“What’s your opinion of her chances?” Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the irritation that had been his constant companion all week.
“Pretty good. Thanks to that ritzy rehab center and the silence you bought, the world hasn’t a clue about the real Jasmine. Our fight is against her deceptively pristine public image.”
Why should the public see what he hadn’t? Jasmine had taken great pains to hide her drug use, even from him—including shutting him out of their bedroom mere weeks after she'd duped him into marrying her.
She’d hidden a monster behind a disarming smile.
Within a month, he’d been ready to call it quits. Then she’d announced her pregnancy, and he’d had to watch her like a hawk to keep her relatively healthy for the baby’s sake.
“I’ve been sitting here reading an interview she gave yesterday wherein she claims you took Lorelei away while she was ‘recovering from a collapse due to a physically demanding work schedule.’” Bill leaned heavily on the sarcasm.
Sam swiped at the perspiration accumulating on his brow, despite the air conditioner’s valiant efforts. He was done playing Mr. Nice Guy. One thing he was certain of—Jasmine would never have an unsupervised visit with Lorelei. This time he would protect his daughter, no matter what it cost him.
“She also claims to have signed over custody while under the influence of what she calls ‘physician-prescribed sedatives’. She's painting you as the heavy in all this.” Frustration and impatience tinged Bill's voice.
“I don’t care what Jasmine says about me. She sounds desperate and that’s good. With me getting married and having custody, her chances get slimmer, right?”
“Speaking of the wedding. What’s the holdup? I haven't seen a formal announcement in the mail, but I thought you’d planned to get it over with.”
“I did, er . . . we did. Plan to, that is, but there's been a new development.” Sam outlined the change in plans from courthouse quick-stop to family in the park and the reasons why.
Bill whistled softly. “Say, that's not a half-bad idea. I'm not crazy about the delay, but having a larger wedding with her family will give the court even less reason to suspect your marriage is anything other than a love match.”
“That’s the idea.”
“And your bride, this Rosalee Baxter from your childhood, is she pretty?”
“How did you . . . ? Oh, right. You saw her legal name on the prenup.”
“Pretty name for a pretty lady, or is the witness refusing to answer the question?”
“None of your business,” Sam growled into the phone.
“I'll take that as a yes.” Bill chuckled. “If she’s got a sweet figure, give her my number. Who knows? Maybe she’d like to visit New York after all this blows over.”
“Not on your life. She deserves better than being the flavor of the month.”
Bill chuckled again. “So that's the way the wind blows.”
“You’re delusional. I’m hanging up now.”
And he did, without waiting for a response.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, Sam backed up his file and reached for his keys. Within fifteen minutes, he’d parked behind Rosie’s Posies and entered through the back door.
After some small talk with Sara about how her eldest was liking the first week of school, he asked if Rosie was around.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Rosie left a few minutes ago to meet with a client,” Sara explained. “If it’s important, you could reach her on her cell.”
“No, it can wait. I don’t want to interrupt a business lunch.”
“I don’t think—” Sara halted mid-sentence and became totally engrossed in inserting dainty purple irises in an arrangement of yellow roses—a task he suspected she could have done in her sleep.
“You were saying?” he prompted.
“Oh, nothing really.” Sara waved her hands, her movements jerky despite her offhand comment. “We’ve gotten weepy brides calling before, believing their wedding will look like total crap when the pressure gets to them or they blow a little argument out of proportion.”
“Does this one have you worried for some reason?”
Sara raked her fingers through her dark hair and sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but I don’t think this meeting was about business. The client sounded upset when I answered the call, and Rosie didn’t take her planner. She never forgets it.”
Sam didn't see what the big deal was, and shrugged.
“How are your wedding plans coming along?”
He was inclined to let Sara change the subject, until she attempted to insert another iris into the vase and broke the stem.
“Dammit!” Her fingers trembled as she tossed the broken flower aside.
“Sara, if you think Rosie is walking into a bad situation, for God’s sake, tell me.”
“Oh, Sam, no. I'm sorry to worry you. It’s nothing like that. Just an awkward situation because Rosie was once engaged to the fiancé of the client she went to meet and now you're—”
“Dean and his fiancée are clients?”
“You know about him? Well, yes.” She laughed self-consciously. “I guess you would. You probably know more than the family does about why she came back from grad school so withdrawn and nervous.”
Sam smiled and lifted his chin, neither confirming nor denying he knew anything.
So Rosie had mourned the breakup. That proved she’d had deep feelings for the guy as he suspected. It didn't mean she still did.
When Sam didn't comment, Sara filled the silence with chatter. “She was more herself after she bought the shop. Then Dean moved here. We all thought they’d get back together, especially when Rosie marched herself over to the bank his first day on the job.”
“Dean works at the bank?”
“Yep. He’s the loan officer. Took over when old Mr. Purdy retired. It was about time, too.”
Sam lost interest as Sara continued. Dean’s position might explain why Rosie had trouble securing a loan. Had Dean rebuffed Rosie’s welcome, making her reluctant to approach him hat-in-hand, so to speak? Or maybe Dean was the dumpee, and his resentment carried over into their business association.
Whatever the scenario, the signs all pointed to strong feelings being involved.
“Excuse me, Sam.” Sara waived a hand in front of his face. “I need to get past you and answer that.”
“What?” He stepped aside, only then hearing the phone ringing.
“Oh, hi, Rosie.” Sara listened, nodding. “No problem. It’s been slow, but Sam’s keeping me company.”
Sam hated the way his pulse leapt at the possibility of seeing Rosie. Would he never learn that women were trouble for him? Hadn’t he confirmed her heart already belonged to another man?
“Not long. He stopped by to have lunch with you.”
Yes, and he wasn’t sure why. They lived in the same house. Even so, he’d seen precious little of Rosie this week, and she still hadn’t made any attempt to bond with Lorelei.
He should be working on those proposals his agent wanted, trying to keep his page count going while Lorelei was at the sitter’s. The wedding would wreak havoc on his schedule, not to mention the weekend getaway J.T. and Travis had insisted would be their treat. They’d called it a honeymoon, but he refused to think of it those terms. Otherwise, between Rosie’s kisses and her lust-inducing figure, he’d be forced to spend the weekend in an ice bath to avoid overheating.
“Yes. He’s right here. Hold on.” Sara offered him the receiver. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Hey, how about having lunch with me?” he asked as Sara left the cold prep room to give them privacy.
“Did we have something planned? I don’t remem—”
“No. No. It was a spur of the moment thing.” He lowered his voice, unsure how much could be heard through the glass wall. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt for us to be seen around town again, you know?”
He hadn�
�t thought any such thing, but he should have. What was wrong with him these days?
“Sorry, Sam. I can’t. This meeting was unexpected and is playing havoc with my day. I called to remind Sara I’m headed to the Booney-Marsh rehearsal next. The bride is insisting on last minute changes, and I need to go reason with her.”
“I understand. I’ll see you—”
“Hang on a sec. Cass is trying to get my attention.”
A rustling noise and muffled voices followed her interruption. Then Rosie’s voice gradually came through clearer, as if she were speaking while raising the phone to her mouth, “Jeezus Pete. I gotta go. Bye.”
An element of fear in her voice had Sam shouting for Sara.
She jerked the door open. “Wha—”
“Where did Rosie go to meet Dean’s fiancée?”
Her gaze flicked over his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Where, Sara.”
Her eyes widened at his commanding tone. “I’m not sure. Oh, wait. At the skating rink, maybe. Check her planner. I remember Rosie telling Cass it had been ages since she’d been on skates. Why? What’s— Hey, wait!”
Sam paused on his way down the hall. He could be wrong. Any number of things could have happened at a skating rink. Kids fell or ran into each other all the time. In any case, there was no need upsetting Sara.
“Uh . . . Rosie’s in a hurry. She needs her planner for the next appointment, but didn’t say where to meet her.”
Sara slapped a hand to her chest in relief. “It’s not in the office, it’s on the front counter, right where she left it.”
“Thanks.” He retrieved it and left, spurred on by an unshakable sense of foreboding.
* * *
At first glance, the parking lot around the barn-like skating rink looked empty. Sam noted the presence of a large skateboarding park which now took up half the front lot. Too hot in the middle of the day to tolerate helmets and joint pads, he supposed. But where was Rosie?
Had Sara gotten it wrong?
Going purely on a hunch, he slowed to a crawl and drove behind the building. Slightly past the rear entrance sat Rosie’s van and four vehicles in the shade created by the structure.
Since there wasn’t a shortage of spaces and Rosie was in a hurry, he parked facing the side of her van and approached it from the rear.
“You watch what you say to Cass. I don’t need you filling her head with your sick lies,” an angry male voice demanded.
“Dean, honey, don’t be like this.”
“Let me handle this, Cass.”
“Careful, Dean. Don’t want to give yourself away before the wedding, like you did with me.” Rosie’s voice held contempt, except for the slight quaver at the end.
Sam stepped into view. No one noticed him, giving him time to assess the situation. The trio stood in a vacant space between Rosie’s van and a flashy red convertible Corvette.
Rosie stood facing him, her attention focused on the man, fists clenched at her sides. Splotches of anger colored her cheeks.
A petite blonde he assumed was Cass clung to the man’s elbow, a pleading expression on her pretty face.
And that was Dean? Sam couldn’t see the man’s face, but was surprised by his stature. Barely Rosie’s height and slight of build, he hardly seemed the type to have more than one woman gaga over him.
Dean changed his tactics, tucking the blonde under his arm and holding her close. “Don’t listen to her, baby. I wanted to give Rosie a second chance, thought maybe she’d changed. But she’s as jealous and suspicious as she ever was. You and me, we’re soul mates. You know I love you, right?”
Something about the guy raised Sam’s hackles. Maybe it was the too-smooth delivery, as if he’d had plenty of practice.
Cass hesitated.
Sam didn’t know what goaded him into action at that exact moment, but found himself moving forward. “There you are, sweetheart.”
He stepped around Dean and Cass, gave Rosie a quick kiss and held up her day planner. “You can’t function without this, so I thought I’d better run it over.”
Ignoring Rosie’s open-mouthed surprise, he turned toward the other couple, and grinned. “She’s getting scatterbrained with all the details of our wedding to plan and her business to run, too.”
“You . . . you’re getting married?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard,” Sam answered. Following a hunch, he raked his gaze over Dean deliberately. “You must be Dean and Cass. I’m Sam Moreland.”
Dean hesitated before shaking his hand. Sam rewarded him with a bone-crushing grip that made the man wince.
“The Sam Moreland?” Cass squeaked, her eyes large and questioning.
“The only one I know.” Sam noted the quelling glare Dean leveled on the pretty blonde.
The light left her eyes. “Congratulations, Rosie. When is the wedding?”
“A week from Saturday in the park gazebo.”
Sam slid an arm around Rosie’s waist and hugged her to him, trying to ignore how perfectly they fit together. “We’d invite you guys, but we’re keeping it small and intimate considering the time constraints. Mostly family. I’m sure you understand how it is.”
Dean stared at Rosie, one corner of his mouth quirking. “Around these parts, a sudden wedding is usually followed by a premature birth. Are you pregnant, Rosie?”
She jerked beneath Sam’s arm as if she’d been stung.
“Dean! What’s the matter with you?” Cass wrenched away from him and planted her hands on her hips. “Apologize.”
He didn’t acknowledge her, just locked gazes with Rosie in some kind of battle only they understood.
Rosie’s eyes glittered with blue fire. Sam tightened his hold at her waist, fighting a strong urge to deck the guy, but he didn’t dare let go. The way her body trembled, he was afraid she would collapse.
Dean and Rosie appeared to despise one another. Then again, love and hate were practically kissing cousins.
Sam tamped down his own dislike for the man and adopted a coldly polite tone. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re marrying quickly because it feels right, and we don’t see any need to wait. We’ve spent enough time alone.” He turned to Rosie, deliberately blocking her view of Dean. “And speaking of time, aren’t you late for an appointment? Better take that planner and scram.”
Panic registered in her face. “Omigod, yes! I’ve gotta go.” She sprinted to her van, wrenched open the door, slid the planner across the seat and froze. In a flash, she was back, her hands framing his face, her mouth moving firmly over his. She broke contact, hugging him fiercely, creating a major heat wave with their bodies pressed so intimately together, and then she was gone. Her whispered words didn’t register until she was in the van and driving away.
That was just because I wanted to.
Oh, man. All the irritation that had plagued him for nearly a week dissipated. Sam didn’t realize he was smiling, until he saw Dean’s scowl. Then it widened into a full-fledged grin.
On some level, Rosie was attracted to him. Maybe she’d be willing to modify the platonic side of their agreement—eventually.
On the way home, he formulated a new plan, a risky one. But sometimes a man had to dig deep and take big risks when big rewards were at stake.
* * *
It was nearly nine o’clock that evening when Rosie finally made it home. For several minutes she sat there, leaning against the headrest, eyes closed. All afternoon she’d relived that impulsive kiss, calling herself all kinds of stupid.
What good did it do to dodge Sam most of the week if she was going to launch herself into his arms during a weak moment? She needed a keeper.
But Jeezus Pete, she wasn’t Wonder Woman. Her day, actually her whole week, had been frenzied enough trying to throw together her own wedding and take care of the shop. Knowing Dean’s track record, she couldn’t ignore Cass’s distress call. Listening to the young woman’s fears about
his increasing possessiveness and trying to decide how to warn her without divulging personal secrets had added more stress. Then Dean brought his irrational behavior into the picture. He’d almost sent her over the edge, taunting her like he had.
She’d wanted to scratch his eyes out.
Thank goodness Sam had been there.
Little did he know his support had kept her sane, protecting her from a future in the slammer. Despite her best intentions, she was beginning to feel serious interest in him as more than her friend. It didn’t help that he’d walked into the situation like her personal Sir Galahad. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop the slow but steady tumble of her heart.
Hello, you silly rhythmic organ. Remember me? This is so not real, or permanent either, for that matter. Forget that he’s got a big, tender heart beneath that rhetoric about not believing in love.
What was the use?
Telling herself he had no interest in her personally didn’t work. Avoiding him and his darling daughter didn’t work. That just made her lonely, something she hadn’t noticed much before they moved in. Knowing he didn’t deserve her baggage heaped on him didn’t work either. Already, he owned a small piece of her heart, so why fight it? She’d be a goner if he ever decided to turn his considerable charm on full force.
The end result would hurt. That was a given. But she could survive a bruised heart as long as she kept her perspective. Sam didn’t want forever, and she couldn’t consign a man to her brand of it.
Hearing a squeak, Rosie opened her eyes. A delectable masculine feast in jeans and bare feet stood in the opened screen door leading to the back porch. His porch light spilled across the grass and into the twilight.
All she could think about as she stared unabashedly was how perfect his large body had felt pressed against hers that afternoon.
Sam approached her door, opened it and leaned in. “Hey,” he greeted her softly, his voice creating shivers along her spine.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“Get your purse,” he instructed, waiting until she had it in hand before sliding an arm under her knees, the other behind her back. He swung her into his arms effortlessly, as if she hadn’t been the tallest girl in her grade the year he’d left for college, as if she were dainty and weighed next to nothing, like Claire.
A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel Page 10
