The Protective Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers

by Lucy McConnell

  Pamela lifted her hands. “As long as you’re there in time for the wedding.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Noah put on a smile he didn’t feel and gestured for Paige to go ahead of him through the doorway.

  “I’ll take that flight and meet you there,” Paige said over her shoulder.

  Noah grabbed her elbow to get her to stop. “I’m going alone.”

  Paige put her free hand on her hip. “No way. You weaseled your way into my wedding, and I’m coming to yours.”

  Noah dropped his head, gathered his thoughts, and said, “If everything Pamela said is true, and I believe it is, then it’s quite possible that this wedding will be a trigger for the stalker. I’m going in blind, and there’s no way I’m hauling you in with me.”

  “But—”

  “The only thing I know is the perp left a package on private property. That’s not easy to do, especially with the kind of security I saw in that video.”

  Paige screwed up her face, no doubt ready to form a rebellion that would include his parents and every one of his seven brothers and sisters.

  Noah changed tactics and lowered his voice. “If it were an office wedding or church wedding or even one by Old Faithful, I would have you there in a heartbeat. You know that.”

  Paige’s shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, and Noah took full advantage of her softening heart. “I need to know you and the rest of the family are safe, or I’ll never make it through the wedding.”

  Paige rolled her eyes, and Noah knew he’d won.

  “I want pictures.” She poked him in the chest. “Lots of them.”

  “You’ll get them.” Trish appeared in her open office doorway.

  Noah narrowed his eyes.

  “My phone has an iSight camera.” She wiggled her phone.

  Noah held up his hand. “Oh no. You’re not coming either.” Trish was BMB’s resident makeover artist. She knew all the right places for hair and clothes and who knew what else. The moment Noah had signed up as a BMB groom, Trish had dragged him all over town and scorched his newly issued expense card. To her credit, she’d taken his faded jeans and Camp Buckeye t-shirts in stride, adding collared shirts, Henleys, and designer jeans in a manner that didn’t change his style—just magnified it. Though Noah found her obsession with credit cards a little scary, he’d come to think of her as an extension of his family and didn’t want her anywhere near this lunatic.

  “I’m on official BMB business.” She flicked her short hair out of her face.

  “Me too,” offered Harrison as he emerged from his office.

  The hallway’s getting crowded. Noah jerked at his tie in frustration.

  “Noah?” asked Paige.

  Noah growled. “There are too many variables. I can protect my bride, but not if I have to keep an eye on all of you.”

  “I take full responsibility for myself,” promised Harrison. He quirked a smile. “And I’ll even watch out for Trish.”

  Trish’s cheeks went bright red, twelve-hour-sunburn red. “I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

  “Yeah, but it will be so much more fun if I help.” Harrison threw her a wink and clapped Noah on the shoulder. “I need you to sign a couple papers before you leave.”

  Noah nodded, and Harrison sauntered back into his office.

  Trish harrumphed. “That man …” She spun on her heel and stalked to her office. “We’re coming!” she said before she shut her door . . . loudly.

  Paige turned her wide eyes on Noah, and they burst out laughing. “Wow,” he said.

  “Right?” Paige dabbed at the corners of her eyes, her grin wide. “I’m tempted to pull a Trish on you.” She folded her arms over her stomach. “But I get this feeling that you do have to do this alone.”

  Noah’s eyes stung, and he cleared his throat, twice, before saying, “Thanks.”

  Paige pointed to the two office doors. “Which one do you want?”

  “I’ll take door number one.” Noah moved toward Harrison’s office to put his signature next to Harley’s on the prenuptial agreement.

  “Fine.” She let out a sigh before brightening. “I need Trish’s advice on. . .” Paige’s arms snapped to her side. “. . . a new dress shop.”

  That should cheer Trish up. Noah settled into the chair across from Harrison and took a fortifying breath. He wasn’t going back to his old life. This path was new, and though it threatened the foundation he’d labored over, he had to take this leap. Otherwise, he’d spend his whole life hiding from the past. That just wasn’t a possibility for him. As the counselor had told him, there’s no future in a memory, especially a bad one.

  Chapter 5

  The Wednesday before her wedding, and just four days after the music box incident, Harley stared at herself in the floor-length mirror that provided a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the lace draped across her body. The design was reminiscent of the forties with its hourglass silhouette and scalloped, floor-length hem. Harley loved every inch of it ... which only made the situation worse.

  “Jitterbug, you take my breath away.” Julia Wilson dabbed the corner of her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief.

  “Let’s try the one with the hoop skirt.” Harley stepped off the slightly raised platform in their private viewing area and dressing room at the designer’s shop. She couldn’t wear the perfect dress to a pretend wedding—it just didn’t seem right. Instead, she’d wear a ball gown. There were a bazillion to choose from. She’d be bride-book glossy and smile for the camera without feeling like a complete liar.

  Allowing herself a little sulk, she fought the urge to hug the lace against her skin. This dress. This one-in-a-million, absolutely perfect, put-out-the-dog dress was exactly what she would have worn to her storybook ceremony if she’d been in love. She wasn’t in love with this stranger, didn’t even know what he looked like. Didn’t care to know. Truth be told, she was a little perturbed at him for the simple fact that he agreed to this madness.

  “Darlin’, can’t you see? This is the one.” Mama wrapped Harley in a tight embrace and giggled. She pulled back when Harley didn’t return her hug. “Harley Marianne Wilson, you’re not having a lick of fun. And you’re trying on weddin’ dresses. What’s wrong, sweet potato?”

  “It’s not fun, Mama, it’s business.” Harley had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning poring over the prenuptial agreement sent from Pamela Jones’s office. Though many of her worries had been assuaged—her groom would have no claim to her fortune, her family, her home, or her person during the marriage or after the divorce—others had crept in.

  Who was this man? How did Pamela Jones go about pairing them up? And what in the name of Elvis was she supposed to do with a husband? The prenup was quite vague in those areas, and Harley had signed it with a huff of frustration.

  Mama shook her head, and her blond hair barely moved. Julia Wilson had a true-blue fondness for hairspray. “Mixing business with pleasure isn’t always a bad thing.”

  Harley motioned for the saleswoman to help her remove the dress. As the lace fell away, she vowed that there would be no mixing, mingling, or marinating of business and pleasure in this half-cocked marriage.

  Chapter 6

  Thursday morning, Noah rushed through a shower and tiptoed past the sleeping campers in his bunkhouse. Usually he had the place to himself, but since one of the cabins had sprung a leak, and he was leaving this morning to drive his truck across four states to meet his bride, he’d offered up his floor to the preteen boys and their counselor, Robert.

  Robert hoarded the couch while the boys snored in their sleeping bags, Red Vines and Skittles sprinkled among them.

  Noah paused at the scene, noting the innocence that hovered about the room. This is why he’d come home, back to Camp Buckeye: he’d needed to know that this kind of virtue still existed in the world. He’d hoped it would heal his soul, and it had helped, but he felt like he’d drunk the last bit of help and healing from the Camp Buckeye canteen.
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  He felt more than saw the sun pop up over West Mountain. Letting loose on a smile, he flipped on the lights and watched with glee as the boys curled into their bags like turtles going into their shells. “Morning, campers!” he called. “Horses are hungry.”

  Groans all around.

  “Dude!” called Robert from the couch.

  Noah laughed and stepped outside, shutting the door softly behind him. He hiked across the camp to the home he grew up in. His truck was loaded and parked in front of the family barn. After a quick and embarrassingly emotional goodbye with Rebel Rouser, he made his way up the back steps and into his mother’s kitchen, where the family had assembled to wish him well.

  Unlike when Paige signed on with BMB, his family knew he was off to get married. They were surprisingly supportive considering their reaction to Paige’s secret marriage.

  “All packed?” called his mom from the stove, where she expertly flipped a dozen frog-eye pancakes in quick succession, each one a golden brown.

  “Yep.” Noah had stored the few possessions he wasn’t taking in rubber totes above the tack room where they wouldn’t be in the way and packed the rest in the back of his truck.

  Jacob, Noah’s oldest brother, gave him a quick slap on the back. “I have to get to work, but I wanted to wish you luck.”

  “Thanks.” Noah eyed the pancake-and-sausage sandwich in Jacob’s hand. “Taylor still sick?”

  “Yeah, morning sickness isn’t a joke. I can’t eat by her, smells trigger her nausea.”

  Noah shook his head. “Tell her I’m praying for her and little Noah.”

  “Hey, you want a kid named after you—have one of your own.” Jacob took a huge bite of his sandwich and waved as he went out the door.

  David and Matthew both wished him luck, tucked food into their hands, and went out to get camp started.

  His younger sisters, Hannah and Neveah, hovered over frying pans, one for eggs and the other for sausage. With the boys out of the way, the two lit up with questions.

  “I can’t wait until it’s my turn to be a bride,” said Hannah, all dreamy. At sixteen, she was a hopeless princess with visions of romance dancing before her eyes.

  Mom shook her spatula at Hannah. “Noah is the last! I’m tired of my children getting married without me—do you understand? No eloping. And no more BMB, Pamela Jones gets no more of my children.”

  Noah laughed at Hannah’s stunned face.

  “Mom, she’s like a fairy godmother. I mean, Cody, Paige, and Addison are perfect for each other. And now Noah and Harley…”

  “Your brother is going to protect this girl. It’s a job, not a romantic comedy.” Mom turned back to the stove to flip another round of pancakes, and Hannah rolled her eyes.

  “But you think Harley is pretty, don’t you?” asked Neveah in a small voice. At twelve, she was still trying to figure out if boys were worth the trouble or if she’d rather throw dirt clods with them—or at them, if so deserved.

  Noah could only imagine the image he and Paige created for her young and impressionable self. Whomever she married should make her feel beautiful every day, or he’d knock some sense into the dolt. “Harley is very beautiful.”

  “Good.” Neveah went back to stirring the eggs.

  Noah loaded a plate and swung his leg over the bench to belly up to the table. The door opened and he was ambushed from behind by Addison, who threw her arms around his neck and held on. “Uncle Noah, are you going to be a daddy like Paige became a mommy?”

  Noah chuckled. “Nope.”

  Addison’s arms fell away, and she plopped onto the bench beside him with her back to the table. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Noah ruffled her hair, which earned him a scowl, and said, “It will only be for a year.”

  “Do you know how many teeth I could lose by then?”

  Noah bit back his smile. Addison had been late losing her first tooth but had more than made up for it by now. Her smile rivaled a jack-o’-lantern. “We’ll Skype and you can show me every one,” he suggested.

  “Okay.” Addison made her way over to the stove, apparently satisfied that her favorite uncle would still be part of her life. “Hi, Grandma,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Samantha’s middle. Noah caught that softening his mom retained only for her grandchildren. They were soon deep in conversation about rodeos and horses and camp and cousins.

  Cody and Paige came in a minute later, his hand on the small of her back and her hand carrying a gift bag.

  “You shouldn’t have.” Noah grinned.

  “I didn’t.” Paige grinned back as she set the bag on the table. Cody went straight for the food. “This is for Harley.”

  “What?” Noah’s stomach stilled like a conveyor belt too heavily loaded. He reached for the orange juice jug and a cup. “How come she gets a present?”

  “Because she’s going to have to put up with you for a year.” Paige took the juice and poured herself a cup. “Will you give it to her?”

  Noah eyed the bag as if a giant spider were going to crawl out the top. “I don’t know …” Noah wasn’t much of a gift giver. Presents were always so personal. At least, they should be. “Can’t you mail it?”

  Paige shook her head, her eyes laughing at his obvious discomfort. “Her address is classified, remember? Besides, it’s just a cuff Addison and I made.”

  “Oh.” Noah relaxed a bit. Paige made leather jewelry. As a camp counselor, she’d enjoyed instructing kids how to imprint designs and stain the leather. Now she made items that were stunning and sold them on Etsy. Somehow, coming from Addison, the gift seemed much less threatening. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  Cody sat next to Paige, and they all talked about trivial things until it was time for Noah to hit the road. The trip from Norco, California, to Houston, Texas, was at least twenty hours by Google. He planned to spread the drive over two days and arrive late Friday night with just enough time to meet his bride, attend a rehearsal dinner, and get some sleep before he got married.

  Married. Why did that word carry a weight of finality with it? Instead of feeling like he was stepping on the space shuttle, ready to blast his way to adventure, Noah felt like he was jumping into a submarine and about to be swamped. This was supposed to be the path to a new life, so why did it feel so … heavy?

  Chapter 7

  An hour before the wedding, Harley stared out the upstairs window that overlooked the driveway to her parents’ home. Are all weddin’s this horrible, or just pretend ones?

  She peered down at the stunning lace that dropped across her chest as if it had been sculpted to her—ugh! This dress. She’d chosen a nondescript dress with a bell skirt and a plain bodice befitting her lack of enthusiasm for this endeavor. The designer had delivered The Perfect Dress instead. Harley suspected Mama had changed the order, and it was too late to do anything about it. There would be words between her and Mama over this ... just as soon as her darn groom arrived and Harley was convinced there would actually be a wedding.

  Noah Baker. The name rolled through her mind like a tornado.

  Her groom had missed the rehearsal dinner—a sin hardly worth confessing, considering the guest list consisted of her half-brother Jackson and his fifteen-year-old son, Xavier; Wyatt; Daddy and Mama; the pastor; and Trish and Harrison from BMB.

  Harrison’s composed demeanor had remained intact as he explained that Noah’s truck had broken down just outside of Abilene and he wouldn’t make it until the next morning. Harley pinched the bridge of her nose. The only thing worse than this arranged marriage would be getting stood up at the altar by her husband for hire. Though the papers only had the version of her courtship prepared by her publicist, headlines flashed before her closed eyes: “Harley Wilson Can’t Pay a Man to Marry Her.” Humiliation galore!

  There was a loud awooga outside the window, and Harley shoved the curtain aside to see an ancient Ford truck bounce down the driveway like a jackrabbit trying to outrun a fox. Harrison got out
of the passenger side, and a stranger slowly slid from behind the wheel, his long, muscular legs clad in worn denim and his white T-shirt clinging to his stacked stomach and chiseled chest. He’s big enough to make Samson seem sensitive.

  Trish appeared at her side and let out a sigh. “He’s here.”

  That should be my line. Harley scowled at the truck, feeling like there was a little more to Trish’s sigh than I’m-not-fired relief. “It’s about time. He knows how to cut it closer than a blind barber,” she quipped.

  Her groom swaggered around the side of the truck and Harley’s irritation grew. The man was late to his own wedding and he meandered slower than a country stream. Not to mention his hair stood on end as if he’d gelled it and then stepped into a tornado. He had grease smeared on his face and hands, and she could see from two stories away that his jeans had a rip up the side. Harley didn’t even want to think about what had made the moisture stains on his T-shirt.

  The combination of his extreme tardiness and lack of personal hygiene showed a lack of respect for Harley and the Wilson family in general. No one in their right mind would think Harley would marry a man who resembled a rake who’d been raised downwind from the outhouse. The men she dated were refined, cultured, and they showered. She’d felt like she’d put in an order for a Schroeder and ended up with Pig-Pen.

  Adding to her growing panic was the return of the feeling that her life was about to change forever. The understanding stamped itself on her brain the minute she heard that stupid horn. Well, Harley Wilson was not one to stand around while a tornado picked up speed. Gathering her dress in her hands, she stormed down the stairs, ready to send Mr. Grime on his way and request another groom, pronto. Maybe Harrison was up for the job. He seemed pleasant enough, and his cool distance had put Harley at ease.

  “Wait!” called Trish behind her.

  “Peanut, what’s goin’ on?” asked Mama as Harley trucked down the expansive circular staircase, her heart hammering.