The Temporary Bride

by Marquita Valentine

  The Temporary Bride

  By

  Marquita Valentine

  The Temporary Bride

  Copyright © 2015 by Marquita Valentine

  Digital Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Design by Okay Creations.

  www.marquitavalentine.com

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  The Temporary Bride

  Haven Crawford needs a husband—but only temporarily—in order to keep her grandparents’ inn in the family. Her well-meaning, but old-fashioned grandparents’ will requires her to marry if she wants to keep running Chesson House. The last person she wants to ask for help is Heath, her childhood enemy. Unfortunately, he’s the only one she can trust to keep his promise to divorce her and not take the inn when he leaves.

  Heath Ambrose needs relief from his meddling mother and the jet-set lifestyle that accompanies his sudden rise to fame as the star-catcher and the face of the newest national baseball team, the Greenville Buccaneers. As the last single Ambrose sibling, his mother is determined to marry Heath off, but he’s not ready to settle down. Especially not after watching the woman he loved run off to Scotland with another man. So when Haven proposes, Heath jumps at the chance for some peace in his life.

  Only a temporary marriage to Haven is anything but peaceful—not to mention that they can’t keep their hands off one another. But when the conditions of the will have been fulfilled, will Heath and Haven be able to say goodbye when hate turns to love?

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  The Forgotten Bride

  Books by Marquita Valentine

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Haven Crawford hated weddings.

  “Isn’t Darla Rae the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” Dorothy Jane, the mother of the bride, whispered loudly.

  “Yes, she is,” Haven said with a toothy smile. It was her best smile. The one that she used on each and every bride and bride’s mother right before the wedding started. Otherwise, she’d roll her eyes and tell them to hurry the hell up.

  Okay, so she hadn’t always been so hostile to weddings, but over the past two years, marriages had taken two of her very best friends clear around the world while she stayed in Holland Springs and worked her life away.

  Standing by the door, she waited for Darla Rae to get her tail in gear. The woman was notoriously late, always cussing or crying when she showed up, and her wedding day was no exception.

  The only person Haven felt sorrier for than Darla Rae’s fiancé was the wedding planner, Willow Vaughn. That girl was a virtual saint who put up with the scourge of the earth otherwise known as Bridezillas.

  Haven didn’t know how anyone could be that sweet, but that might be why she and Willow worked so well together. Haven got to play bad cop—in a completely nice way, of course—but she was getting sick of it. Every year, brides got more inventive and more demanding of event sites.

  “I want two white horses to proceed me down the aisle.” What if they poop right before you walk down the aisle?

  “I know Chesson House only has six rooms, but could you move out so that my cousin’s sister’s niece’s dog can stay here? He’s the dog of honor.” Sorry, no pets allowed. I’m allergic. That one she would say with a straight face as she stroked her tabby cat, Gotham.

  Suddenly, the bride let out a shriek. “You cannot wear your hair like that, Tanya. It’s positively a mullet.”

  Affronted, Tanya touched her hair, very pretty hair that flowed down her shoulders and back in the most un-mulleted of ways.

  “Tell her, Willow. She can’t wear her hair like that,” Darla Rae demanded and stomped her foot.

  “Good Lord,” Haven muttered. She’d come upstairs way too soon.

  Willow gave Haven a come-help-me look. With a sigh, Haven left her spot and got in the middle of things.

  “Darla Rae, did you know that the mayor of Holland Springs is here?” Haven asked, knowing full well she wasn’t. “I saw her come in and sit on your side.”

  The bride froze, her red face smoothing out. “She is?”

  Haven nodded and held out her hand. “Come with me and I’ll show you.” She led her to the back of the bridal suite, to the window that had an unobstructed view of the garden where ushers were seating family and friends. Pointing in the general direction of the guests, she said, “There she is.”

  “Oh my word. She is here,” Darla Rae breathed, and then sniffed a little. “I’m such a mess, aren’t I?”

  Never one to mince words, Haven gave her honesty with a dash of understanding. “This is your wedding day. You’re allowed a meltdown or two, but I think you need to give your… cousin?” Darla Rae nodded and she continued, “…a hug, because she wore her hair exactly like you asked and it looks gorgeous. Everyone in here wants to look their best for you.”

  That seemed to take the wind right out of Darla Rae’s unreasonable sails. “You’re right.” She waved a hand at her face as if she was trying to cool it off. “I’m worried, you see. I’m worried that I jumped into this too fast. Bobby and I haven’t dated each other that long.”

  “Love doesn’t have limitations,” Haven said. The old saying warmed her. It was one that her grandmother had said time and again whenever Haven thought they would stop loving her for something she’d done wrong.

  Growing up, she’d fought them tooth and nail…until she realized that neither one of her parents were coming back for her. Both had died while serving in combat zones in separate countries—freak accidents that had left Haven an orphan at only ten.

  “You are so sweet, Haven Crawford.”

  No, she wasn’t sweet, but she wasn’t intentionally cruel either. “Ready to marry the love of your life?”

  A beatific smile transformed Darla Rae’s face, making her the most beautiful bride Haven had ever seen. To her, they all were on their special day. But not for her. She planned to be an old maid who always had outrageous hair colors and wore tons of costume jewelry.

  Or that had been her plan. But her well-meaning grandparents had taken that future away with one little sentence in their will. In order for Haven to keep Chesson House, she must marry.

  She had put off fulfilling that requirement for as long as she could, but now, according to her lawyer, there were buyers interested in Chesson House, so time was running out.

  Willow joined them, adjusting Darla Rae’s train and flashing Haven a grateful smile. “There. I’ve already sent the others downstairs. All you have to do
is take your momma’s hand and she’ll escort you down the aisle.”

  As the bride left them, Haven turned her attention to the brunette standing beside her. “You’re going to take charge one day, Willow.”

  Big, blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Not when I have you as my partner,” she said cheerfully.

  Haven canted her head back and forth. “I do like being the heavy of this relationship, but we’re not business partners. I’m a vendor—your best vendor, if I do say so myself—but still a vendor.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “I heard what you said to Darla Rae, Haven. You don’t have me fooled. You’re like a chocolate truffle. All hard and pretty on the outside, but on the inside…you’re a gooey mess of sweetness.”

  A gooey mess—that was her. “Whatever,” Haven said, giving her friend a little push. “Go on. I have beds to make.” And pillows to rip apart with her bare teeth.

  It would be so easy to be pissed off at her grandparents, but she couldn’t do it, and not just because they’d only been gone for a year now and there were raw parts of her that hadn’t healed yet.

  But, it was because she loved them. Loved them so much for raising her and not sending her away to relatives she’d never met. But her love, or rather, her patience, had been tested by them the older they’d gotten and as their health had started failing. She’d given up her dreams of… well, everything to come back to Holland Springs and run the B&B for them.

  Family comes first, she reminded herself. And hadn’t they given up their retirement dreams to raise her? Hadn’t they put up with a depressed, terrified-of-everyone-leaving-her child, who turned into a sullen teenager? She owed them every bit of what they did and didn’t ask of her.

  “Come to the reception at least,” Willow called over her shoulder. “I think the entire Buccaneer baseball team is going to be there.”

  Which meant Heath Ambrose would be first in line for the buffet. She’d rather prance around naked in the middle of Grace Church’s sanctuary than be around him. The two of them had always rubbed each other the wrong way. Okay, to be honest, she was the one who did most of the chafing while he occasionally got in some good-natured ribbing.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “They’ve made your most favorite food ever,” Willow sang out.

  Cucumber sandwiches. It was her one weakness, and Willow knew it. Haven made a face. “Fine, I’ll be at the reception, but only for the cucumber sandwiches. Then I’m outta there.”

  “Later, you and I will make a list,” Willow said, her eyes practically glowing with unholy glee—not over Haven’s situation, but over actually writing down a list of things to do. It wasn’t natural, in Haven’s opinion.

  “The list of all lists,” Willow added.

  “One list to rule them all,” Haven replied solemnly. One list to ruin her life.

  They fist bumped.

  “C’mon, Haven. It won’t be that bad.”

  It wasn’t that bad she had to get some guy to marry her and stay married to her for just long enough to get Chesson House permanently in her name?

  “I’m sure it won’t be. Men are going to throw themselves at me if word gets out.” Hardly. The guys around here wouldn’t suddenly start throwing themselves at her. They would do what they’d always done—laugh at her, or run the opposite way.

  Ever the optimist, Willow rubbed Haven’s shoulder. “Don’t be that way. You’re a beautiful person who’s just as beautiful on the inside.” Willow wrinkled her nose. “Most of the time.”

  Crossing her arms, Haven gave her friend a look. “Really?”

  A sheepish smile curved Willow’s mouth at the corners. “Some of the time?”

  “Much better.”

  Willow’s smile turned sunny. “That’s the spirit!”

  That wasn’t what she meant, and Willow knew it. “Rah, rah,” Haven grumbled as her friend waltzed out of the room.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Heath was first in line for the buffet. Well, right after the bride and groom. Since he was one of the groomsmen, he got to be third…until the flower girl began to have a meltdown. So he let her go ahead of him, along with her grateful mother.

  There were plenty of cucumber sandwiches, he assured himself. But, man, he wished he’d sneaked a couple when he first spied them.

  “Are you Heath Ambrose, mister?” a small voice asked.

  He looked down to find a little boy and girl staring up at him, with hero worship on their faces. With a smile, he kneeled to get eye level with them. “I am, and who might you two be?”

  “I’m Amanda, and this is my brother, Allen.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He shook both their hands. This would never get old to him—the look in a kid’s eye when he took the time to talk to them. Which was why he always talked to his smallest fans. “Having a good time?”

  They nodded, eyes all wide. “Can we get your autograph?” Amanda asked. Her face suddenly fell, little chin quivering. “I forgot my baseball.”

  Allen looked as though he wanted to cry. “I did, too.”

  “That’s okay.” Heath reached into his pocket to where he kept spare baseball cards for times just like that.

  A man rushed over, his tie askew and his face pale. “There you two are. I’m sorry if they’re bothering you.” He shook his head. “Take my eye off them for one second and—”

  “I have quite a few nieces and nephews, so kids don’t bother me at all.” He ruffled Amanda and Allen’s hair, grinning at them, and then stood. “I have a couple of signed baseball cards. Would you like those?”

  The twin looks of sadness faded from their faces as they nodded.

  Heath turned to the kids’ dad. “How would you feel about t-i-c-k-e-t-s to opening day for the whole family?”

  “Tickets!” the brother and sister squealed.

  Heath winced, muttering, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it—I appreciate what you tried to do.” The man ran a hand through his hair. “Wow. That would be great. We’re all big fans. I’m Dave, by the way. Dave Jones.”

  “Great to meet you.” After handing Amanda and Allen a baseball card each, he pulled out his cell phone and texted his publicist. “Can I get your email address, so my publicist can coordinate everything with you?”

  Dave gave Heath the information he needed before herding his kids back to their table.

  Ready to attack the buffet once again, Heath rubbed his hands together and turned around. There was only one left.

  Shit. He had to get the last one. Grabbing a plate, he headed right for that little slice of heaven and encountered the one woman who made his life hell.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

  She gave him a smile so sweet that it made his stomach hurt, or the sight of her gave him indigestion. “You can have this one if you want,” she said, surprising him with her thoughtfulness. “I can wait.”

  Manners that had been drilled into him since birth reared their inconvenient heads. “Ladies first,” he said, giving the cucumber sandwich one last look of longing.

  Scooping up the petite sandwich, she took a bite, moaning at the taste. “So good.”

  “When will they bring more out?” he asked. If she kept moaning over the food, he would lose it, and not because he was attracted to her. He wasn’t. She was too irritating.

  “They’re not,” she said, licking her fingers.

  He stared at her. “Did you lie to me?”

  “I didn’t mention anything about more.”

  “You said you would wait. Wait implies there’s more to come.”

  Her silver eyes widened in mock amazement. “They’re teaching you really big words at baseball camp. I’m so proud of you, especially with the way you spelled tickets. Good job.”

  His blood began to boil. Why in the hell she’d always felt the need to insult him was beyond his comprehension. “Then you lied by omission.”

  “I guess.”

 
; “Why?”

  She shrugged, her cotton candy-colored hair sliding over her shoulders. “I really wanted one.”

  “So did I,” he all but growled at her. A tic started up in his jaw.

  “Guess I wanted it more.” She whirled around, but he reached across the table and grabbed her before she could flounce off with rest of the sandwich.

  “You’re not being nice, Haven.”

  Over her shoulder, she glanced at him, her eyes flicking up and down his body. Normally, he’d be flattered if a woman who looked like her was perusing him like that, but again… she irritated the pure hell out of him.

  “Let go, and I’ll share.”

  “Promise?”

  “What do you think?” she said, her nose tipping in the air.

  He let go of her. “Fine.”

  Haven’s mouth twisted up slightly in one corner, like she was up to no good. Which was probably true. Then she picked up the last bit of the cucumber sandwich and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes and moaning in such an exaggerated way that more than a few heads turned to stare.

  “You little—” He took a breath and began again, “You made a promise.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You said—” He paused. She hadn’t promised him anything. Just asked him what he thought. Damn it. “Fine. You got me. Satisfied?”

  She leaned in a little, giving him a glimpse of the tops of her breasts. Very nice breasts. Gorgeous even. He didn’t have to like her to appreciate that fact. He averted his eyes before she could call him out on staring at her. “By you? Yeah, right.”

  “We’re getting too old for this, Haven.” They were way too old to be fighting over food of all things.

  “Maybe in baseball years.”

  “Like that.”

  Suddenly, Haven’s expression changed, a friendly smile on her lips. Heath looked around, only to find Leah Ambrose bearing down on them with a determined look.

  “Leave,” he said.

  “What?” She shook her head, hands fists on her hips. “Don’t tell me what to do at my own—”