by Katy Paige
PROXY BRIDE
The Lindstroms #1
Katy Paige
PROXY BRIDE
Copyright © 2019 by Katharine Gilliam Regnery
Sale of the electronic edition of this book is wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.
Katharine Gilliam Regnery, publisher
This book is a work of fiction. Most names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any references to real people or places are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Please visit my website at www.katyregnery.com
Cover Designer: Marianne Nowicki
Formatting: CookieLynn Publishing Services
First Edition: December 2019
Proxy Bride: a novel / by Katy Paige—1st Ed.
ISBN: 978-1-944810-46-7
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
EPILOGUE
ALSO AVAILABLE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For my parents,
Diane and George Gilliam,
who always believed in me.
Some as good, but none better.
I love you both until the end of time.
Chapter 1
There are some things you should never agree to do, even for your best friend.
Jenny Lindstrom drummed her fingers on her knee and glanced, for the hundredth time, toward the double doors at the entrance to the county courthouse. From the bench where she sat in the back of the small lobby, she had a good view of incoming traffic.
The doors opened, and she gulped with anticipation, but instead of the young man she expected, an older man rushed in, followed by a whoosh of snowy Montana wind. He brushed off his snow-covered sleeves and stomped his boots on the large black mat in front of the doors.
“Getting bad out there,” he muttered.
Jenny checked her watch. He should be here by now, for heaven’s sake!
Maybe the snow was slowing him down. It had, after all, taken her over an hour to drive up to Livingston from Gardiner. But didn’t Ingrid write that he would arrive yesterday? If so, wouldn’t that have left him ample time to be punctual for their appointment?
Jenny took the printed email out of her purse and reread Ingrid’s instructions:
Your appointment with Judge Hanlon is at 2:00 p.m. on December 1.
Kristian’s cousin Sam is tall, blond, and hot, Jen. He’s going to stick out like a sore thumb in Livingston—you shouldn’t have any trouble finding him. He promised he would fly in on Thursday night, so he should be able to meet you at the courthouse on Friday afternoon.
We can’t thank you enough for what you are doing for us. Baby Svenson thanks you too, Aunt Jenny. We know it’s inconvenient, and you’ll have to skip a day of school. We just couldn’t bear the thought of strangers…
The door whooshed open again, and Jenny looked up to see a young couple enter the courthouse, holding mittened hands. They wiped their boots without a word, taking off their mittens. The man used his hands to sign something to the woman, an expectant look on his face. She smiled at him and nodded, signing something back. He kissed her cheek and took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, lacing his hands through hers and pulling her toward the stairs. As they passed the bench where Jenny sat, she could just make out the bold-type words on the top of the form he held: “Marriage License.”
Jenny watched them go up the steps, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She thought of Ingrid and Kris—so far away, so very much in love—and shook off the sudden loneliness that made a thick lump form in her throat. Silly sentiment. You have a good life, Jenny Lindstrom.
She glanced at her watch again and sighed. An hour late! The courthouse would close at four. She had quizzes to grade at home and Monday’s lesson yet to plan. Something she hadn’t told Ingrid was that she wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with this plan: having to wait for him as the seconds ticked by was shredding her nerves.
Craning her neck to look through the windows that flanked the double doors, Jenny guessed the thickness of the falling snow had doubled in the last hour. Maybe tripled. It was only dusting when she had arrived, and now it was coming down in thick white flakes. When she drove home, the sun would be setting and the roads would be slick. Dark and dangerous.
If only Ingrid had given her a cell phone contact number so she could call this Sam and give him a piece of her mind for leaving her waiting like this. But everything was thrown together so last minute, she’d barely had a chance to ask her principal for an emergency day off.
It never occurred to her to say no to Ingrid. She was raised, like the rest of her kin, to honor servicemen and women…and anyway, Ingrid was like a sister to Jenny—they’d grown up together.
She ran her palms flat against her lap and smoothed out the skirt of her simple gray dress: she bought it online from JCPenney last winter to wear to her cousin Linnea’s wedding. The irony of wearing the dress again today for its second time wasn’t lost on her.
The doors opened again, and she sat up straighter, but a disheveled, older woman entered, her arm held by a younger man who looked to be in his midthirties. The woman brushed off her snow-covered skirt and thanked him profusely for his assistance.
Jenny’s eyes narrowed.
She hadn’t seen another single, young man enter the courthouse all afternoon.
This must be him.
He had a kind face, rather more filled out than Ingrid led her to believe, but perhaps he’d changed in the years since her friend was deployed. He was about five foot five, with a protruding round belly, and while his hair may have been blond at one time, there was so little of it left, it was hard to tell. Jenny’s heart thumped uncomfortably as she walked briskly to where he stood in front of the double doors, stomping his thick, black boots.
Focused on the gentlemen, she didn’t look down to see the wet patch of slush and melted water on the marble floor.
At the same time her high-heeled shoes lost all traction, the double doors whipped open again. She couldn’t stop the forward motion of her body—feet sliding and arms flailing. The short, stout man leapt out of her way just before she barreled into him.
Which meant she barreled into someone else instead.
Slamming into the broad, hard chest of the man entering the courthouse, she felt his hands catch around her waist and steady her. But her adrenaline had fired too forcefully for her to recover quickly. Dazed and limp, she clutched at his snowy coat like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft.
“Are you okay?” rumbled a deep voice.
It snapped her out of her coma, and she lifted her cheek from his lapel.
“Y-Yes. I’m…I’m so sorry!”
Finding her footing, she stepped back from the stranger, smoothing out her dress and sliding her purse back onto her shoulder. Only once she’d regained a semblance of order did she muster the courage to meet his eyes.
“Oh!” She gasped.
Tall. Blond. Impossibly handsome.
There was no doubt in her mind:
This was Sam—the man she was going to marry.
***
Sam Kelley blinked back at h
er in shock.
One minute he’d been rushing to open the doors of the old courthouse, anxious about arriving so late, and the next, a cute blonde was barreling into his arms. He took off his gloves and ran his fingers through his cold, wet hair, checking her out.
She had her hands on her hips, long blonde hair framing her face. A simple gray sweater-dress accentuated her small waist. She was taller than the average woman, and he guessed she was in her midtwenties, but it was hard to tell with the irritated expression that was souring her otherwise pretty face.
Wait a second. Tall. Blonde. In her twenties.
“You’re Jenny!” he said, beaming at her.
“And you’re Sam,” she said, her voice decidedly less enthusiastic, her cheeks still flushed from her fall.
For no good reason in particular, he’d been expecting a Brunhilde-type: a thick-waisted, big-boned Scandinavian country gal.
She’s cute. Huh. Kristian failed to mention that…
“You’re very late,” she chastised him, adjusting her purse again.
Then she turned sharply, crossed the lobby with hurried steps, and started up the stairs, leaving Sam no choice but to follow.
“I’m late,” he said, catching up with her halfway up the marble staircase. “Sorry about that.”
“Humph,” she pouted without looking back at him. Click, clack, click, clack. Her shoes echoed up the stairs. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”
“Sorry about that…again. There was a mountain pass, and a plow—” He stopped, realizing how adolescent and ridiculous he sounded. His next excuse would be about how the dog ate his homework.
“Mmm,” she murmured, still marching straight ahead. Her voice dripped of condescension when she added, “It’s Mon-tan-a. In win-ter-time. Mountains and plows should be expected and anticipated.”
Sam wasn’t accustomed to this sort of dressing down and found that he didn’t like it very much.
“You’re Kristian’s cousin but not from around here?” she asked.
“My folks left Montana before I was born. I’m from Chicago.”
She smirked at him over her shoulder, her expression cool. “The big city. Of course you are.”
Stopping at the end of the corridor before a door that read “Clerk,” she turned to face him. He stopped short, watching as she closed her eyes, inhaled through her nose, then exhaled loudly like she was practicing a Buddhist relaxation ritual. Finally, she opened her eyes and lifted her chin.
“Let’s start over.” She smiled woodenly and put out her hand. “I’m Jenny Lindstrom. I’m Ingrid’s best friend. Thank you for meeting me today. Sorry I…fell into you.”
A mulligan. Okay.
When she smiled—even though he supposed it wasn’t genuine—it brightened her face quite a bit, and she didn’t look as harsh and angry. Mustering his most charming smile, he enveloped her smaller hand in his.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sam Kelley, Kristian’s cousin. And you can fall for me anytime.”
She stared at him stone faced, then blinked, pulling her hand away. An unmistakable flush of pink deepened the color on her cheeks.
Just from shaking hands? Whoa. He tried not to grin. So, Miss Snippy isn’t quite as cool and confident as she seems.
“Um.” She cleared her throat. “Right. Good. Let’s do this.”
He winked at her. “Ready to get married, Jenny?”
“Proxies!” she blurted out, her cheeks turning scarlet. “We’re just proxies! We’re not actually—”
Sam chuckled. He couldn’t remember the last time he met someone so uptight and ripe for teasing.
“Oh, well, thank heavens,” he said, putting a hand over his head. “It would have been pretty forward of you to ask me to marry you. We barely know each other, and you may have fallen for me already, but I’m not that kind of guy…”
Her expression was positively glacial.
Sam cringed for her benefit, trying not to grin but losing the battle. “Oh, come on! I’m just trying to lighten up the mood.”
She blinked at him and appeared about to say something, then must have decided against it because she turned sharply and opened the door in front of her.
“Good afternoon. We’re here for the Svenson-Nordstrom proxy wedding.” She glanced in annoyance at Sam and then back at the secretary. “I apologize that we’re so late.”
The woman behind the counter straightened her glasses and gave Sam a cross look before offering Jenny a sympathetic nod.
“Well, now, that’s a problem.” The secretary squinted at the computer screen in front of her. Typing something on the keyboard, a loud, angry beep answered back. “Judge Hanlon left for the day and won’t be back until Monday morning.”
“What?” Jenny stepped forward, her hands landing on the countertop. “No! He can’t! We—we’re proxies for the Svenson-Nordstrom…they’re counting on us…”
She looked back at Sam, her face a mixture of anger and panic.
He cleared his throat and stepped up smoothly beside her. Finally, a chance to show her that he wasn’t some bumbling kid.
“Surely there must be something we can do.” Pushing aside his cashmere coat, he reached into his back pocket and took out an expensive crocodile wallet. “Perhaps we could call Judge Hanlon and explain the situation? I would make it worth his while to come back in. I’m more than happy to pay a…surcharge.”
The secretary glanced at Jenny, then stood up, directing her full attention to Sam.
“Put that wallet away.”
He grimaced at her tone. “I only wanted—”
“You only wanted to fix things by offering money to a public servant? Well, that’s just not our way, son.” She straightened up to her whole five feet, lowering her glasses to take a hard look at his face from across the counter. “I don’t think you’re from around here, so I’ll explain this as fair as I can: Judge Hanlon is gone for the weekend, deep into Yeller, and he’s only coming back in time for the 9:30 Sunday-morning service at All Saints in Big Sky. So if you two want to step in for your friends and make sure they get married, you’ll come back Monday morning on time and we’ll forget this silly wallet business even happened.”
“Yes, ma’am,” whispered Sam, duly chagrined. Now his cheeks tingled with an uncomfortable flush.
The secretary plunked back down on her stool and turned her attention to the computer screen in front of her. “Monday. 10:25 a.m. That’s the earliest I can do.”
Jenny nodded. “Yes. Thank you. Yes, ma’am. We’re grateful.”
“No,” said Sam. “Monday won’t work. My plane ticket is for tomo—” Faced with two sets of furious eyes, he took a deep breath. “Monday it is.”
The secretary pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at Sam with disapproval. “Wouldn’t hurt you a bit to stick around for a day or so, son. I imagine it might even do you some good.”
“Mmm,” hummed Sam, “I can’t wait.”
***
Jenny was not happy.
She click-clacked back down the corridor in her uncomfortable high-heeled shoes, clenching her jaw in anger. The way he took out his expensive-looking wallet made her quake with embarrassment. Big-city ways.
“Well, that was…unpleasant,” she muttered.
“How do you think I feel?” he griped. “I have to reschedule my flight.”
Not my problem, thought Jenny. And definitely all your fault.
“Good luck with that,” she snarked, stopping at the lobby coatrack and pulling her parka from a hanger.
It surprised her when he took the coat from her, holding it by the shoulders to help her. She paused for a beat, annoyed that he wanted to help her. But heck, the faster she got her coat on, the faster she could go home. She punched her arms into the sleeves, and he tucked the collar around her shoulders, lifting her hair off her neck, where it was trapped.
“Hey!” She whipped around, surprised by such an intimate gesture.
He put his palms up in the un
iversal sign of surrender, though his eyes flicked briefly to her chest before skimming back to her angry face.
“Sorry, ma’am…” he drawled. “Just trying to help.”
Oooo! He’s so danged full of himself!
He was doing that “charming” thing again that he’d tried with the secretary, and it wasn’t working any better with her. She zipped up the coat and crossed her arms over her chest, her brows knitted in consternation.
“I think you’ve done enough to help today. I’ll see you back here on Monday.”
She turned away from him and started for the doors.
“Wow!” he called from behind her, his voice practically reverberating in the small lobby. “You’re something! Without me, you would have been sprawled out on the floor twenty minutes ago. I don’t remember a ‘thank you,’ come to think of it. Since the second I arrived—”
“Well!” she said, spinning around to spear him with a furious glare. “Maybe if you’d been on time, I wouldn’t have slipped on the floor, which got progressively worse while I waited for you. You want a thank you? Thank you for that.”
“Ohhhhh. I see. It’s my fault you fell into me.”
“You were late!”
“You’re a real piece of work, lady. I said I was sorry for being late. Like, a thousand times.”
“Well, that and a dollar’ll buy me a pop.”
He recoiled as though smacked. “Have you even noticed how bad the weather is outside?”
“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, I have. In fact, I was watching it get worse while I sat on a bench waiting for you, and now I’m real excited to drive home in it. So thanks for that too.”
He whistled low, shaking his head back and forth. “Okay. For the last time, I am sorry for being so late. Sorry. Sorry, okay? Last thing I’d want to do is let Kris down.”
“Well, I’d hate to know what the first thing you want to do is!”
“Wow, you’re—” He ran a hand through his hair, his face finally as irritated as hers. “You’re snippy. And bitter. You are a snippy and bitter person!”
Snippy. Bitter. Ouch.
She took a deep breath, too mad to feel hurt.
