Quinn wondered if he was the only one aware of the tight set to Penny’s shoulders as she finally carried a minimally filled plate over to the table. She sat two chairs away from Quinn.
“For Delia,” she murmured when he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “When she gets here.”
Knowing his little sister, she’d sleep until it was time to get up and party at the next nightclub. He grabbed the handle of the fancy coffeepot and leaned across the empty chair to fill Penny’s cup.
She flicked him a quick look. Murmured a thank-you.
It was obvious as hell that she wanted to be anywhere other than there.
“So how did you know Mike Lansing?” Maddie asked him. “It was so loud in the club last night, I never got that quite clear.”
Quinn didn’t plan to let them all know how little he remembered of the previous night and he let the name sift through his mind. He was thinking up a plausible answer when Greer took up the reins.
“They served together back in Africa,” she said as she got up to refill her plate. “He was a PJ, too. Though, frankly, the guy seemed like a jerk to me. All he did was talk about himself like he was a divine gift to women.” She looked at Quinn. “Fortunately, once you and Penny were gone, he didn’t hang around long.”
Maddie was nodding as if it all made sense.
It was beginning to make sense to Quinn, too. Thank God. Even though it was a good ten years ago since he’d met Lansing, he remembered him.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t recall encountering the man at all the night before.
“Strictly speaking,” he corrected, “Lansing was a CRO.” He pronounced it crow. “Combat Rescue Officer.” Which had put him ahead of Quinn—who was enlisted—in the pecking order. Until Lansing had gotten booted out for dishonorable conduct, that was.
“I don’t like talking about all this military stuff,” Vivian said.
Which made Quinn want to smile, because they were barely glossing the surface of military stuff where he was concerned.
“So, tell me. What is on everyone’s schedule this afternoon?” Vivian raised her brows as she looked at all of them.
“Massage,” Greer said promptly.
“Then the pool,” Maddie and Ali said in unison.
Greer nodded. “That, too.”
“What about you, Penny dear?”
Penny looked like she wanted to be drawn into the conversation about as much as she wanted to be thrown into the lion’s den. “Whatever you need me to take care of this afternoon, Mrs. Templeton.”
His grandmother made a face. “The only thing I’m doing this afternoon is resting and making a few calls.”
He caught the way Penny took a closer look at Vivian. “Resting?”
“Yes.” Vivian’s voice was deliberately patient. “Just resting. Which means you can go about and play the same as my grandchildren. Visit the spa. The pool. Shop. Whatever you like.”
“You know that I didn’t bring a swimsuit.” Penny didn’t look at anyone as she focused on the roll that she’d been methodically shredding.
“Then go buy one, like I’ve been telling you to do since we got here,” Vivian said firmly. “Charge it to my room. I’m sure the girls would go shopping with you.” As if the matter was settled, she turned her attention to Quinn. “And you, young man? Aside from the way you seemed to loosen up last night, I haven’t seen you even visit the gaming tables. You’ll be the first Templeton I’ve ever known who doesn’t like to try his hand at a little gambling.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.” It would be one way to pass the rest of the day. If he hadn’t had an unplanned marriage on his hands, the casino might have held a little more appeal.
“Come to the pool with us,” Maddie urged. “It’ll be fun.”
“What kind of calls do you need to make, Vivian?” Ali started to prop her elbows on the table, then seemed to think better of it as she focused on their grandmother. She grinned. “You can rest at the pool, too, you know.”
Vivian chuckled. “Well, my dear Arthur would have been the first to agree with you. But I have some business to take care of with my attorney in Pittsburgh. I’m considering selling my estate there.” Her smile took in all of them. “Since I’ve come to the conclusion that none of my grandchildren will likely want to take up residence there, I see no reason to keep hold of the place.”
Quinn had gotten accustomed to his grandmother’s references to her last late husband. “Dear Arthur” had been a public school teacher. A regular guy. And even dead, he still seemed to be a guiding force in her life. So much so that to honor his memory, she’d tried mending the lifelong rifts with the family she’d had with her first husband by moving to Wyoming where everything had to be entirely backwater in comparison to the life she’d led in Pennsylvania.
“Are you sure you want to get rid of Templeton Manor for good?” Maddie looked concerned. “You lived there with Daddy’s dad.”
Vivian smiled faintly. “I lived there with all of my husbands. But Sawyer first of all, of course. It’s the home where both of your fathers grew up.” Then she made a face. “And we all know neither one of them wants to step foot there ever again.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Maddie soothed.
“Darling, you’re very sweet. But I am very certain. Even though the car crash that killed their father was an accident, both Carter and David still blame me for his death. Nothing I say or do now is going to change that. But—” she placed her palms on the table beside her plate, and the diamonds on her fingers caught the light shining through the two-storied windows “—I have not given up on my grandchildren. Which is why I am so delighted that all of you were able to join me on this little jaunt to Las Vegas. I wish the rest of your siblings had been able to join us, but I’m still delighted all the same. My dear Arthur always said I’d get a kick out of this place and he was right.” She stood from the table and went over to the windows. “Such ridiculous ostentation,” she said, then gave them a wink. “I positively love it.”
Looking at her mischievous expression, Quinn found it almost hard to believe that Vivian wasn’t quite the picture of health that she appeared to be.
The reason? She called it the “little thing squatting inside my head.” Quinn and everyone else in the family called it what it was. An inoperable brain tumor.
So if she wanted to treat her grandkids—those who could get away on such short notice, at least—to this impetuous, lavish trip to Las Vegas, who was he to argue?
He couldn’t solve the problems between her, and his dad and uncle. But he could make sure he didn’t add to the hassles between them.
Which was a good reason to get the whole marriage certificate thing with Penny squared away as soon as possible.
Almost as if she’d read his mind, Penny suddenly stood up from the table and began clearing away her dishes.
“Penny,” Vivian chided softly. “There’s a butler here who takes care of that.”
“I know.” Penny didn’t stop what she was doing. “Old habits are just too hard to break, I’m afraid.” She disappeared through the connecting door into the kitchen.
“Well, I don’t mind breaking habits,” Greer said drily. “Someone else to clean up my dishes? I’m all for that.”
Quinn tuned out his cousins’ chatter as he swallowed the rest of his food, and then carried his plate and coffee into the kitchen after Penny.
She was standing at the sink with her shoulders slumped and visibly jumped when she noticed him.
“Sorry.” He set his plate on the counter next to the sink. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.”
It was such an obvious lie, he let it go unchallenged.
“We’ll get it worked out, Penny.”
Her jaw shifted from side to side. “
I don’t want to talk about it here.”
“I have the feeling you don’t want to talk about it anywhere.”
She shot him a pained look.
He sighed and looked over his shoulder through to the dining room. His cousins and grandmother were still sitting at the long table. “The certificate’s signed by an officiant. I’m going to check it out this afternoon. See what I can learn.” He considered asking if she wanted to accompany him but decided not to. If she didn’t want to discuss it, he doubted she’d want to traipse around with him looking into it.
“We were drunk. Obviously.” Her voice was low. “There’s no other explanation. It’s probably not even legal.”
He wasn’t going to debate the matter when he didn’t know the legalities, either. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Her long lashes swept down, hiding her vividly blue eyes again. She nodded and turned on the faucet to rinse another plate before leaning over to place it inside the built-in dishwasher.
There didn’t seem much point hanging there. Particularly when the only thing his eyes wanted to do was linger on the creamy skin exposed below her T-shirt when she’d leaned over.
His fingers twitched slightly, tingling. He knew exactly how her smooth, supple skin felt.
He also knew exactly how her skin tasted. It was there inside his memory, bright and vivid, even though he didn’t specifically recall anything besides waking up with his arms full of her warm body.
“Quinn!”
He dragged his mind into the present when he heard his name being called from the other room.
Penny had straightened and was rinsing another dish beneath the faucet. Shoulders hunched. Eyes averted.
He curled his fingers against his palms but the prickling sensation didn’t go away.
“Quinn!” Typically impatient, Ali came to the kitchen doorway. “Have beans in your ears? I’ve been calling you.”
He ignored her. “We’ll get it worked out, Penny,” he said again in a low voice, before turning to face his cousin. “What?”
Ali’s gaze was flipping from him to Penny and back to him again. Her cop’s mind was undoubtedly conjecturing. “Nothing,” she said after a moment. “Nothing at all.” Smiling faintly, she turned and left the room.
“And that’s why I didn’t want to talk about it here,” Penny muttered behind him.
He glanced at her. “You going to be one of those wives who always has to be right?”
She flushed. Gave him a look fit to do more damage than the grenades had done. “I am not your wife,” she muttered between her teeth.
“For both our sakes, darlin’, I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Three
The clerk at the county marriage bureau was polite, friendly and adamant.
It was entirely likely that Penny Garner really was his wife.
And the pain inside Quinn’s head rose to a new level.
“The officiant—” the clerk deciphered the signature on the marriage certificate “—Marvin Morales, has ten days to file your certificate. We often get them within a few days of the wedding, though. Once the marriage is recorded, a certified copy is typically available after a day or so.” She handed him back his crumpled paper. She’d already told him it was merely his keepsake certificate versus the official document. If she had any personal opinion about the state of the piece of paper, she kept it to herself. “You can get certified copies in person, via regular mail or order them online.”
Even though it was Sunday afternoon, there was a long line of people waiting behind him for their turn at the counter.
The Las Vegas wedding business was clearly in fine form.
“And this Morales guy. He’s legit?”
She turned to her computer and tapped on the keys. “Certainly is,” she assured. “I’m not showing any address or organizational affiliation for him, though.”
That didn’t sound overly legitimate to him. “Is that normal?”
“It’s a little unusual, but not unheard of.” She smiled. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Templeton?”
Right next to his elbow a large sign was posted, indicating the bureau would not issue marriage licenses to individuals who were clearly intoxicated. He nodded toward it. “You really enforce that?”
For the first time the clerk looked a little miffed. “Of course, sir. We take our responsibilities here quite seriously.”
“I’m sure you do.” He folded the certificate. “I appreciate your time.”
“Certainly. I wish you and your bride every happiness.”
He managed a smile as he turned away from the counter. He had barely vacated the spot when it was replaced by a young couple who were practically bouncing out of their shoes with excitement.
Outside the building, the sun was bright and hot. A good twenty-five degrees hotter than it was back in Wyoming. He didn’t particularly mind the heat, though. He’d served all over the world. He was used to temperature extremes.
He wound his way through the wedding-chapel vendors hawking their services outside the building and even though there were plenty of cabs he could have hailed, he walked back to the hotel.
The moment he entered, cold air and piped music engulfed him. If he went one direction, he could head toward his hotel suite. If he headed the opposite direction, he’d end up in one of the endless casinos. Another direction and it was one of the hotel’s several pools.
He wasn’t one for indecision, but he just stood there on the sea of gleaming marble tile, feeling the artificially cooled air blowing down over his head while he ran his thumb along the folded edges of the marriage certificate.
“Looks like you survived the fun last night, Sarge.”
At the greeting, Quinn looked up to see Mike Lansing a few feet away. Even if the trips hadn’t mentioned him from the night before, Quinn still would have recognized the other man. He had one arm looped over the shoulders of a bored-looking blonde and held a drink in his other hand.
“I did.” Quinn slid the folded square in his back pocket. “You?”
The blonde pursed her lips and looked up at Mike. “Are we going to the shops or not?”
Mike pulled out a wad of cash and pushed it into her hand. “You go, baby. I’m gonna grab another drink with my old buddy, here.”
The woman’s boredom visibly brightened as she tucked the money down her bra. She pulled Mike’s head down and gave him a noisy kiss. “See you later in the room.” Even though her voice was loaded with innuendo, she still ran her eyes up and down Quinn when she turned and walked away.
“Nice girl,” Quinn commented blandly.
Mike laughed. “Better be, considering how much she’s costing me.”
Since that could be taken a couple of ways, Quinn refrained from comment.
“C’mon.” Mike gestured with his half-full glass. “There’s a sweet little cocktail waitress I’ve been eyeing.”
“What about Miss Shopper?”
Mike just grinned and led the way toward the casino. “What about her?”
Quinn shook his head and followed. He didn’t care at all about Mike in a general sense, but the guy had evidently been around the night before. Quinn was willing to put up with most anything if it helped jog his memory of what had occurred.
They went straight to the lounge and had barely settled at one of the high-tops before a shapely redhead in a short black dress came over to take their orders. Mike ordered another whiskey and the waitress turned her smile toward Quinn. “And for you, sir?”
“Ginger ale.”
Mike gave him a look. “Dude.”
“Ginger ale,” Quinn repeated drily to the waitress.
She smiled at him, ignored the leer in Mike’s eyes and walked away.
; “Talk about a fine-looking pair of legs,” Mike murmured, watching her go. “Not as good as those hot cousins of yours, but still fine.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened. “Can’t remember if you said last night what you’re doing here in Vegas.”
Mike laughed as if it was uproariously funny. He clapped Quinn on the shoulder. “I’ll bet you can’t remember.” He sat back and finished off his drink just in time to exchange it for the fresh one the redhead returned with. “Thanks, sweetheart. What time you get off work?”
“Soon as my husband picks up our twin babies,” she replied with a sweet smile. She set Quinn’s glass of soda on a round coaster. “I’ll be back to check on you boys.”
“Babies.” Mike shuddered. “God forbid. Least we’ve both been smart enough to avoid that nightmare. Remember Rollie? The way his old lady was always harping on him? Deployments keeping him away from her and those kids she kept poppin’ out? Ask me, I bet more than one of them wasn’t even Rollie’s. Always said the smartest guys are the ones who don’t bother putting a ring on it.”
Quinn didn’t entirely disagree. The divorce rate among special operators was astronomically high. He also knew many of the guys kept trying anyway. Maybe it was the hope to keep something normal in a world that was anything but normal.
Some succeeded.
More didn’t.
For his part, Quinn had always figured that if he’d ever met a woman he wanted to marry, he’d expect to put as much commitment into that marriage as he had into his career.
He’d just never met a woman that special.
The folded marriage certificate inside his pocket felt like it was burning a tattoo into his butt.
He shifted. “You got out a long time ago,” he reminded Mike, skirting the actual facts of the guy’s discharge. “What have you been doing since?”
“Contract work.” Mike grinned. “Money is really good, dude. Still get to make bad guys dead, but the bennies are a lot better than Uncle Sam ever coughed up. You decide you want to make some real dough, say the word. You think the uniform is a chick magnet, you should see what a bankroll can do. I’ll make some introductions.”
Vegas Wedding, Weaver Bride Page 3
