Normally she appreciated his size. Especially when he was called upon to get something she couldn’t reach. But sharing a bed with him?
God, she was going to be sharing a bed with him.
Resigned not to make a big deal about it, she folded the blanket down.
“I know I went along with this plan fairly easily,” he said. She gaped at him. He thought it had been easy? “But know this, Jamie. I will not be coerced into having children to perpetuate this sham. It’s one thing if we want to continue this thing we have. It’s another to bring innocent children into the mix and lie to them. Do you understand?”
“Relax. I’m not suggesting we have kids. I would never do such a thing. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, we would need to have sex in order to have a baby.”
“Jamie, I’m a man. It would be easy for you to persuade me into having sex if you put your mind to it.” He waved his hand in the air as if she was stupid for not knowing that. Maybe she was.
“Regardless, I’m not going to seduce you into impregnating me. That wouldn’t aid our goal to get invited on trips at work if I’m home on maternity leave.”
“I did not sign up to have kids.” He pointed at her, making it very clear how serious he was about this. She wanted to ask him why, but feared it would bring on another round of hysteria.
“Neither did I,” she reassured him. “Now let’s get ready for bed.”
He took a deep breath and calmed down.
“I sleep in the nude, how about you?” she asked, because she couldn’t help herself. His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open before she started laughing. “I’m kidding. You should see your face.”
“Not funny,” he grumbled.
* * * *
Wes was already in bed when Jamie came into the room and closed the door. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
This was Jamie. His friend. Yes, she would be sleeping in the same bed as him, but that didn’t mean he would be having sex with her. Unfortunately his body was trained to have sex with women who shared his bed.
He scooted over to the side when she got in.
“You okay? You look terrified,” she said with a chuckle.
“Just stay on your side and we’ll be fine.”
“Do you want me to put a string down the middle?”
“No. I think we can both agree that I need more of the bed than you do. So I will take up two thirds, and you will have what’s left,” he joked, earning an elbow in the rib.
“Goodnight, James,” he said, using his nickname for her.
“Goodnight, Easton.”
She’d used her clever nickname as well. It kind of felt like a sleepover. Not that he’d had many of those. He hadn’t liked explaining to his friends why a cook made them pancakes in the morning instead of his mother.
Wes was awakened from a surprisingly restful sleep when Jamie threw back the covers and got out of bed. “That’s it,” she mumbled.
“What’s wrong? Where are you going?” he asked. It was still dark. The clock by her bed said it was nearly four in the morning.
She muttered something else in answer, but he couldn’t make it out. Deciding it didn’t matter, he lay back down, but she ran into the doorjamb on her way out of the room and he heard her talking again.
He became more alert when he figured out what was happening.
He’d heard stories of her adventures while sleeping. Like the time she came out in the morning to find the milk was out, or once when she’d made and eaten half a mayonnaise sandwich. But this was the first time he’d seen it for himself.
He got out of bed and followed her into the living room, where she was standing in front of the chair mumbling. He could make out a few words, but together they didn’t make any sense.
“Jamie? Are you really sleeping or are you messing with me?” he asked.
“She’s asleep.” Mr. Witmer nearly scared the piss out of him. “You can tell by the way she’s muttering. Every once in a while you might pick up a real word, but mostly it’s gibberish. Unless you ask her a question directly.” The man turned to Jamie and whispered. “Jamie, did you sneak out of the house to go to a party your senior year?”
“Yes. But don’t tell my dad.”
“Wouldn’t think of it, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
The man shook his head.
“Is she going to be grounded now?” Wes smiled.
“If I could ground her, don’t you think I would have already done so after the stunt you two pulled?”
“I’m sorry about that.” He couldn’t say it enough. What he really wanted to say was it was Jamie’s fault, but he kept that to himself.
“Jamie?” The man turned to his zombielike daughter with a tilt to his head. “Why did you marry Wes?”
Oh, shit. Wes glanced at the door, ready to make a run for it, but his wallet was in the bedroom.
“We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together,” Jamie mumbled. “I like him better than Duane.”
That was good to hear, but he’d already guessed as much.
“Who’s Duane?” Mr. Witmer asked.
“We should get her back to bed,” Wes suggested before her subconscious incriminated them.
“You’ve never seen this before?” Her father stared at him.
“No.”
“Hmm,” was all he said. “Jamie, go back to bed.”
“Okay.” Jamie turned around and walked back to their room, crawling into the middle of the bed from his side.
“Jamie? Can you move over? Jamie?” A low chuckle came from the direction of the door. When Wes looked up her father was gone. Wes poked and pushed, but she made a disgruntled sound and took up more of the bed.
Giving up, he went out to the sofa, curling up under an orange and brown afghan. He couldn’t believe he was spending his wedding night cramped up on a curmudgeonly man’s sofa, but life was full of twists and turns. He fell straight to sleep.
He was shaken awake by his wife. Sunshine seared his retinas as he winced up at her.
“What the hell?” he muttered as she said the same thing.
“Why are you sleeping out here?”
“Because, Hoggy McHogster, there was no place for me to sleep in the bed once you decided to go on a tour of the estate and then fall into bed taking up the entire thing.”
“Oh, shit.” She covered her mouth. “I was sleepwalking.”
“Yeah. It’s rather amusing; unless you’re worried your new wife is going to spill secrets to her father about your marriage.”
“What did I say?” she whispered, looking over her shoulder.
“You said I was the sexiest man in the world.”
“I did not.”
She didn’t even believe it for a second. Maybe he’d overreached. “You didn’t say anything incriminating. But maybe you could stay in bed—on your side—tonight.”
“I can’t help it.”
“The least you could do is make me a mayo sandwich if you’re going to be walking around.” He nudged her arm so she knew he was joking.
She smiled up at him and pointed toward the kitchen. “I’ll go start breakfast. How’s that?”
“Thanks, wife.” He bent and gave her a peck on the top of her head.
His casual show of affection turned out to be a good thing.
“Cool it,” her father said as he came in the front door carrying a newspaper. “I don’t want to see you pawing up my daughter.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“You don’t have to call him sir. Call him Dad.” Jamie hugged her father.
“Don’t call me Dad,” the man said over Jamie’s head.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I’m going to shower.”
After dressing in his usual jeans and T-shirt,
Wes followed the sound of grumbling into the kitchen.
Jamie was preparing breakfast. Or making a mess, as was usually the case when she cooked.
Maybe the marriage was a sham, but he kind of liked being part of a real family. Even if one of the members wanted to kill him.
Chapter 8
“You’re doing it wrong,” Weston said when he came to stand next to Jamie by the counter.
“How can I possibly be doing it wrong? It’s a mix with two ingredients.”
“You never add a dry compound to wet. You should incorporate wet in increments into the dry. See how the powder is resting on top the water?” He shook his head at her. “And here I thought you were brilliant.”
“Well, I proved I wasn’t all that smart when I married you.” She laughed and shoved him with her hip as she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye.
Her father was leaning up against the doorway, watching them.
She quickly played back their exchange since Weston had come into the kitchen. They hadn’t said anything to give them away. They sounded like a normal married couple bickering about nothing.
“I’m making pancakes,” she said to her father with a smile.
“And apparently you still insist on doing it wrong.” Her dad shook his head, but there was an endearing smile on his face.
“There’s coffee. I can’t make that wrong.” She nodded toward the pot.
“No. You’ve been able to make coffee since you were eight.”
“When I started drinking it,” she recalled.
“That’s why you’re so short,” Weston joked.
“Five five is not short. It’s average.” She looked up at the six feet three inches of her husband and stuck out her tongue.
As she and Weston tossed barbs back and forth, she noticed her father discreetly go to the cupboard where they kept the medicine. The bottom shelf was filled with bottles. The sight of them nearly made her drop the plate in her hand.
Rather than ask and allow him to downplay it, she continued her banter with Weston as she put the perfectly good pancakes on the table.
They sat, and Wes held the plate out to her father after serving Jamie first.
“Are you scared?” her dad said.
“Terrified,” Wes answered.
“The trick is to keep a glass of orange juice at hand in case you bite into one of those balls of dry mix.”
“Good idea.” Wes nodded as if her father had just shared the secret of life.
They chatted easily throughout the meal, but Jamie could practically feel those pill bottles, poised and ready to destroy her happy life. Was her father sick again?
She glanced across the table, studying him closely. He looked okay. Maybe there were a few more wrinkles and a little less hair than a few years ago. Both conditions he would gladly blame on her if mentioned.
She and Weston did the dishes together while her father read the paper.
“Did you want to go for a walk on the beach?” Wes asked when they’d finished.
“You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
He kissed her on the top of the head before leaving the room. Well played, she thought.
When Wes was gone she casually came back to sit at the table, drawing her leg underneath her as she’d done thousands of times over the years.
“How have you been feeling?” she asked, rolling her cup of coffee between her palms.
“Never better.” He flipped to the next page of the paper without looking up.
She wasn’t sure she believed him, but if he’d decided not to talk about it, she wouldn’t budge him without evidence. She’d make a point to scout out the medicine bottles when he wasn’t around.
“I like Weston,” he said, surprising her as much by what he said as by the change in the conversation.
“You do?”
“Yeah. He doesn’t touch you or kiss you very much that I’ve seen. And trust me, I don’t need to see that anyway. He doesn’t seem comfortable with that sort of thing, but I can tell he cares about you. Men don’t need to do all the fancy gestures to get their point across.”
“I know.” She didn’t realize her father knew that. But it made sense. He was one of those men who showed they cared in the small gestures rather than showy deeds. He’d never bought her a pony, but he made sure she got through college. He might not have thrown her a fancy sweet-sixteen birthday party, but he’d helped her buy a car and then shown her how to do simple maintenance on it so she wouldn’t be taken advantage of at the garage. He loved her, and told her every time they spoke.
“Maybe if I’d done less talking and more showing your mother how much I cared she might have stayed.” They didn’t talk about her mother often. But when they did, he often took the blame for their problems.
“Don’t blame yourself for my mother’s behavior. She couldn’t handle the life she chose. She knew you were a cop. She knew what that meant. If she wasn’t up for it, she shouldn’t have married you.”
“I’m glad she did. If for no other reason but that she gave me you.”
“I know I’ve been a handful over the years.”
Her father snorted at the understatement of the century.
“Thanks for not killing me for the stupid shit I did.”
“Like getting married to a stranger?”
“Weston has been my best friend for years. He’s not a stranger.”
“I guess not. He’s just a stranger to me. I’m probably going to owe him an apology at some point for treating him like a felon. I’m glad he makes you happy. The fact that you were friends makes a big difference.” He nodded and patted her head.
“I’ve gotten on his nerves at work, and I’m still here to tell the tale. I guess that’s a good sign.”
“He hadn’t seen you sleepwalk before.”
Jamie shrugged, not having an answer.
“You weren’t living together when you got married?” her father asked, watching her.
“No.” They still wouldn’t be living together.
Her father nodded. “I see.”
“What do you see?” she asked. Surely he wasn’t going to fault them for not living together before they were married.
“Nothing. Let’s go catch up with your husband for a walk on the beach.”
Her father was happy, and accepting her new marriage with a smile on his face. Maybe those pill bottles were full of antidepressants.
She’d have to wait to find out.
* * * *
Wes twitched when Jamie wrapped her body around his arm the way he’d seen women do on commercials for erectile dysfunction medications. Resting her chin on his biceps, she grinned up at him as if she was really a new bride happy to be walking on the beach with her new husband.
“Isn’t it nice to be somewhere warmer?” she asked.
He laughed. It was fifty-eight degrees and she was bundled up in two sweaters and her boots.
“Yes, you look so warm.” He understood her gesture better now. She was attempting to steal his body heat. He didn’t mind sharing. With a glance over her shoulder, he noticed her father watching them. Time to show him something convincing.
He bent down and kissed her. She kissed him back without hesitation. When he pulled away they smiled at one another like silly love-struck teenagers. Her father had moved on.
“Did we make him cringe and look away?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think my father seems tired?” Jamie asked, wincing up at the sun.
“I have no baseline with which to compare his activity levels.” His formal speech made her laugh, which was what he was supposed to do when he saw that little indent of worry between her brows. It was possibly the main reason he’d been put on the planet.
It was good to have a purpose.
<
br /> “I saw a bunch of bottles in the medicine cabinet this morning. When I checked right before we left, there were only three bottles and they were vitamins. I don’t know if I miscalculated or he hid them. I tried to check his bedroom, but I don’t want to get caught. I need a distraction.”
“I’m sorry. I only signed up for the one diabolical plan. You’re going to have to find a new accomplice for B and E on your father’s room.”
“Listen to you with the cop speak for breaking and entering.”
“It’s rubbing off from listening to his stories.”
“He was proud of his job, and he hated having to retire because his body couldn’t keep up. You should feel honored that he’s sharing those stories with you. It means he likes you.”
Wes was pretty certain they were meant to deter him from doing anything untoward to the man’s daughter. But he nodded in agreement, hoping he’d misunderstood Mr. Witmer’s intent. “I told him how well we work together.”
“It’s nice not to have to lie about everything,” she said with a laugh.
Wes could tell she didn’t like having to mislead her father. Despite her reputation for hiding things in her youth, she respected him. So did Wes for that matter. Jaime’s dad had raised his daughter to know he loved her and would be there for her. Wes didn’t have that.
“I hope he’s okay,” she said, and he could hear all the worry she was trying to hide in that casual comment. She was afraid. He pulled her close and bent to whisper in her ear.
“I’m sure he would tell you if he wasn’t. He loves you.”
Jamie’s answer was a snort of disbelief. “I’m not so sure. He doesn’t like for me to worry.”
Wes wasn’t the only man who’d taken up the job. “If he’s decided not to tell you, I don’t think you should be snooping in his things to find evidence. If he doesn’t want you to know, he must have a reason. And not wanting you to worry is one of my favorite reasons for not telling you things.”
“Like what?”
“Like remember the McLean job?”
“Yeah.”
“We almost lost it because you had a cold during the initial meeting, and Mr. McLean is a germaphobe.”
“Oh, my God. Why didn’t you say anything?”
The Work Wife Page 9
