The Surprise Wedding

by Jean Oram

  Her chin tipped up. Her eyes filled with anger and determination. “We are.”

  “Then why did you go out there without calling me first?”

  “I tried to leave a message.”

  “I didn’t get one.” He checked his phone to be sure. Yup. No messages from Olivia. Just from Logan, who said he’d seen Olivia speaking with Barry out in the meadow.

  “What were you doing out there?” he asked.

  “Getting samples. You said we could dig up five.”

  “Why did you meet with Barry?”

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Are you spying on me?”

  “Is there a reason why I should be?”

  She glared at him. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “Is there a reason why I should believe you think we’re a team, and have my back and not just your own? That you’re not using me?”

  “I am not using you any more than you’re using me,” she said hotly.

  This was mutual—business. And not at all what he was referring to. She had used their relationship, his love, to make her parents hot and bothered over her dating a man who wasn’t from their world. Devon had thought that what he and Olivia had was real, but when reality had come calling, she’d backed out, telling him that if he loved her he’d leave her alone. Forever. She hadn’t even considered his marriage proposal or the possibility of them being a family. She’d withdrawn to the shelter provided by her parents, shutting Devon out, making him fear she’d keep their own child from him.

  “I’m trying to do what’s best for all of us,” Olivia said with heat, “and you refuse to look at all the factors. You prefer to live in a dream world where everything just falls into place. That’s not life, Devon. You have to make plans.”

  “I have plans. You just don’t like them because sometimes they involved stepping into the unknown and trusting in something that’s not quantifiable.” He edged closer. “Like love. Not that you know what that is.”

  She gasped and swung back her hand as though she wanted to slap him. Vintra was watching them with a curious expression, and she slowly lowered her arm and straightened, her cool business demeanor falling into place over her anger.

  “This is business, Devon. Nothing personal. Please remember that.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He made a point of giving her a cool, hard look, forcing himself to hold his breath so he wouldn’t inhale her electrifying scent. “Maybe you should sign this before we go any further.” He pulled the three-page document John had created for him from behind his petitions. It was slightly damp, but still legible. He tried not to act too smug as he presented the agreement.

  Olivia looked surprised, adding to his feeling of satisfaction. That’s right, he was the real deal even if he didn’t dress like a Ken doll.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said.

  She smiled sweetly.

  Uh-oh.

  He handed her a pen.

  She ignored the offer and tapped her phone’s screen a few times. “I have one, as well.”

  Her lawyers worked Sundays, too? Poor little indentured slaves. Why wasn’t Devon surprised?

  She flipped the screen in his direction, her smile still sticky sweet. She had a confidence, a verve that heated his blood even as she challenged him, their anger at the ready like rattlesnakes preparing to strike. There was still so much emotion arcing between them that he found himself wanting to test it between the sheets, see where the raw energy took them.

  She tipped her head to the side, still acting innocent. “And I added a few extra things since our last conversation. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She was a royal pain in the butt, issuing a challenge with her eyes for him to try and one-up her. It made him want to kiss her, devour her.

  Irrational. He’d never wanted to do that while playing hardball negotiating other town contracts before.

  Because Olivia still has a hold on you, dummy. Despite the pain of the past, she’d hooked him hard and never let go. And like a fish on the line, he didn’t know how to free himself.

  “My document is longer?” he suggested hopefully, giving her a heated smile that used to melt her.

  “Oh, Devon,” she said, using a soft tone, her cheeks pinking. She was flirty, playing along. His body’s heat level nudged toward the red zone. “It’s not how big it is, it’s how you use it.” She handed him a stylus so he could sign her contract.

  Her innuendo nearly knocked him over, he was so surprised. He eased closer, near enough that he caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with rain. It was one he was certain would invade his mind long after she’d left. “Was that an innuendo, Miss Carrington?”

  She smiled. Actually smiled. For real. She looked at him through lowered lashes, sucking in her cheeks as she fought it. She gave him a tiny, slightly hoity-toity shoulder lift that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing as it reassigned his body’s energy somewhere below the belt.

  He’d always loved their games.

  He immediately stepped back.

  No, he remembered that Olivia. The one who was playful and fun.

  She was sexy. Really sexy.

  And she had the power to break his heart, which nobody was ever doing again.

  Ever.

  Like she’d said, this was business. Nothing more.

  The East Indian fellow beside Olivia spoke up. “Are you Devon?”

  He nodded, half relieved and half annoyed by the interruption.

  “I’m Vintra.” He shook Devon’s hand with enthusiasm. “I think we found exactly what we’re looking for.”

  Olivia gave her scientist a dark look. So much for them playing it cool.

  Devon grinned. He loved it when minions screwed up. “That’s fantastic. Let’s talk. But first, you two look cold. Let’s get my sister to fill you with hot coffee—I’ll wait in line if you want to get cleaned up in the washrooms. Just down that hall.” He watched Olivia and Vintra go, still amazed at how muddy The Face of Carrington Cosmetics was. Even her perfect manicure was hidden under a layer of mud. Not at all like the woman he’d expected to see.

  And it was unexpectedly sexy. She seemed so real. Fun. Carefree.

  Not stuck up and perfect.

  He reminded himself that she was simply excited about this line of cosmetics and finding the magical ingredient that pulled it all together. He found himself hoping the valerian would be exactly what she needed—not for the sake of Blueberry Springs, but for her.

  Devon joined the line of customers waiting for snacks and drinks. It seemed half the tourists at the outdoor concert had come in for shelter, which meant Nicola must be freaking out over this little organizational blip. The good thing about mountain weather was that what blew in quickly often left just as fast, and they’d likely be out enjoying music again within the half hour. He sent Nicola a text saying as much, in case the transplanted city gal hadn’t learned that mountain weather nuance yet.

  No need for her to have her babies early due to preventable stress.

  Devon turned, trying to locate Logan, who was still tailing Olivia. He scanned the café, then the street, from his vantage point. Logan had found a spot at the curb with his black car and was watching from there, the rain still pouring down. They shared a nod before Devon turned back to the line.

  It was nice having him tail Olivia, not just for her protection, but for the heads-up on what she was doing when he wasn’t around.

  Impatient with the lineup, Devon let himself behind the counter, certain his sister wouldn’t mind him helping himself as he often did when the café was busy. He worked around her as well as Logan’s daughter Annabelle who had Down syndrome and a definite knack for keeping things organized behind the counter despite Mandy’s assistant—a guy with a management degree who couldn’t find a job in his field—who frequently mixed up their system.

  Times were tight, jobs scarce. Another thing Barry didn’t seem eager to help fix.

  Devon started a new pot of regular r
oast after he emptied it into cups for his guests, gently teasing Annabelle—who loved stripes—that polka dots were the best. She rolled her eyes at him with a smile, then proceeded to ignore him so she could straighten out the mixed up cutlery bin. Devon poured Mandy a lemonade when he heard the order, making himself useful until he saw Olivia return from washing up.

  He paid for the coffee, leaving an extra ten dollars in the register even though he knew it drove his sister nuts having her till over when she tried to reconcile her accounts at the end of the day.

  Smiling to himself, he carried brownies and coffee to the table Olivia was holding down. She was shaking from the cold and gnawing on her bottom lip—a sure sign something was on her mind.

  “Here, drink this.” He passed her one of the coffees, after dumping sugar and cream in it. Yes, he remembered how she took her coffee, and earlier had made a point of pretending that something like that hadn’t been worth remembering. But now it felt less important to make that point and more important to show her he cared—was on her side so they could get along.

  “Where did Vintra go?” He looked toward the washrooms, on the lookout for the man.

  “A hotel room opened up so he went over to take it,” she said.

  “But what about you? You’re soaked through.” What kind of man took a room before the lady was accounted for? Make that a cold, wet woman who was your boss?

  Olivia gulped her coffee and winced.

  “I told him to take it. He has more tests he wants to run and needs a dry place to do that. Plus it’s best if the samples are fresh. I’m sure another single will open up soon.” She still had mud stuck in the crevices surrounding her nails, and her pink polish was chipped, he noted, as she cradled the cup as though wishing she could climb inside its warmth.

  Devon looked outside at the sheets of rain, not wanting to reconsider his evaluation and assumptions about who Olivia had become. She was still a princess who would choose her family and their wishes over anyone else. Or at least him.

  He sipped his coffee and tried to decide what to do with his cold, wet…whatever she was. Possible business associate? With the rain, another room might open up, but not before she got chilled to the bone.

  “You need dry clothes and we need somewhere we can hash out which agreement we’re going to sign.” He pushed his chair back, collecting the three plates with Mandy’s delicious whiskey-and-gumdrop brownies, and headed to the counter with them. He grabbed a bag, dumping the treats inside. Returning to the table, he collected Olivia, stopping when he saw protesters gather in the rain outside the café, voices raised.

  They had to be kidding him. Was someone tipping them off every time he went somewhere with Olivia? A group of bored protesters picking on Olivia was the last thing he needed.

  “Give me your keys,” he said to Olivia. Her car was surely closer than his.

  She folded her arms across her chest, glowering at him and his demand. “No.”

  “I need your keys.”

  She followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. From across the café Devon could see his sister frowning, wiping her hands on her ever-present apron as she came around the counter.

  He cursed under his breath and grabbed Olivia’s purse, opening it to free her car keys. Why did she refuse to listen to him?

  Logan reached the café’s doors, giving Devon a curt nod. It was go time.

  Devon swiftly ushered a rigid Olivia past the big man, who acted like a human wall between them and the people shouting about her raping the land and digging up their meadow’s flowers. Cameras flashed as she planted her feet and opened her mouth to set the protesters straight, and Devon all but picked her up, knowing that yelling at the protesters in front of the media would only make it worse. He needed the town to like her, needed her to help his case against Barry, not send Devon’s campaign down in flames for being associated with someone who yelled at protesters.

  “You have to let me fix this,” Olivia said, struggling in his grip. “Just trust me.”

  “You’re in my town now, Olivia. My rules. That means you’re the one who has to trust me.”

  “The protesters weren’t in the meadow!” Olivia argued, as Devon drove them back to his house in her little Cayenne, darting around corners like he was behind the wheel of one of his race cars. She should know—he’d taught her how to drive one. Those had been the most exhilarating days of her entire life and she’d never felt so alive. So out of character.

  She trusted him to keep them safe as he drove, but knew his aggressive driving probably wasn’t conveying the image they currently needed. Plus Mr. Right was sliding around in the back seat and getting excited. “And can you slow down? This isn’t the movies. There are no bad guys chasing us.”

  Devon glanced in the rearview mirror and slowed the car while pushing a hand through his hair.

  He needed a haircut. She shivered and aimed one of the car’s heat vents at her torso.

  “You should have seen that coming,” he muttered.

  She honestly didn’t know how she could have prevented that flare-up. It was almost as though the protesters were on the lookout for her now.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.

  “Did you call them up? Is having them chase you around town some sort of publicity stunt?”

  “No! And why are you so intent on making me a bad guy at every turn? Why do you keep assuming the worst of me?”

  He’d asked her to trust him, but how could she when he didn’t trust her?

  “Why did you come to Carrington if you have so little trust in me and my integrity?”

  He cut her a look.

  “When have you ever proved I could rely on you? You pushed me away when we should have been a family, Olivia.” His voice was low, shaky. “We should have supported each other, stood together, and you shut me out. You told me that if I loved you, I needed to leave you alone. Alone, Olivia. Who says that to someone they love, the father of their child?” He slammed the steering wheel hard enough that she worried the airbag would deploy.

  “Devon…” She swallowed hard over the regrets, Mr. Right’s little nose nudging at her elbow from his spot in the back seat. “I was scared.”

  “No, you didn’t trust me. Didn’t trust our love.” He shook his head as though frustrated with himself for voicing his hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Devon.” She focused on breathing, on not breaking apart.

  “Are you? For which part? For giving me my walking papers and saying sayonara?” He gave an angry salute. “Or for letting me know that I’d never be enough for you? For our—”

  “Stop! Okay?” She was shaking. Reminders from the past were storming around her, buffeting against her walls. She’d been so scared. She’d been twenty and trying to do the right thing. She’d been trying not to ruin Devon’s life, his dreams. Trying not to humiliate and embarrass her family. Trying not to give up her own future, her life. How could she support a baby? How could she run off with a man she’d known only a few months? In the end, it didn’t matter. She’d failed at all of it, not even being able to bring the baby safely into the world.

  She’d regretted it all for so long, and the last thing she needed was him heaping his own hurt on top of her suffocating stack.

  “You—”

  “No.” She held up a hand. “I don’t need you marching in here and telling me all the ways I failed, pointing out all my imperfections. I’m perfectly aware of each and every way I’ve failed to live up to everyone’s expectations, yours included.”

  The car filled with bitter silence.

  Olivia lowered her voice, trying to control her emotions, hoping to patch up today’s disaster so they could at least hang on to a business relationship. “In the meadow I stayed with Vintra in case the protesters came back. We couldn’t both leave so I could make sure you’d received my message and reaffirm your consent. You’d already implied it. We’re still under a time crunch and I did the best I could, Devon. Please believe me when
I say I didn’t mean to upset you or lead you to think I was doing things behind your back.”

  “Why were you talking to Barry?”

  “Why were you spying on me?”

  Devon’s jaw tightened and he gripped the steering wheel harder.

  “I don’t believe it,” she muttered. So much for rebuilding trust.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t been considering working with Barry as a backup plan.”

  “He is the mayor, Devon. He’s also a conceited, arrogant man who has no desire to make room for Carrington in Blueberry Springs. Which means that if you want to stop the dam and I want this valerian, we’re stuck together.”

  She added gently, “It also means you need to stop ushering me away like I’m a member of the royal family whenever protesters come along.”

  “I’m protecting you, preventing it from escalating.” His brow was furrowed, his intention obviously kind and well-meaning.

  “It makes me look guilty, and you by association. That’s hardly what either of us needs.” The muscle in his jaw bunched tighter as she continued, “Devon, I can handle myself. And if we can show the protesters we’re on the same side, they could help us.”

  “It’s not that easy, Olivia.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  Inside her purse, her phone rang. She ignored it. She’d bet anything it was her father wanting—no, demanding—to know what was going on in Blueberry Springs. She’d seen the cameras and hated to think what they’d captured and already distributed. Her with the earth’s blood on her hands as she ran away in guilt. Well, that might be a little dramatic, but that was about how it felt at the moment.

  Devon was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “I can’t see how this is going to work.”

  “Me neither.” She sighed, feeling as though they’d crossed a bridge, had identified that they were up against steep odds, but were now at least on the same page. The let’s-make-a-plan page.

  “Maybe,” he began carefully, “you need to go home.”

  She suppressed the chill that shuddered through her. “I what?” He was kicking her out of Blueberry Springs?