. The matter at hand is the fact that Wayne is using you. Sweetie, you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, but you also have a seriously full plate. You’re a business owner on the verge of becoming a single mom. You have about two free hours a day when you’re not puking your guts out, and I selfishly need you to spend them here.”

Paisley drew her lower lip into her mouth for a nibble.

“Oh God...” Monica fisted her burrito’s plastic wrapper. “You already told him you’d do it.”

Nodding, shaking her head, Paisley settled for a shrug. “What can I say? Rampant pregnancy hormones made me a sucker for his sad, stormy-gray eyes—but it’s all good. We were both up front about this being a platonic, temporary humanitarian gig.”

“Lord... In the immortal words of Cher, ‘Snap out of it!’ This man is not your friend. He’s a neighbor who doesn’t need a simple cup of sugar, but your womb. There’s no way you’ll fool his dad, let alone his mother. The whole plan is ludicrous.”

True. So why does my heart skip a beat every time I think about getting started?


Chapter Three (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)

Over a week later, Paisley dropped the kitchen window’s curtain. The last thing she needed was for Wayne to catch her spying.

Was it her imagination, or had he been to the communal Dumpster more in the past thirty minutes than he had for the past few months? If so, what did his actions mean? Was he also still confused by their last conversation?

She was so deep in thought that when a knock sounded on the front door, she was nearly startled into a premature delivery. A peek through the eyehole landed her face-to-face with the man she’d been practically stalking. Had he caught her?

“Hey. What’s up?” She strove for a breezy, nonstalker tone.

“Not much.” He leaned against her doorjamb. Was he also trying a little too hard to look carefree? “It’s a, um, gorgeous day. Want to stroll the duck pond?”

“I suppose that would be okay. Let me find shoes.”

“Sure. Take all the time you need.”

She hated the awkwardness between them. Before his “proposal,” they’d been chill. Friends. Now? She couldn’t read his vibe, but knew him well enough to recognize it wasn’t normal.

When her shoes didn’t show up in any convenient places, she dropped to her knees to search under the sofa. No luck.

It took a mortifying three times to push and grunt her way back onto her feet. Even then, she wasn’t especially steady.

“Whoa.” Wayne grabbed her arm. “Take it easy.”

“Thanks. I get dizzy if I stand too fast—which seems silly since it takes me forever to stand.”

“I’m in no hurry. The CO had to be home early tonight for his daughter’s choir concert. His wife insisted. But hey, his family drama is my gain.” His crooked grin should have been endearing, but Paisley was mortified by his comment.

“How do you consider something as sweet as a mother wanting her daughter’s father to see their child sing to be drama?”

“I was teasing. Logan says the CO’s wife gets bent out of shape if he’s so much as a minute late—kinda like how he goes off on us.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Where were her stupid sandals?

“Why are you so testy?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You fake proposed to me, the clock’s ticking on us becoming a convincing couple by Easter weekend, yet I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Sorry. Work’s been hell on a stick.” He fished her sandal out from under the kitchen table, then asked, “I am curious, though. What kinds of plans have you dreamed up?”

“After all this bickering, I’m no longer in the mood to tell you. Besides...” she rubbed her burning chest “...now I have wicked indigestion.”

He landed her sandal on the coffee table. “What can I do to help? Need medicine?”

“I wish, but I’m doing an all-natural pregnancy.” She rubbed her throat, too, then winced. “It’s really bad.”

“There has to be something you can do?”

She nodded before dropping to the sofa. “But it would take too much effort.”

“Name it. Whatever it is, I’ll get it done.”

“Thanks—if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, I need a tablespoon of honey dissolved into a cup of warm milk.”

“Those exact measurements?” As if she’d sent him on a life-or-death mission, he was already halfway to the kitchen.

“Close is fine.”

“Got it.”

While he banged pots, Paisley warred with her conscience. She had to admit, having Wayne around more often wouldn’t be a terrible thing. On the flip side, as a soon-to-be single mom, she needed to learn to be independent. Leaning on Wayne, only to lose him when he no longer needed her, would do her or her baby no good.

Eyes closed, she willed her heart rate to slow.

What was wrong with her?

Being around Wayne had never caused this sort of indescribable, system-wide panic. They were friends. Why was she now concerned if he was judging her for not having done the dishes or wiped down her stove? Did rough-and-tough guys like him even look at stuff like that? Cerebral Dr. Dirtbag had, but his opinion no longer mattered.

“Almost done,” Wayne called out.

“Thanks.”

A few minutes longer than it had taken her to nibble what little remained of her fingernails, he handed her a steaming mug. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, resulting in still more confusion. Butterflies flapped up a storm in her tummy. That was new. “Careful. It’s hot.”

“Bless you.” The soothing liquid proved perfect. After a few sips, she could have purred with relief.

“Well?” Instead of resuming his seat opposite her, he perched beside her on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

She worried her lower lip. “I’m one hundred percent ready to help, but I do have reservations.”

“Shoot.”

Did he have to sit close enough for his radiant heat to warm her chilly toes? It was distracting her from sharing concerns—of which there were plenty!

“Okay...” She licked her lips. “First, I think we should let your mom in on our secret.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her dearly, but she’s incapable of keeping a secret. For Dad to genuinely believe I’m going to be a father, I’m sorry, but Mom also should believe. We’ll break the news to her after Dad passes.”

“What if I have the baby before then?”

“I’ll consider myself blessed.” He sighed. Scratched his forehead. “There’s no delicate way to say this, so I’ll blurt it out. Dad is dying. He may have a couple months, but according to his doctors, we’re only looking at weeks.”

Paisley caught herself holding her breath. “That’s so sad.”

“Agreed. And look, I know this whole idea is FUBAR, but—”

Nose wrinkled, she asked, “What’s that?”

“Military slang that shouldn’t be used in the presence of ladies. Basically, it just means our pretending to be married is about as screwed up as anything we could ever do, but for the sake of my dad, we’re only talking about maintaining this act for sixty days—ninety tops. When are you due?”

“Eighty-eight days.” She hugged her baby bump. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if your father should pass before then, I think news of this charade would be easier on your mom. If I have my baby and she grows attached to him, believing he’s her grandson, that could hurt her more.”

“True. It’s a potential minefield all the way around. But I’m looking at risk versus reward. I can’t stomach the thought of Dad passing with regrets.”

“Have you ever thought to consider that this news might be so agreeable to your father that it actually helps him recover? Miracles might be rare with his kind of disease, but I’m sure they do happen. What are we going to do if he’s so thrilled with our sham marriage that he goes into remission?”

Eyebrows furrowed, Wayne asked, “I fail to see how this is a problem? That would be awesome.”

“Not if the whole reason for his recovery is an eight-pound bundle of joy who isn’t his grandson.”

“Oh.” His shoulders sagged. “I see what you mean. But hey—that’s a long shot. I promise, if something like that happens, I’ll take the heat. You won’t even have to be there when I come clean.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay...”

“Does that mean you’ll still do it?”

“I already said I would.” Monica would lecture her till the end of time about the recklessness and irresponsibility of this plan, but since when had her fun-loving business partner and best friend become the morality police?

“You’re awesome.” Wayne stood, only to then kneel beside her, squeezing her in an awkward, but not entirely awful, hug. “You won’t regret this. I’ll map out the whole thing. Oh—and we’ll need wedding pics.”

“What?” Her indigestion roared back.

“Relax. You can help me find a suitable thrift shop gown.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it would be to find one my current size?”

“No worries...” Rocking back on his heels, his slow sideways grin disarmed her. “We’ll grab a dress in a style you like, then chop it off midway down. It’ll be perfect for a few head-only selfies.”

Paisley groaned.

Why had Wayne ruined his temporary charm by being an idiot?

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, Paisley found herself not buying part of a dress, but on her way to a bakery. Being next to him in the cab of his truck was too close for rational thought. Besides looking extra hot in his cowboy hat and Ray-Ban Aviators, he smelled too good—like the beach and a great deli. Had he recently eaten? She wouldn’t mind eating. “Do we really need a wedding cake? Seems like overkill.”

“Yeah. We’ll have that classic wedding shot where we’re shoving cake in each other’s mouths.”

“Mmm... Sounds romantic.”

“You know what I mean. Lion—one of my teammates—recommended the place where we’re headed, but then his wedding got canceled—long story. They specialize in fake cakes. Super cheap, but totally legit looking.”

Her only comment was to raise her eyebrows, then shake her head. She turned her gaze from him to the scenery outside her window.

“Tell me you don’t love a bargain.”

“Of course, I do, but this—Never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He made a left. “God, I hate when women pull this crap.”

“I’m not pulling anything.”

“The hell you’re not. You’re pissed about something, but won’t say it. Instead, you’re taking the passive aggressive approach which—”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am—” Her cell rang. Rather than continue their argument, she answered. “Hey.”

“Are you alone?” Even though the phone wasn’t on speaker, Monica’s voice rang through loud and clear.

“No.”

“Still stuck with the pretend fiancé?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, well, sorry. But I have a major crisis and need your advice.”

“Is something wrong at the shop? Or with a client?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. Logan called. He wants to meet for coffee. He doesn’t even drink coffee, but knows I love that cute place on the corner that has the great patio and garden.”

“How is this a bad?”

“Because I don’t know what to say. Or wear. The last time we were together, we both said some harsh things, and—”

Paisley sighed. “Monica, talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I end up sleeping with him and falling hard all over again? Worse—we break up again.”

“Point of fact—I’m pretty sure you never fully let go of him, and second, how many times have I heard you brag about his superhero bedroom talents?”

Paisley glanced at Wayne and saw him smirking.

“Of course, I’m over him. I hate him. And his stupid dimples. And the way he fills out that pair of designer jeans I bought him, but he claims to—”

“Monica, I have to go. I’m going to be sick.” Paisley ended the call.

* * *

“DO I NEED to pull over?” Wayne asked, worrying equal amounts for his leather upholstery and her.

“Nope. I’m fine. But Monica’s constant whining about Logan pisses me off. How can she not see how great they are together? What even happened to break them up?”

“No clue. Although Logan did mention something about having talked with her dad.” He pulled into the bakery’s crowded lot. The white brick structure featured pink-and-white-striped awnings. The Cake Place was written over the entry in hot pink neon script. “Think this place sells doughnuts?”

“Maybe?” In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen her so snippy. Especially with her best friend.

“Please tell me what’s got you in a mood.”

“It’s lame.”

Progress? At least she was admitting there was a problem.

“Worse than Logan and Monica pretending they’re not insanely hot for each other?”

She laughed. “This is stupid, but you hurt my feelings.”

“What did I do?” He killed the engine, removed the keys, then turned to face her.

She worried her lower lip. “More what you didn’t do. But now that I’ve had time to reflect, I’m making a big deal out of nothing and you’re forgiven.” After opening her door, she eased out of the truck and onto her feet.

“Oh no—” He gave chase. “You’re not getting off that easy. Tell me your beef.”

“Leave it alone. Sorry I said anything.” She entered the bakery, zeroing in on a wedding cake display.

“May I help you?” a clerk asked.

“We need a simple wedding cake,” Paisley said.

“How many guests will you be expecting?”

“Just the two of us. I mainly want it for our wedding album—something special to commemorate the occasion.”

“Of course.” The clerk’s name tag read Daisy. “But an option many of our brides choose is our fake cake.”

“Perfect,” Wayne said. “I heard about them.”

Paisley’s furrowed brow read confusion. “I’m not sure about this.”

Daisy laughed, leading them to a corner display. She plucked up a seriously swanky, three-tiered cake, tossing it to Wayne. “Catch.”

He did, bracing for the impact of fifty pounds’ worth of cake and frosting. Instead, the thing must have been made of Styrofoam and couldn’t weigh over five pounds. “Impressive.”

“I know, right? We’re famous for them and ship worldwide. Our fake cakes have been featured on hundreds of feature films and TV programs. We even make simple sheet cakes for your guests to enjoy, but if you choose to buy rather than rent, your wedding cake can be the perfect keepsake of your special day.”

“Sold,” Wayne said. What could be better for a fake marriage than a fake cake? He turned to his betrothed. “Pick which one you want. Maybe it’s my affinity for all things Western, but I’m vibing on the one with all those little cacti and the cowboy hat topper.” To Daisy he asked, “Do you rent by the hour? We just need it for pics. Oh, and we’ll need one piece of real cake to smoosh in each other’s faces.”

“Perfect. We do rent by the hour, and there’s an adorable park just at the end of the street with a rose garden perfect for photos. For an additional fee, we can set the cake on a banquet table and even take professional photos. We call this our Social Media Wedding Package. It has all the panache of a spectacular wedding event for the price of dinner and a movie. We can also handle your floral needs—arrangements, bouquet and boutonnieres—the works. They’re made from the finest silks and trust me, from photos they look real enough to smell. Your friends and family will be impressed.”

“Sign us up.”

“Wayne,” Paisley said, “isn’t this all moving a little fast? Plus, I think your mom will be less disappointed to have missed our wedding if we make it a simple, courthouse ceremony. Frills will only upset her.”

“Relax. Considering we have to be married and on the family ranch with photo proof by Easter, which is in only three weeks, this is the perfect solution. And I think Mom would be more disappointed if I didn’t treat my bride to a good time. She’ll understand that because of the baby, we needed a rush job.”

Paisley’s thunderous expression said she wasn’t so sure.

Back in the truck, before he started the engine, he angled sideways to face her. “So, what’s bugging you? And don’t tell me nothing, because we shouldn’t be lying this soon into our relationship.” He winked, trying to keep things light.

“Honestly? Besides your faulty rationale in regard to your sweet mother’s potentially broken heart?” She gazed out her window rather than at him. “It may sound stupid, but I’d like more regular communication between us. You go days without so much as a text, then pop in unannounced. Even as your pretend fiancée, I’d appreciate more consideration. I don’t expect a full accounting of your every move, but regular updates would be great.”

“Noted.” Interesting. One part of him was annoyed by having to check in. Another part was flattered she cared...


Chapter Four (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)

“What’s got you so damned smiley?” Wayne was hating every second of their 0500 six-mile beach run. A three-mile ocean swim was next on the PT agenda. Most days he didn’t mind, but ever since learning of his father’s condition, he felt as if his time would be better spent on the ranch.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Hell—I still don’t believe it.”

“Knock off the chitchat!” Their CO passed them as if they were standing still. “You losers aren’t a SEAL team, but freakin’ cheerleading squad. Move it, move it, move!”

“Such a charmer,” Logan said once their commanding officer passed them to harass the next guys in line. “But not even his hard ass could bring me down. You’re not the only one around here getting married—only mine’s the real deal.”

“Wait—what?”

“You heard me. I popped the question to Monica last night and she accepted. She wanted me to ask if you’d mind us tagging along to your family ranch. We want to get hitched over Easter. No big deal. I’m sure your dad isn’t up for a major production. But since that’s the only leave we have coming for a while and I want you to be my best man and Monica wants Paisley for her maid of honor, it makes sense.”

“No, man. Nothing about this makes sense. You hate Monica. She hates you. My dad’s dying. Like seriously, what the hell?”

“What can I say? We kissed and made up. And I couldn’t be happier. Not only is Monica obsessed with the photos I’ve shown her of your family ranch, but your dad has always been like a second father to me. Your mom, like my mom.” Tears shone in Logan’s eyes. He swiped them away. “Since my mother passed, they’ve been there for me. It would mean a lot for them to share this special day—especially, since your dad is—well, since he’s not feeling his best.”

“I appreciate all that, but I thought you had that ugly talk with her father?”

“It wasn’t so much ugly as it was a gut check. He basically asked my intentions. When I told him we were having a good time, he told me she was ready for a more serious commitment. He also told me not to even think about seeing his daughter anymore unless I was one thousand percent ready for a lifelong marriage. I got spooked and broke things off. But damned if being without her didn’t scare me more than being with her. I missed her, you know?”

“You’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”

“Is that a yes for the ranch? I showed Monica pics from the last time we were there and she couldn’t get enough of those back-porch views. Oh—and Monica told me your fake wedding is right before we leave. I’m hurt you didn’t ask me to stand up for you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Nah.” Logan flashed a smile. “Just a fool for love. By the way, I ran this past your mom and she loves the idea—although she’s crushed you and Paisley aren’t joining us for a double wedding. Monica and I both think you should reconsider.”

Hours later, Wayne was fresh out of the shower when his cell rang. Caller ID showed his mom, so he answered. “Hey. Is Dad all right?”

All he heard was her crying. The sound wrung his heart like a soaked towel.

“Mom? Is Dad having a rough day?”

“H-how could you do this to me? Y-you’re my only son! Y-you not only got that sweet neighbor of yours p-pregnant, but couldn’t bother to tell us y-you’re getting married again?”

Lord...

Think fast. “Mom, I’m sorry. I thought with everything going on with Dad—the divorce from Chelsea—it would be better to just—”

“When is it ever an appropriate time to break your mother’s heart? Logan told me you and Paisley aren’t married yet, so I worked everything out with Monica’s wedding planner and we’re having a nice double wedding. It’s happening on a whirlwind timeline, but I’m excited. This is all going to be a lot of fun. I can only imagine the cost.”

“What?” Raging heartburn had the protein bar he’d downed doing push-ups in his stomach. Like the entire world wasn’t shattering, he covered his right ear from the sound of guys laughing in the showers.

“Son?”

“Dad?” Wayne gulped. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Fine. Like new man. This news has me happier than June bug dancing in lemonade. I’m finally going to be grandpoppa!” Wayne would miss his Russian-born father’s thick accent and ridiculous analogies that rarely, if ever, made sense, but somehow still managed to convey his meaning. At least he was happy, which was fantastic.

But only if he and Paisley pulled off their charade. He could only imagine what Monica’s nickname for them would be.

#Payne?

The joining of his and Paisley’s names would be hilarious if not so tragic.

“Wayne? It’s Mom.” Swell. “The double wedding will be lovely. The thought of it is the only thing stopping me from permanently grounding you.”

“But, Mom—”

“Not another word. You and Paisley are getting married here and that’s final. Pastor Jim will perform the ceremony, and I’ll trust you to have the license and ring.”

Before he could tell her no, she hung up. Great.

What was he going to tell Paisley? Damn Logan and Monica. This was all their fault.

Not entirely.

His father’s disease was the true culprit.

Was his mother so overwrought with the realization of losing her husband that she wasn’t thinking straight? While tending to his medical needs, there was no way she could handle one wedding, let alone two. What if the added stress made her sick?

On the flip side, his dad had never sounded better. His normally pitiful tone boomed with what Wayne could only guess was anticipation.

But how was he supposed to pull off a fake marriage with a real pastor and marriage license? Suddenly, for a man who’d spent his entire adult life training for impossible missions, Wayne found himself in the untenable situation of being in way over his head.

* * *

“IT WAS SO SWEET.” Monica practically floated to unlock the shop door. “Logan thought of everything. He hired a mariachi band and had the lead singer present my ring. My Instagram followers went wild.”

“You hate mariachi bands,” Paisley said on her way into her office. Since learning of her best friend’s sudden engagement, she’d been downing gummy bears by the fistfuls, and needed the emergency stash she had hidden in her desk’s bottom right drawer.

“This one was different. Incredibly special. Eek! Can you believe I’m getting married?”

“Not really.” Bears in hand, Paisley rejoined Monica in the shop’s showroom. “Just yesterday, you despised Logan. What changed?” And why couldn’t Paisley shake the deep sadness stemming from the fear that she’d never sport an engagement ring. She didn’t even have a fake one.

Her cell rang. Since it was her mom, she hit Decline.

Monica cocked her head and frowned.

Paisley wished for a decline button for her friend’s disapproval.

“Anyway,” Monica said, “I could never hate Logan. But I won’t lie that he hurt my feelings when Daddy asked his intentions toward me and Logan broke up. When he explained that he’d been scared, I totally understood. And now...” She collapsed onto her desk chair with a happy sigh. “We’re getting married!”

“You already told me. Like fourteen times.”

“Sorry. I’m really excited. Oh—and here’s the best part. I guess Logan is close with Wayne’s family and we’re going with you and Wayne over Easter. I’ve always thought one of those barn weddings would be adorable. Anyway, Logan worked it out with Wayne’s mom—promised her she wouldn’t have to lift a finger aside from eating cake and drinking champagne. Of course, you’ll be my maid of honor and Wayne will be Logan’s best man. It’s going to be perfect. I already hired a wedding planner, and he’ll handle every detail superfast. All we have to do is show up.”

Paisley knew she should be thrilled for her friend. And she wanted to be. Really. But beyond the insanity of this one-eighty regarding Monica and Logan’s crazy relationship, what about Wayne’s father?

Paisley cleared her throat. “Is Wayne’s dad healthy enough for a big wedding?”

“I guess? Logan asked Wayne’s mom and she said that aside from the arthritis in his knees, he’s feeling fine. Of course, I asked Logan not to specifically bring up the cancer. She must be out of her mind with worry. Who knows? Maybe the joy of Easter combined with our ceremony and the news that she and Peter are going to be grandparents will send Peter straight into remission?”

Paisley sat down hard on one of Monica’s acrylic desk chairs. “You’re going to send me into early labor. Wayne and I planned to surprise his parents with our news.”

“Oops. Sorry. Want me to call her back? I could ask her to act surprised?”

“Stop.” Paisley pressed her fingers to her forehead. Just when she thought her life couldn’t get worse, it nose-dived to a whole new level of disaster.

* * *

AFTER AN ENDLESS day of statuary shopping and paint selection for Mickey and Rick Levy’s formal entry hall remodel, Paisley drove home. Exhaustion didn’t come close to describing her level of tired. Her feet throbbed. Her lower back ached, and her boobs had mysteriously swollen to twice the normal size.

She’d just dumped split pea soup in a pan to boil, then headed to her room to change into sweatpants and a roomy T-shirt when a knock sounded on her door. Wayne? Part of her hoped it was him, but another part just wanted to be left alone. In the face of Monica and Logan’s true commitment, Paisley’s sham marriage felt icky and wrong.

A look through the peephole showed Wayne standing outside.

The baby kicked. Was that a good or bad sign?

Rubbing her belly with one hand, she opened the door with her other. “Are you as sick of hashtag #Mogan as I am?”

Wayne groaned. “As part of my best man duties, Logan made me put on a T-shirt that read SEALing the Deal! #Mogan.”

“Eew. I have no doubt I’d have been in the same boat, only Monica couldn’t find a T-shirt big enough to fit over my belly.”

He laughed, then drew her into a welcome hug. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny. For the record, I think your bump is cute.”

“Thanks?” It should be criminal for a man to smell so good. Hints of sweat, sun and Irish Spring wrapped her in the cozy bliss of Wayne’s strong arms. If she were smart, she’d resist, pushing against him until reaching a safe distance that allowed her to think. This close, her only coherent thought was that she could stay like this forever. Which totally wasn’t happening, so she ushered him inside and shut the door before checking on her soup. “I should be scolding you popping in again unannounced, but we have bigger issues. What are you thinking for damage control? I guess the happy couple already told your mom we’re getting married and expecting.”

“Well...” He sighed, helping himself to her fridge. “You’ve gotta get more food.”

“I’d love to—assuming the baby follows this trend of actually allowing me to eat.”

“Right.” He shut the fridge door.

“Want some of my soup?”

He blanched.

“Okay, spill it,” Paisley said.

“Your soup?”

Hands on her hips, she frowned. “Really? Spill the reason why your complexion looks grayer than mine.”

He sighed. “You’re not going to like it. I don’t like it. Honestly? We should bail.”

“Is this about #Mogan?” She poured her soup into a mug, then joined him at her kitchen table that was a repurposed wrought iron patio set she’d painted white. Her protruding belly wouldn’t allow her anywhere near the table’s surface, so she cradled her mug and leaned back in her chair.

“Look, I don’t know any way to say this other than blurting it. My mom called and is expecting us to get married along with the happy couple. She’s arranged for our family pastor to perform the service and told me to show up with you and our license. She’s expecting a real marriage, but we—”

“Are just neighbors! What do you mean we’re getting married? Like she’s expecting a real wedding in front of God and everyone we know? It’s official, you’ve gone off the deep end. I don’t even have a dress.”

“We’ll find one.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Promise, everything will be fine. Besides, as soon as Dad... Well, we both know this is only temporary.”

The fact made her beyond sad.

But it was the truth.

Another truth? The more this sham relationship forced the two of them together, the more she saw that maybe Wayne was more of a stand-up guy than she’d always thought. He was handsome and sensitive. Funny. A safe driver. Great for fishing her flip-flops out from under her sofa. But legit husband material? Nope. Not happening. Her baby boy was all the testosterone she could handle.

For his dad, for the sake of their friendship, she had to play this sham marriage through to the tragic end.

“I’ve got an idea.” She set her mug on the table.

“Lay it on me.”

“What if we faked the license? I’m sure we can grab one online, then fill it out, but not file it. For that matter, you could even grab a legit one from the courthouse.”

Eyebrows raised, he asked, “You’d be okay with lying before our friends, my family and God?”

“How upset was your mother?”

“Sobbing. I’ve never heard her like that. But she wasn’t upset about Dad—but us. She was mad at me. I honestly don’t think she has a clue how bad off he is. Which means he’s either doing a miraculous job of hiding it from her, or there’s more to the story. She wouldn’t even talk about him. It was bizarre. But then he got on the phone and sounded happier than I’ve ever heard him. He was a new man. Didn’t even sound sick.”

“Grief affects everyone differently.”

“I suppose.”

“Or, maybe you’re right and he hasn’t told her. I can’t imagine how tough it would be for him to hide something like this, but I suppose if he’s determined it could be done. We won’t know for sure until we get there and see the two of them together.”

Arching his neck, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefingers. “I’m sorry to have dragged you into this. We should probably call it off. I’ll come clean with my parents and—”

“No way. If this news made such a huge improvement in your dad’s entire demeanor, we should at least try. If he makes a full recovery and they figure out our marriage isn’t legit, we’ll deal with it then, but otherwise, for his sake, let’s roll with it.”

“You’re sure?” He held his hand out to her, only not to shake, but hold.

Her pulse quickened at his touch. Her attraction to her neighbor had Paisley unsure of her own name, let alone if this was a good or bad decision. But then he released her and she just as quickly rationalized this was a horrible decision—for her.

For Wayne’s poor, dying dad? It was the only way to go.

Paisley nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

* * *

THE FRIDAY BEFORE the Easter weekend, after a grueling run and ocean swim, Wayne brushed sand from his base locker, beyond relieved for the weekend and to get off at the highly reasonable hour of 3:00 p.m.

He’d worked it out with his CO to have a week’s leave in conjunction with the Easter holiday. Logan had done the same. The plan was to leave next Thursday, celebrate and help with wedding prep, get married on Saturday, celebrate Easter Sunday, then depart for a brief honeymoon at some nearby swanky ranch/spa that Monica’s mother highly recommended.

Wayne was exhausted just thinking about it all. He hated lying to his parents. But then he remembered the way his father had brightened at the news of the wedding and baby. It had been downright miraculous.

Logan approached, swatting Wayne’s ass with his towel.

“What the hell?” Wayne snapped. He was already on edge from the angry rock one of the younger guys was playing at full blast at the other end of the room.

“Chill, bro. I’m high on life. God, I can’t wait to be married. Monica decided we’ll be living at her place for the time being, but her folks want to buy us a house for a wedding gift. Can you believe it? Am I the luckiest guy on earth, or what?”

“I’m happy for you,” Wayne said. “If you’re sure this is what you want?”

“Of course, it is. I love her, she loves me. Done deal.”

Logan dropped his towel to pull on boxers.

Wayne returned to his locker; he’d brushed and brushed, but there always seemed to be more sand. Story of his life.

“Are you and Baby Momma getting hitched for real?”

“Don’t call her that,” Wayne said with an angry crackle to his tone. “And no. After my last go-round with marriage, I’m never doing it again. 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.


Chapter Five (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)

“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?”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/laura-altom-marie/cowboy-seal-daddy/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.