The Stand-in Groom (Wrong Way Weddings Book 3)

by Lori Wilde

  The neckline of the dress gaped enough for him to see one smooth creamy swell of flesh, and he thought of how soft it would feel under his fingers. At the moment, though, he wanted to hear her take on this crazy kidnapping more than he wanted to check out her assets.

  Two wide strips of silver tape had been slapped over her mouth from cheek to cheek. Fortunately, the lower strip was wrinkled on the left side, giving him a starting place to fasten his teeth.

  “This will be a little uncomfortable,” he warned, pretty sure it would hurt like hell.

  Without the use of his arms, he couldn’t brace himself. He had to half lie on her and hope he wasn’t too heavy.

  “Sorry about the weight,” he said, only too aware of her upper torso crushed under his.

  She mumbled something that could have been, “Hurry up.”

  “Let’s try it on our sides,” he said after a minute or two, frustrated by his attempt to loosen the tape with his teeth. “That way I don’t have to worry about hurting you.”

  He rolled on his side, and she wiggled against him, not a maneuver calculated to keep his mind on the job at hand. The old mattress sagged in the middle, and they rolled together in spite of his efforts to put distance between their lower extremities. He was heating up in more ways than one, but he didn’t have time to squirm into a less provocative position.

  Darn! All he had to do was pull the tape off with his teeth, but getting ahold of it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. He bit at the slippery strip and accidentally nipped her chin below it.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, all too aware of the soft tickle of her breath when he got close to her nose.

  The next try he managed to hook his lower teeth under an edge of the tape. He wanted to rip it off fast and get the pain over with, but the best he could do was nibble at the silver strip and use his tongue to further loosen it. He was making progress when a little whimper stopped him.

  “Hang in there. I’m almost there.”

  At last he had an end firmly secured between his teeth. He yanked hard. She trembled from the pain but didn’t jerk away. One piece was off, but unfortunately, the top strip stayed firmly in place. He had to repeat the process, nibbling away until he freed enough to pull it off.

  “Ouch!”

  Her eyes were teary, but she was taking it pretty darn well.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said urgently. “Now it’s your turn. My jackknife is in my left front pocket. You’ve got to get it out for me.”

  “Out of your pocket?”

  Her skin was bright pink where the tape had been, but she sounded pretty calm for a kidnapping victim. For that he was immensely grateful.

  “Roll over me so you’re on my left.”

  “Roll?”

  “Unless you can fly.” He remembered that somehow she’d gotten him into this mess.

  “Well, okay.”

  He flattened himself against the mattress, but it was still a production for her to wiggle, squirm, and inch her way across his body to the opposite side. After what seemed like an agonizingly long time, she managed to spoon behind him, her bottom and a few dozen yards of dress tucked against him so her bound hands were level with his pocket.

  “I didn’t know jeans had such deep pockets,” she said after a couple of tentative attempts to retrieve the knife.

  He could tell she was trying not to get too personal. He was torn between welcoming her intimate probing and not wanting her to start something he couldn’t in good conscience finish.

  She managed to get her fingers inside the slit, but they weren’t long enough to extract the knife.

  “I’m afraid I’ll...” she said, hesitating.

  He knew what she was afraid of. Those busy little fingers were going to embarrass both of them.

  “That’s not a knife,” he gasped when she squeezed more than cloth trying to work her way down to the knife.

  “Sorry. I can’t...”

  “No choice. I’ll try to scoot up a little.”

  “I feel like a worm wiggling on a sidewalk,” she said. “Oh, I’m touching something hard. I nearly have it!”

  She was touching more than his trusty knife.

  “Oh, dear.”

  Oh, dear was right. She was on target in more than one way.

  “Close, but no cigar,” he quipped, trying to pretend he wasn’t aching for her to go farther.

  “Why do you have such deep pockets?” she complained.

  “Just standard size,” he assured her.

  They weren’t talking about jeans, and he wasn’t the only one who was squirming in discomfort.

  “I have it. Yes, I can get it,” she cried out excitedly. “Why do you carry a knife?”

  “My dad gave it to me. Sometimes it’s handy on the job. Leave it on the mattress between us, and I’ll free your hands first. Don’t worry. I’ll go slow and put my finger under the tape before I cut.”

  “Can you do it without looking?”

  “Sure.” This back-to-back business was awkward, but he didn’t see where he had a choice.

  How long would it take those two morons to putt-putt across the lake and find a phone? Would they return immediately or blunder around for a while? It probably depended on orders from the mysterious boss they were calling.

  “Why kidnap you?” He asked the number one question, even though she hadn’t seemed to have a clue before they taped her mouth in the van.

  “Don’t you think I’ve been racking my brains trying to think of a reason? My parents aren’t at all wealthy, but...”

  “But what?” He finished carefully slicing through the duct tape on her wrists. “Now cut mine.”

  She started cutting but stopped talking.

  “If you have any ideas, tell me. I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “My fiancé is well-off.”

  “Ah.”

  “Not him, exactly, but his family. He’s a Mercer.”

  “One of the Mercers?”

  Nick was no great admirer of the wealthy Mercer clan, but his grandfather moved in their circle thanks to the success of Bailey Baby Products.

  “Yes. There, your arms are free,” she said.

  He took the knife and made quick work of the rotting ropes on his ankles and hers. Except for a sore head and stiffness in his shoulders and arms, he felt okay. He flexed his fingers and watched while she got up and moved around to restore circulation.

  “Are you okay? How’s your head?” she asked.

  “Just a headache.”

  “Maybe I can find something for it. There might be aspirin in this place.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get out of here.”

  He wasn’t worried about the unarmed kidnappers, but there was always the possibility they’d come back with something more lethal than a six-pack.

  She was rummaging in the sorry-looking kitchen cupboard.

  “Look. Cups, canned soup, a kettle.” She pulled open a drawer and held up a small packet. “Told you! Everyone needs a painkiller once in a while. Let me get you some water.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got to go.”

  “You better take it,” she said in a tone he was sure she usually reserved for four-year-olds.

  “Okay.” He took the packet and opened it, dry swallowing the tablets. He was too busy calculating their next move to worry about the thudding pain in his head. He and Stacy would probably be okay if they went into the woods behind the cabin. Percy and Harold had obviously never earned a Boy Scout badge in rope tying. He doubted they were any more competent in the woods.

  Stacy was leaning over the stained old sink getting a drink from the dribble of water coming from the cold water faucet. He watched patiently until she was done, then leaned his head toward the faucet to catch some of the rusty-tasting trickle in his mouth.

  “Nasty,” he said as he wiped his mouth and grabbed her hand, accidentally running his thumb over the big rock on her left hand. He didn’t stop to admire the engagemen
t ring, but he did wonder why those jerks hadn’t taken it. Weren’t they tempted by its obvious value? Couldn’t they use it as proof they had her? He didn’t know much about kidnappers, but Percy and his partner were one dumb pair of crooks if they thought they could pull this off.

  Stacy wasn’t at all sure she’d get far in the woods wearing the torturous heels, but waiting around for the creepy crooks to come back wasn’t an option.

  Imagine, she’d liked this wedding gown because it wasn’t as elaborate as most. In the store she’d thought of it as simple elegance. Tramping through dense underbrush on an island that might or might not be deserted, she hated the voluminous skirt that constantly tripped her and the delicate spaghetti straps that left her arms vulnerable to scratches and bug bites.

  “You doing okay?” Nick turned his head to check on her but didn’t slow down.

  “Just dandy.”

  She gave him an ear-to-ear smile calculated to let him know how dumb his question was, then felt guilty. It was her fault he was in this mess. He was only here because he’d tried to help her. But why the heck was she here? How did Percy and Harold know where to find her? What did they expect to gain by bringing her to this briar patch of an island?

  She was out of breath, and her sense of direction had totally deserted her.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” she called out, trying not to lose her breath.

  “Straight into the woods for fifteen minutes, then we’ll go left at a ninety-degree angle. That should bring us back to the shore. Think of it as cutting a slice of pie.”

  “You’re assuming this island is round. What if it’s shaped like a one-legged elephant?”

  “We landed on the eastern shore, so the sun should...”

  “Oh, never mind! We’re in Lower Michigan, not the Canadian wilderness. No one gets lost here.” She hoped.

  “Do you need to rest?” He stopped and waited for her to catch up.

  “Of course not. This is nothing compared to recess with forty-two preschoolers.”

  At least at work the kids did the crying and she soothed. She was two blinks away from bawling, and it didn’t help to realize how worried her parents and brothers would be. And, of course, there was Jonathan.

  “Come on.” Nick took her hand and guided her over naked tree roots protruding through the ground like giant tentacles.

  She tripped anyway, going down on one knee with a sickening rip. She was going to be stuck paying for this dress, and it wouldn’t even be fit to wear.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Tell me we’re playing a survivor game, and I’m the next one to be voted off the island.”

  She stood and balanced unsteadily on the big mama of all roots.

  “Maybe if you lose the shoes,” he suggested.

  “So I can step on prickly thorns and sharp stones and things that crawl on their bellies?”

  “Maybe I could carry you piggyback.” He made the offer with ill-concealed doubt.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  She trusted him not to drop her, but how could she ask it of him? She stepped gingerly over the rest of the exposed roots and realized she didn’t have a clue where the shack was anymore.

  “We’ll angle back to the lake now,” he said. “With any luck we’ll come out of the woods too far away to be seen from the shack when those two idiots get back.”

  He found a path of sorts, and walking became less treacherous. She followed behind him, lifting her skirt to avoid falling over it.

  The adrenaline rush of their getaway had subsided, and she had time to think. Unfortunately, she wasn’t focused on their escape. Her most vivid memory was more up close and personal, specifically wiggling the knife out of Nick’s pocket.

  She’d never think of him as a “Nicky” again. This was no little boy tramping ahead of her. In fact, the more she thought about touching him so intimately, the more uncomfortable she was. She kept her eyes averted when he looked back to check on her.

  Actually, Nick was easy to watch as long as she didn’t have to go eyeball-to-eyeball with him. Rusty-brown tendrils curled on his neck, and the sculpted muscles of his back were awesome even under his shirt.

  Too bad Jonathan didn’t have buns like his.

  She regretted the thought as soon as it popped into her head. A enticing firm backside and thoroughbred thighs had nothing to do with a person’s goodness. A man could be built like a Greek statue from the neck down and still be a bad candidate for happily ever after.

  Jonathan was...nice. Really nice. She was ashamed of herself—well, a little bit anyway—for ogling the seat of a stranger’s jeans.

  Of course, men checked out women’s bodies all the time. She knew that from overhearing her brothers’ boy talk. So there was nothing wrong with a woman admiring a well-proportioned male. It meant absolutely nothing, but it did distract her from her problems. For a minute or two, she’d almost forgotten her feet were in agony and her knee smarted from falling.

  “Wait here a minute,” Nick suddenly warned.

  She froze while he went ahead.

  “It’s okay,” he called back. “Come on.”

  She followed, surprised by how spacey she’d been. If she hadn’t been preoccupied, she would’ve heard water lapping along the shoreline. What she saw wasn’t exactly a sandy beach, but the ground did slope gently down to the lake.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said.

  She stepped out of the painful shoes, hoisted the skirt of the gown above her knees, and stepped into the shallow water. The muddy bottom seeped between her toes, and icy water lapped at her ankles, but it felt wonderful.

  For a few minutes she was so absorbed in the delicious numbing sensation in her sore feet, she didn’t notice Nick watching her.

  “Nice legs,” he said lamely when she caught him staring.

  He’d picked up her shoes and was wiggling one heel.

  “This is loose. Want me to snap them both off for you?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  They were ruined anyway, and it gave him something to do besides watch her walk out of the water.

  She shivered a little from her icy footbath. It was dusk, the end of a long June day. The air fanning her cheeks was still pleasantly warm, but lake water was slow to heat up after a long Michigan winter. She’d had enough wading.

  “How’s the water?” Nick asked.

  “Cold.”

  “Too far to swim anyway.” He was staring across the blue expanse at the mainland. “I could make it if I had to, I guess, but I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  “I earned my Red Cross lifesaving badge,” she said, miffed by his assumption she couldn’t swim.

  “It’s farther than it looks,” he warned. “Think I’ll pass. If you want to strip down to your undies and give it a try, I’ll be glad to watch.”

  “Not likely!”

  He tossed the broken heels into the woods in two different directions and handed her the remaining parts.

  “No sense making it too easy if those idiots try to find our trail.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Follow the shoreline. It seems to be a pretty big island. There may be some summer cottages. At least, we may find a boat.”

  “We could try to signal the mainland or something.”

  She looked longingly at the opposite shore.

  He knelt over the lake’s edge and scooped up a swallow of water in his hands. “Water seems pretty clear if you’re parched.”

  She wasn’t that thirsty.

  “Is your head okay? Do you feel dizzy? How many fingers am I holding up?” She thrust three digits in front of his face, but he covered her hand with his and pushed it away.

  “You don’t need to play doctor with me, not that it wouldn’t be fun in the right circumstances. Let’s get going. I thought I heard a motor while you were frolicking in the lake.”

  Sometimes his spin on things was downright annoying, but she padded behind him, bare
foot, carrying a ruined shoe in either hand.

  “Hey, lights ahead,” he said, rounding a curve a few yards ahead of her. “I think we’re saved.”

  3

  “They have electric lights,” Stacy said, relieved to see spotlights mounted near the roof of a large log cabin, the first sign that the island was inhabited.

  “Must have a generator,” Nick said. “Maybe they’ll have a cell phone we can use.”

  A barrel-chested guy in jeans, flannel shirt, leather vest, and a wide belt that pushed his stomach up into a beach-ball shape was dancing on a picnic table, trying to get a girl to join him. The other men hooted and squirted the contents of their beer cans at him.

  They were all into facial hair. She spotted a guy who looked like Fu Manchu with a long dangling mustache, two versions of Blackbeard the Pirate, and a braided beard with bits and pieces of what she hoped weren’t bones woven in.

  “It’s a party,” she said, the picture slowly coming together. Other words came to mind: melee, riot, orgy. “I hope they’re friendly. They look like refugees from a 1960s motorcycle movie.”

  “Wait here,” Nick cautioned. “Stay hidden in the trees.”

  “Like no one will spot me wearing a white wedding dress.”

  He gave her a sigh of disapproval but took her hand to guide her over the bumpy ground.

  “Hey, here’s another bride!” one of the Blackbeards yelled.

  Between the bonfire blazing in a brick barbecue pit and the profusion of spotlights, the area in front of the substantial log dwelling was almost as bright as it would be in the light of day.

  “Howdy,” the big man said. “Looks like you two just got hitched.”

  A petite woman with flaming fuchsia hair sidled up to him and stared at Stacy curiously.

  “This is Cindy. I’m Josh. Maid of honor and best man, although I can personally attest Cindy is no maiden.” He roared at his own quip. “Didn’t know there was another wedding reception on the island tonight.”

  “Oh, we’re not married,” Stacy said.

  “Not yet,” Nick quickly said. “We have a situation here.”

  “Do tell?”

  “I love situations,” Cindy said.

  She had daisies woven in her hair like a hippie flower child and a filmy gauze garment clung to her. They both seemed friendly, so why didn’t Nick ask to use their cell phone?