by Amanda Ashby
“You spoke to Emmy before you spoke to me?” Bec folded her arms. “You are both unbelievable. What right do either of you have to mess in my business?”
“Because it’s not your business,” Pepper retorted as her neck colored up, just like it always did when she was very angry. “You were the one who joined forces with Emmy and insisted we keep the farm. Which means I get to have a say in this, too. Either we get the debt sorted out, or the bank will sell the farm for us. This isn’t all about you, Bec.”
Bec managed to bite back a snort.
When it has it ever been about me?
When they were kids it was all about the brilliant Pepper having enough space and quiet so she could study, and about Emmy and Ivy staying up talking over the old kitchen table while Bec wandered in and out of their lives like an unseen ghost, doing more and more outrageous things to see if anyone would notice.
It was a fruitless argument, though. Not only would Pepper cut her down with her lawyer talk, but it would distract from the issue. There was no way she was going to organize a fake wedding for Lincoln Mathews. Even for the sake of saving the family farm.
She pushed her hand through her un-brushed hair.
“Pepper, this is ridiculous,” she said, then narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, why do you care what happens to the farm? You hate it here.”
“So did you up until a month ago,” Pepper quick-fired back at her. “And excuse me for being worried about what happens to my sister.”
Bec opened her mouth and shut it again.
Pepper was the master of avoiding questions she didn’t want to answer, and while it was useful for her career as a lawyer, it was impossible to deal with on a day-to-day basis.
“I can’t take this wedding. His family already tried to blackmail me once.”
“Please. My head’s pounding. No dramatics.” Pepper stood up and walked to the door. Bec widened her eyes. She’d seen her sister do many things, but backing down from a fight wasn’t one of them.
“Are you okay?”
Pepper’s face drained of color, and she opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever she had been about to say.
“I’m fine. It’s just some stuff going on at the office. And no, I don’t want to talk about it, but you’re not the only one who could use money right now. Please, Bec. Just take the wedding.”
“What stuff at your office? Pepper, what’s going on with you?” Bec scanned her sister’s face, searching for a clue. But whatever flickering doubt had been there was gone, and before she could press further, Coop appeared in the doorway holding a teddy bear and a jar of his mother’s famous tomato relish. At the sight of him, Pepper’s stern mask once again appeared.
“Unless you can think of another way to get money in fast, you’ll need to meet Lincoln at Miss Dottie’s at nine o’clock to plan this wedding,” her sister said before she marched from the room and back up to the farmhouse, her back stiff.
Bec rubbed her brow as an idea occurred to her. She turned to Coop and gave him her best smile.
“Ben Cooper, has anyone ever told you it’s high time you got married? Because you’re no spring chicken. And, as it happens, I know a great venue with an available slot for next month.”
“Next month? Why would anyone want to get married so close to Thanksgiving? And are you getting me confused with someone else?” Coop wrinkled his nose. “Because I don’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a fiancée.”
“Doesn’t seem to stop some people,” Bec said before reaching for the jar of relish and twisting it open. Her taste buds tingled in anticipation. “Are you certain you don’t want to book a wedding?”
“One hundred million percent.” Coop walked to the old-fashioned bread bin and fished out some dry crackers, then carried them over to her along with a knife, just as she was about to dip her fingers into the jar. “And when you said you wanted some relish, I didn’t realize quite how desperate you were.”
“That’s because you’ve never been pregnant before.” Bec spread the gleaming tomatoes onto the cracker.
“Fair enough. So, what were you and Pepper arguing about?”
“Would you believe she let Lincoln book a wedding? A wedding I have to organize. He’s currently at Miss Dottie’s waiting for me to turn up for a meeting.” Bec put down the cracker and sighed.
“Are you serious?” Coop knitted his brows together. “Lincoln knocked you up and now he’s getting married to someone else?”
“What? No.” Bec shook her head, stood up, and marched around the room, causing the elephant ears on her slippers to flap. “He might be evil and cunning and a liar, but he isn’t heartless. He’s doing it so he can finish discussing the baby situation.”
“Oh.” Coop opened his mouth, then frowned. “I might need you to fill in the blanks. Why is this a bad thing?”
“Because I don’t want to see him again. Not ever. And if he’s here, it will ruin the plan.” Bec tightened her hands into two small fists.
And I might forget I’m mad at him.
Furious even.
And if I forget that, then I’ll end up being the fool who’s in love with a man who only sees her as a problem that needs fixing. It’ll be my childhood all over again.
“Right.” Coop rubbed his chin.
“Which is why you need to go up to the farm and tell Pepper to cancel the booking. After all, she’s the one who took it.”
“Since when has your sister ever listened to me?” Coop muttered, before seeming to catch himself. He coughed. “I mean to anyone. You know as well as I do once she decides on something, she’s immovable. Like a rock. And I hate to agree with her, but perhaps she’s right.”
“Right that I should work with someone who’s only worried about his reputation and making sure I don’t do anything Bec-ish and embarrass his precious family name?”
“Right that you need to spend time with him and get this sorted. Unless you want to cut him from the baby’s life, you need to make this work. So, what’s really the problem here?”
Bec stilled as the dark truth she’d been trying to avoid since yesterday caught up with her. “I’m scared, Coop. He’s an English lord, and he made it perfectly clear that he has very particular opinions about how our baby should be raised. He lives in a mansion, and I live in a cottage that’s falling apart. Plus, he was annoyed I left England without saying goodbye or even telling him I was pregnant. What if he thinks I’ll be a bad mother? What if he wants the baby to live with him and his scary mother? He’s probably already got his hotshot lawyer on the case.”
“Hey.” Coop growled as he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “No one is taking your baby anywhere. You’re going to make a great mom. The best, and if that’s what you’re worried about, then prove it to him. Let him see you don’t run away from things. That you’re more than capable of organizing a wedding and raising a baby and doing whatever the hell else you want. You always have been. I know it, and perhaps it’s time you started showing the rest of the world just what you’re made of.”
“But it’s a fake wedding. He’s concocted some yarn about a couple living on his estate.”
“So what? Organize the heck out of it anyway, and show him who you really are.”
Bec was silent as his words washed over her.
If anyone else had spoken to her like that, she would’ve just rolled her eyes and walked out. But Coop had always been there for her, and what he said kind of made sense. If she planned the wedding, it would help ease the financial pressure of the farm and it would mean she could prove to Lincoln she was more than capable of caring for their baby without his help. Not to mention it would stop her sisters from interfering in her life with their whole ‘we know better than you do’ attitude.
A spark of energy churned in her belly.
Proving what a great mother she’d be was the best way to get him to go back to England. Which will stop me from thinking about the guy I met in Italy. The one who doesn’t exist.
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“Okay, I’ll do it. Screw his agenda, and Pepper’s. I’m going to show them what I can do. I’ll go over there right now and start planning. Let’s see what he thinks about that.”
“Well.” Coop coughed as he trailed behind her. “Considering the fact you’re wearing elephant slippers and your pajamas, I say he’ll be quite surprised.”
“Oh.” Bec paused. Part of her was tempted to just go as she was. After all, she hardly cared what he thought of her. But the other half, the half that couldn’t seem to get his blue-green eyes out of her mind, wasn’t sure seeing him while half undressed was the best idea. “Fine. I’ll get a shower and change, and then I’ll meet him. If he wants a wedding, then I’m going to give him the best damn wedding he’s ever seen.”
Chapter Four
“Inside or outside?” Bec looked up from the huge binder she’d thumped down on the table, right in the middle of Miss Dottie’s dining room. The binder had been accompanied by a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that kept sliding down her nose, as well as set of pearls similar to something his mother would wear. In other words, she was nothing like her normal self.
Lincoln sighed.
Last night when he’d headed back to Wishing Bridge Farm, it had seemed like the best idea in the world to convince Pepper to accept the booking. To let me prove that I’m not the stuck up English Lord that she thinks I am. After all, Pepper was part owner of the farm, and even better, she seemed a lot more pragmatic about the economics of taking his money.
In the cold, hard light of Bec’s pissed-off face, he wasn’t so sure. Also, not helping me answer Bec’s question of where the wedding party should sit. He rubbed his chin.
“Er, outside?”
“You want the entire meal to be served outside at the end of November, despite the fact we can get snow in November?” She pushed the glasses back up her nose, and her mouth tightened.
“Why did you suggest it as an option if it wasn’t viable?” He frowned, his confusion growing.
“Because it’s my role to be an impartial wedding planner,” Bec retorted as she went to great pains to show him she was filling out some kind of official questionnaire. “So, it’s an inside meal, which means we’ll have it in the barn. Is that acceptable?”
“If you think so,” Lincoln said in an appeasing voice, which only seemed to annoy her more. None of it was helped by the fact the sensible dress she was wearing was made of some kind of silk that clung to her body every time she moved. He suspected the fabric needed to have a slip underneath it and Bec—being Bec—probably didn’t even know what a slip was. His pulse quickened.
“Far be it from me to make the decision. You’re the client. It’s your money,” she said, her cool tone perfectly matching the icy luster of the pearls around her neck.
“Okay, fine. The barn sounds wonderful,” he said as she scribbled some more notes in the binder before fixing him with another glare. The dress shifted again, outlining her breasts and causing his breath to catch in his throat. Oh, this is bad.
She picked up her cell phone and took a photograph of him. He blinked. “What was that for?” Christ, I hope she didn’t see me looking at her chest.
“I’m documenting your acceptance.”
Okay. Good. Wait. What? “Is that necessary?”
“No,” she said simply, as she put the cell back down on the table. “Now, have you thought about flowers?”
Lincoln ran his hand through his hair.
Yes, he’d promised to take the wedding seriously, but he’d been hoping for some time to talk with her, to find out more about the pregnancy. Not this—an entire conversation about organists and vintage props. And, apparently, flowers.
“Bec, could we take a break and talk about something else?”
“Negative.” Bec didn’t even bother to look up as she pulled out an iPad and started tapping on the screen until a photograph of some roses appeared. “Now, I have three florists I can recommend. Abby & Co. do some gorgeous bouquets, though they’re on the more expensive side. I guess it depends on what the bride wants. Speaking of which, I can’t keep calling her ‘the bride’. I need a name.”
“Of course,” Lincoln said in what he hoped was a smooth voice. The plan had been to give his fake couple a more elaborate backstory. The reality was he’d spent most of the night trying to work out how he and Bec could resolve their differences. He hadn’t got very far. He glanced around Miss Dottie’s eclectically decorated dining room until his eyes settled on a Pretty Woman movie poster. “Her name’s Julia. And the groom is named Richard.”
“I see, well, could you ask Julia what her favorite flowers are?”
“Sure.” Lincoln nodded, trying to hide his frustration. “I’ll definitely ask next time I see her.”
“See her?” Bec said before narrowing her eyes as if trying to decide if he’d made the whole thing up. “I thought she lived on your estate in England. Does that mean you’re heading back there?”
“Er, no. I meant call her. I’ll call her,” Lincoln amended while cursing himself for making his bride and groom English, giving himself an impossible task. Then he caught Bec’s frozen expression. Okay, two impossible tasks.
The artist in him longed to smooth away the lines around her mouth and gently nudge her full lips into a smile, but he had to content himself with the luxury of sketching her later. His fingers tightened around the sketchbook he’d bought at the airport. He’d been planning to work on abstract ideas he’d been toying with, but ever since he’d arrived in Sunshine, all he’d managed to do was draw Bec. Repeatedly, trying to capture the strange aura of energy that always surrounded her. Especially after she’d told him she’d grown up not feeling like she belonged. He liked the idea that the pictures would be something they’d one day show to their child.
Their child. His throat tightened.
“Okay.” She bent her head to once again consult her list. “So, let’s see. What should we discuss next?”
“How about the role I’ll be playing in your life,” he said in a hopeful voice. She jerked her head up like she’d just been wounded.
“Right now your role is being a pain in my butt,” Bec retorted as she took the glasses off, giving him a brief reminder of the girl he’d first met. The one who didn’t seem to have a filter, who said exactly what she felt. He held her gaze as her lips opened slightly, showing a hint of her white teeth. Is she trying to torture me? And then she put her glasses on again, and the fragile peace was gone.
Or did I just imagine it to begin with?
“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. Getting her to trust him was going to be more difficult than he’d first suspected. “Look, I think we should call a truce. Let’s go and get some lunch, and we can take a break from babies, from weddings, from everything.”
The space between them thrummed with silence before something seemed to shift in her. “Actually, food would be good. Thank you.”
“Great,” Lincoln said as he got to his feet, then he frowned as he realized he didn’t know the dining options nearby. “I saw a café down the road yesterday, we could go there.”
“They’re always shut on a Monday, but I have a suggestion. My friend Edward, who I went to school with, operates a food truck by Clive Park.”
“A food truck? I know this wedding’s expensive, but I think I can afford somewhere with chairs. And a table,” he said, wondering if this was some kind of test. But she appeared to be in earnest when she shrugged her shoulders.
“Edward also runs a catering business, and he’s on the list for you to consider. We can kill two birds with one stone. Plus, he makes the best tacos you can find in Sunshine.”
“Okay, how about I get it and bring it back here?”
She glanced around the room before shutting her binder with a snap and jumping to her feet. “Actually. It’s a lovely day outside. We can just eat it in the park. But, er, I have an errand to run so I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
“Is everything oka
y?” he asked as he noticed small beads of sweat forming on her upper lip, and how the rest of her face was flushed.
“It’s fine,” she said, not quite returning his gaze as she marched toward the door. “Like I said, I have something to do. You’re not my only client, you know.”
Lincoln winced. No one was more aware than he was just how unhappy she was to be organizing his wedding, so he held up his hands. “Of course. I’ll see you there.”
“Thank you,” she said before stalking out of the room without a backward glance. Round one definitely went to Bec Watson, but he wasn’t about to let that deter him. His whole life he’d been taught to focus on the end game and that’s exactly what he planned to do.
His musing was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone. It was a text from Theo.
So, the mystery thickens. First you follow a girl to America, and now you cancel your flight home? Let me guess? Is it love?
Not for the first time, Lincoln wished his brother didn’t have such an active imagination.
It’s a long story. He sent back.
My favorite kind. Theo instantly replied, just as Miss Dottie walked into the room. Lincoln put away his cell, grateful for the interruption.
“Lincoln, dear. Would you mind hanging a curtain for me? I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Of course.” Lincoln plastered on a smile, pleased at least someone wanted him around.
…
Bec glanced over to where Lincoln was leaning against the high counter of the food truck, waiting for their order. His back was turned, which meant she could take off the horrible glasses and rub her eyes. So much for hoping I could hide behind them. The pearls she’d taken from Pepper’s bedroom weren’t helping, either. Nor had the pitiful excuse she’d offered about an errand.
Things weren’t going as she’d planned. Which was a pity, because a wedding planner who couldn’t plan things probably didn’t have much of an upward career trajectory. Then again, she doubted any other client would require her to avoid looking at them, smelling them, or noticing the way their eyes crinkled when they smiled.
