Falling for the Best Man

by Amanda Ashby

  “Is the dove breeder about five foot one with short brown hair, and in the habit of carrying a stuffed toy alligator under her arm?” he asked, and Emmy jumped to her feet, her brow furrowed. That could only be one person.

  “Bec?”

  “What’s a Bec?” he asked, still staring out the window.

  “Not a what, a who.” Emmy walked outside just as a taxi pulled way, leaving her younger sister standing there with an exasperated expression on her face.

  “Jeez, Emmy,” Bec said as she hooked her backpack over her shoulder and stalked over to the back door. “The driveway’s getting worse every time I come back. Stan was almost going to charge me double for driving me up here. Said his suspension will be shot.”

  “What are you doing here?” Emmy said, ignoring the driveway comment. Despite how much she loved Wishing Bridge Farm, there was hardly enough money to pay for the power, let alone the upkeep. Not that she could tell Bec, in case it gave her sisters more ammunition in the argument for selling the place. It was also one of the many reasons Emmy wasn’t thrilled at Bec’s sudden appearance.

  “Last time I checked it was my house, too.” Bec sailed inside and deposited herself in the closest chair not covered in wedding preparations. At twenty-two, Bec was like an exotic pixie, with blue eyes, dark bangs that fell across her lightly freckled face, and full rosebud lips that made just about everyone fall in love with her. “And who’s this?”

  She was also impossibly direct.

  “This is Christopher. Christopher this is my younger sister, Bec, who is about to explain why she’s suddenly turned up with no notice. I thought you were working in a bar in England?”

  “I was, but now I’m here.” Bec, who always used her own logic, gave an indifferent shrug.

  “And you didn’t think to call first?” Emmy said. Not that she was really surprised. Bec spent her whole life flitting from one place to the next, and while normally she could accept that as just who her sister was, the timing for this visit couldn’t have been worse. “How long are you back for?”

  “What’s with all the questions? I didn’t call because it was a last minute decision.” Bec got to her feet, her eyes not quite meeting Emmy’s. “It’s been a long flight, and I’m tired, so if it’s okay with you I’m going to go and crash down in the cottage.”

  “Actually…” She coughed, hoping her sister wouldn’t read too much into it. “You’ll have to sleep in the house. Christopher’s staying in the cottage.”

  “What?” Bec’s navy eyes, so like their father’s, bulged. Mainly because if any of the three sisters were likely to have a strange guy staying in the cottage, it would be Bec. Even Pepper, behind her business suits and college education, had a rebellious streak in her, but Emmy had never invited anyone to stay at Wishing Bridge Farm, something Bec well knew.

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m fully house-trained,” Christopher piped in, which caused Bec to giggle.

  “I’ve got no idea who this guy is, but I like him. He’s funny.”

  “Thanks.” Christopher grinned. “I like you, too. Anyone who travels with a stuffed alligator will always have my vote.”

  “He doubles as a pillow and a way to distract children if I get stuck next to one that’s crying,” Bec said as she continued to give Christopher an appraising glance. “Do you travel much?”

  “Yes, he does,” Emmy interrupted, long familiar with Bec’s stalling techniques, not to mention the challenging gleam in her younger sister’s eyes. She then turned to Christopher. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes so we can have a sisterly chat?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to move out? I feel bad. Especially since it’s late afternoon in England. You must be exhausted.”

  “Thank you. I’m pleased someone understands the rigors of international travel,” Bec said in a pointed voice. “But please, you’re welcome to stay in the cottage. I’ll just sleep in my old room. Unless, of course, Emmy’s done something else out of character and turned it into a home gym.”

  “Hahaha, you’re hilarious.” Emmy rolled her eyes. Sure, her sisters thought she was set in her ways, but she wasn’t that bad. Besides, there were plenty of bedrooms in the house. It wasn’t her fault Bec preferred to sleep in the old cottage since she was sixteen years old. She waited for Christopher to walk out the back door and down the hill before she dragged her attention back to where her sister was still standing. “So, are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

  “Nothing,” Bec protested, still not making eye contact. “I just decided to come home for a while. Plus, Pepper thought—”

  “Pepper thought what? That I might be okay with you two trying to sell this place?” Emmy’s throat tightened and her fingers clenched. In between organizing the wedding and trying not to be affected by Christopher Henderson’s ample charms, she was off her game by a mile.

  “Emm, it’s not like that.” Bec blew her bangs out of her face and rubbed her stomach. “We both know how much you love this place. And how much Ivy loved it, too. But we’re worried about you. You’re twenty-five and have never left home.”

  “That’s not true. In case you’ve forgotten, I went to New York.”

  Okay, bad example.

  “You went to New York once. For two days.” Bec waved her hand as if the trip was too insignificant to even matter. “And then you came back even more determined not to leave again. What we’re doing is for your own good. Plus, this place is in worse condition than last time I was here. The sooner we sell it, the faster someone with resources can come along and restore it to its former glory. Coop told me his parents have never been happier since they sold the farm. Ditto with the Beckets. They’re now cruising the Mediterranean.”

  “Just because everyone else is doing it doesn’t mean we should.” Emmy couldn’t hide her annoyance. Besides, while it was true Ben Cooper’s folks had sold most of their land, they’d kept the original farmstead Coop now used to run his microbrewery. “It’s not just about the money. It’s about keeping the place local. At the last town meeting there were only fifteen people there. Did Coop tell you that?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact he did. He also told me it was a yawnfest,” Bec said in a serene voice.

  “That’s not the point,” Emmy growled, since it was impossible to deny town meetings could be a bit long-winded. “It’s tradition. As is having a Watson at Wishing Bridge Farm. Why do you think Ivy worked so hard to keep it in the family?”

  “Because she didn’t know better. She never left Connecticut, let alone the U.S. All Pepper and I want to do is give you a chance to spread your wings.”

  “But I’m not like you and Pepper. I never was. I like it here.” And the one time I tried to spread my wings, it ended in a disaster. A disaster that I’m now forced to live with for the next four days.

  Emmy gritted her teeth. Her two jet-setting sisters couldn’t understand she wasn’t designed the same way they were. They thrived on adventure and the unknown, but Emmy much preferred a quieter life.

  The kind she’d grown up with.

  The kind Ivy had led.

  The kind that didn’t result in car accidents.

  “Hey, that’s harsh. I might like traveling, but that’s about the only thing Pepper and I have in common,” Bec protested. “And contrary to what you think, I really didn’t come here to fight with you. Besides, there are much more exciting things to talk about. How long have you and the delicious Christopher been dating?”

  “We’re not,” Emmy assured her, well-accustomed to her sister’s sudden changes in topic. Ivy used to say Bec had the attention span of a gnat and was happy to flit from one thing to the other, making friends and laughter wherever she went. Emmy guessed it was true, though from her perspective, all she saw was the trail of destruction Bec unknowingly left in her wake.

  “Really?” Bec seemed to be studying her intently, and it took all of Emmy’s willpower not to blink.

  “No. Of course not. Absol
utely,” Emmy said, reminding herself that regardless of how nice he looked in his denim shirt, he was not for her. Not by a long shot. “He’s just one of the wedding guests.”

  “Who’s staying here? I might not be business minded, but I’m pretty sure housing guests isn’t what a wedding planner’s meant to do.”

  “It’s not like that,” Emmy said in a tight voice.

  Bec held up her hands in defeat. “Okay. If you say so. And now I’m going to catch up on some sleep.”

  Emmy caught sight of the time and realized she was now five minutes late. “I’ve got to go anyway.” She caught the strained look on Bec’s face and her mood softened. “We can talk when I get back.”

  “Sure.” Bec yawned as she headed upstairs. Once Emmy was sure her sister was gone, she hurried outside to where her other problem of the day was waiting for her. Why did she get the feeling it was going to be a long morning?

  …

  “Kit! Buddy, you made it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Christopher grinned as he clapped his old friend on the back. It was obvious from Lewis’s beaming face that settling down agreed with him. And if he’s happy, then I’m happy.

  “We’re so glad you did. And sorry about the accommodations. Trust Lawrence to flood the inn. Still, Emmy was amazing the way she stepped in. And so lucky she had an updated cottage, ready for you to use.”

  “Updated?” Christopher choked as he glanced over to where Emmy was standing. Behind her was a backdrop of fall colors, the rolling hills a riot of gold, red, and brown, but they all dimmed in comparison to her. Her white dress was made of soft cotton and fell in gentle folds around her body, giving him just a hint of what was below. It suited her in a way Christopher couldn’t explain. It was like sunshine and happiness. His pulse quickened and he looked away. “Is that what she told you?”

  “Yes. Why? Is there a problem?”

  Oh, there was a problem all right.

  His deal was at risk just because the wedding planner happened to think he was a walking liability, based on the fact they’d shared two nights together. And that I’d wanted more from it than she did. That’s a mistake I won’t be making again, no matter how many white dresses she has.

  “I wouldn’t call it a problem. More like a complication. I told Emmy that while I was here I needed to find a pretend girlfriend to help me lock down the producers of the show, and she’s now made it her personal mission to stop me. She has this crazy idea Melinda will think I’m trying to ruin the wedding.”

  “Oh.” Lewis said, grimacing. “Might be some truth in that.”

  “You know I’d never screw with your big day, right? I just flew all the way from Australia to be here with you. I’m your best man. I got your back.”

  “I’m grateful,” Lewis quickly assured him before blowing out a column of air. “But, here’s the thing. Melinda might’ve heard me talking about some of the things you’ve done in the past. I explained it was all in good fun. Remember at Harrison’s bachelor party when you managed to get eight phone numbers? Or that time when we all went to Vegas and you met up with that hot redhead?”

  “You told her about that?” Christopher dragged his gaze away from Emmy and rubbed his chin. So much for things staying in Vegas. He vaguely recalled the night in question, which had involved a lot of flirting before the redhead had found someone richer and drunker. Still—not really the kind of story he wanted people talking about. As for getting eight phone numbers, he’d scribbled random numbers down on drink coasters to avoid being set up by other members of the wedding party, not because he was a player.

  He was no saint, but he was careful about who he dated.

  The problem was that his friends looked at his life and then joined the dots all on their own. And while normally Christopher didn’t mind, it had never occurred to him that anyone might take it seriously.

  Like Melinda. Or Emmy.

  Hell.

  “Of course not. Well, not on purpose. Besides, if it’s any consolation, it’s not just you she’s worried about. You share the honors with a reportedly color-blind florist and the lead singer in the band who may or may not hit the high C while they’re playing our song.”

  “I feel so special.”

  “But trust me, when she’s not being bridezilla, she’s pretty damn awesome.” Lewis beamed with pride as he glanced over at his future wife, who was currently having an in-depth discussion with Emmy’s friend who was giving them the tour of the vineyard. Christopher’s anger faded.

  This wasn’t about him. It was about Lewis getting married.

  “So, what are you saying? That I should wait to look for my future fake girlfriend when the wedding’s over?”

  “Of course not.” Lewis shook his head. “Just be discreet. And speaking of which, tell me more about this television deal. Do you really need to have someone with you?”

  Christopher nodded. “Thanks to some hokey market research, I need to look like a regular, settled-down kind of guy when I meet the producers next week.”

  “You? A regular guy?” Lewis coughed. “Isn’t that going to take more than a fake girlfriend?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Christopher asked sharply.

  “You travel most of the year, and the rest of the time you live in a bachelor pad that barely has furniture. But hey, don’t get me wrong. You’re the one living the life while the rest of us mugs are getting up each day to go to our nine-to-five grind.”

  “That doesn’t make me any less normal,” Christopher protested. “I still brush my teeth every morning and swear when I stub my toe. I’m still the same kid who liked Star Wars.”

  “What’s some old movie got to do with anything?”

  Christopher blinked. Star Wars was for life. However, he was also a pragmatist, and it was obvious Lewis had changed in more ways than one, so he just shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just saying I’m still me.”

  “Sure you are.” Lewis patted his arm. “And I’m just saying if you want to be more regular, you can study us for the weekend and pick up a few tips.”

  “Er, okay.” Christopher ran his hand through his hair, not quite sure why everyone seemed to think he was trouble. Emmy. Melinda. And now Lewis? All he wanted to do was make the most of the opportunity he’d fought so hard for. All the articles he’d written, all the dumps he’d stayed in, the long waits at airports, the cockroaches—oh, yeah, no one ever mentioned the cockroaches, but they were always there. And it was all for this.

  To be successful.

  To do something important with his life.

  To not turn out like his father.

  He took a deep breath. His dad had driven a bus for forty years between Rock Hill and Columbia, each year becoming more bitter at being stuck with two kids while his dreams of traveling the world were put on hold. The irony was that long after Christopher and his brother had left home and their father had retired, he still never stepped foot outside the state that held him hostage his entire life.

  Not going to happen to me.

  He glanced over to where a group of women were admiring one of the rosebushes planted at the end of the row of each grapevine. From his count there were three blondes, two brunettes, and a redhead, all of them good looking.

  He turned back to his friend. “So, what do you know about them?”

  “That’s Tina.” Lewis pointed to a tall willowy girl. “She’s a lawyer. Smart, funny, and loves the Red Socks.”

  “The Red Socks? You want me to date someone who supports that team?” Christopher frowned.

  “Fake date,” Lewis reminded him before studying Christopher’s face, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “Okay, let’s take Tina off the list. What about Pandora? She’s cute and loves travelling. And before you ask, I don’t have a clue who she supports. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Of course not.” Christopher shook his head, realizing that his friend was right. It wasn’t like he was looking for a real girlfriend. Or a wife
. Or someone who makes me catch my breath just by standing next to me, like Emmy does. Wait. No. “She sounds perfect. And I bet she doesn’t bake bread.”

  “Bread?” Lewis, who’d been waving to Melinda, turned back and looked confused. “Why would anyone bake bread? You can just go buy it from the store.”

  “Hey, preaching to the choir.” Christopher held up his hands and pushed Emmy from his mind. Bread-baking farm girls who let him down weren’t on his agenda.

  Then he realized the Emmy in his imagination had been baking bread with no clothes on.

  Christ, what the hell’s wrong with me?

  “Okay,” Lewis said. “So, would you like to meet her?”

  “Yes.” Christopher growled before checking Emmy was otherwise occupied. It rankled she thought he was some kind of fly-in, fly-out guy who was allergic to standing still. Not only was it completely wrong, but it was definitely no reason to kidnap and force him to sleep in a guest cottage that had probably housed more spiders than people.

  Then again, it wasn’t like he was going to do anything to draw attention to himself. It was business, pure and simple. He followed Lewis over to where Pandora stood. He was going to make this work and prove once and for all that he wasn’t like his old man.

  Chapter Three

  “Let me get this straight. You stole the best man, and you’re now following his every move,” Rachel said as they stood on the corner of the slate terrace overlooking Sweet Valley Vineyard, admiring the way the sun dappled the plump yellow grapes. Well, Rachel was admiring it. Emmy was just making sure Christopher stayed out of trouble.

  And by “out of trouble,” she meant “not seducing bridesmaids.”

  So not jealous.

  “I didn’t steal him.” She turned her attention back to her friend. “It was a legitimate housing emergency. There was nowhere else for him to sleep.”

  “I see.” Rachel shrugged with a flick of her purple hair. Despite an age difference of twenty years, the two had been friends ever since Emmy started doing the accounts at the vineyard owned by Rachel and her husband Jackson. It was also the perfect place for the bridal party to spend the morning before the women went off for spa treatments and the men to play golf.