Vegas Wedding, Weaver Bride

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Clay. I suppose that means she’s one of the many cousins I have yet to meet?”

  She mentally worked her way through his family tree. “Squire Clay is her father-in-law. So a cousin of some sort by marriage? I never had any real cousins of my own. Maybe that’s why I never quite grasped the finer aspects of second and third cousins. And the whole once-removed or twice-removed deal?” She shook her head. “It’s Greek to me.”

  He squeezed her hand slightly. “Tell me more about the big wedding.”

  She should have known he wouldn’t be distracted. “You can’t possibly be interested.”

  “I most definitely can be interested,” he countered gently.

  So gently that her throat tightened up all over again. She wondered if he knew how like his father he really was.

  Only Penny had never once looked at Dr. Templeton and felt her mouth actually water like it did when it came to Quinn. And she certainly had never woken up in a sweat from vividly erotic dreams like she’d been having about Quinn.

  “You’re only interested because of what happened in Las Vegas,” she dismissed huskily.

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate.

  Which was yet another unnerving detail when it came to Quinn.

  Instead, he asked, “Did you at least like the wedding dress once it was done?”

  “It was really elaborate. Big full ball gown sort of thing.” She knew he couldn’t possibly care about the details, but she gave them anyway. Because as reluctant as she was to talk about it, the more she did, the harder it was to stop the words. And at least when she was regurgitating the past, it kept her from thinking so much about Quinn’s damned manly wrists. “Really beautiful but not, um, not my style at all. Susie was happy, though. The bridesmaid dresses were similar. Ten of them.” It was only because George Bennett was extraordinarily crafty raising funds that he and Susie had had the resources to foot such extravagance.

  Quinn’s eyebrows went up. “You must have had a lot of friends.”

  She felt a wry smile tug at her lips. “Not that many,” she admitted. “Only two were friends from school.” She’d lost track with both of them when they’d moved away for college. “The rest were girls who were either living with the Bennetts the same as I was, or had lived with them at one point. All fosters who’d come through Susie Bennett’s loving home at one time or another.

  “And Andy’s side?”

  “Oh, he laughed about that. It was easy for him. He had a lot more friends from school than I did. Plus several guys that he’d met when he enlisted.” Her thoughts drifted again. Her and Quinn’s Vegas wedding had been simple in the extreme...

  She blinked. Cleared her throat. “It took Andy an hour to come up with ten groomsmen. It took me two months to match them with ladies.” She’d been so aggravated. She’d tried to talk Susie into scaling back the whole deal, but her foster mom had just laughed the way Andy had. It was the first wedding she’d ever gotten to plan for one of her “kids,” much less two of them, and she’d intended to go all out.

  Quinn’s warm, callused thumb rubbed over the back of her hand in what she felt certain was meant to be a comforting way.

  But it was just...distracting. Making her feel shivers that she shouldn’t be feeling. Particularly when she was talking about Andy.

  It was disrespectful. Disconcerting. And entirely disturbing.

  So why don’t you pull your hand away?

  “How’d you and Andy meet?”

  She realized she hadn’t told him. She looked away from their hands. “He lived with the Bennetts.”

  He whistled silently, looking as if something had just clicked into place. “Cozy.”

  “Not like you think. Just about the only times Andy and I ever had a chance to be alone was when we were walking to and from school. And half of those times, we had to walk some of the younger kids to their schools first. We had really strict rules.” She felt her cheeks warming. Not that Quinn would have known it by the way she’d behaved with him.

  He smiled faintly and she wondered if he were reading her mind again. But all he asked was, “How many foster kids lived there?”

  Relieved, she counted in her head. “At one time? Usually eight. But there were thirteen at one point.” And every single one had been as grateful as Penny had been to be there.

  “I don’t remember the house being that crowded.”

  “It wasn’t at first. I was fifteen when George found the money to build on two more bedrooms so they could qualify for more kids.”

  “I remember you at fifteen. I don’t remember the construction, though.”

  So much for thinking he wouldn’t make at least some reference to her misguided attempt at seducing him. She tried not to think about the heat rising in her neck. “It was after you left town again.” She moistened her lips. “Anyway, Andy got placed with them when I was sixteen.” She remembered the day like it was yesterday. “On my birthday, in fact.”

  “Happy birthday, Penny,” he murmured.

  “Yeah.” Her eyes started burning again. Between the way her hormones had annoyingly come out of the deep freeze whenever Quinn was around and this particular trip down memory lane, she felt like a basket case. “I knew when I met Andy that he was different than anyone else. We just...fit.” She looked down at her hand again, tucked between Quinn’s.

  That fits, too.

  She restlessly pulled her tingling hand free and pushed off the couch. Her knee knocked into her purse that was sitting on the side table and she grabbed it, quickly zipping it shut to hide the box of condoms that she’d shoved inside it after the drug store episode.

  “It’s all water under the bridge now.” She moved the purse to the shelf where she usually left it, which was near the old photograph of George and Susie. She looked away.

  Quinn swung his legs around so that he was still facing her. His hands were casually linked between his spread thighs. Along with the sand-colored T-shirt, he was wearing a pair of beat-up jeans that looked in danger of falling apart from the stress of his muscular thighs. “Is it?”

  “What else can it be?” She spread her hands, dragging her eyes away from the fraying denim over his knee. Would a proper wife think about mending them? Or just tearing them off? Annoyed with herself, she made a face. “I was supposed to marry an army soldier. Turns out I married an air force one instead. Suppose that means I have a type?” she asked flippantly.

  He didn’t comment. Just kept watching her with those dark eyes that were too compassionate for comfort. She didn’t want his compassion or his sympathy. She just wanted things back to normal.

  She needed things to get back to normal.

  Which meant getting their Vegas vows undone as quickly as possible. Because she had no intention of trying to be any sort of wife to a military man.

  “While you were playing investigator, did you happen to find a lawyer?”

  He nodded once. “Yes. Did you get your period yet?”

  “No.” She pushed her hands in her back pockets and it dawned on her that her cutoffs weren’t in much better shape than his jeans. Inside her pocket, her fingertip was tangled in threads. “I’m not late, though,” she added quickly. “So we might as well get the paperwork rolling on our annulment. Divorce. Whatever.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and a tingle ran down her spine.

  “Waiting until we know there’s no baby isn’t going to hurt.”

  Her chest felt hot. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you there’s no baby.”

  “Until we know there isn’t one.” His voice was calm.

  Infuriatingly so.

  “And what if there is?” She didn’t believe for one second that she could be pregnant. She’d just know, wouldn’t she? She’d have to know, wouldn’t she? “It wouldn’t change anything.”


  The compassion in his eyes hardened into something else entirely. “A baby would change everything.”

  She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Yeah. For me. Your life would just keep trucking along. You’d ship out the second you could and I’d be here with a baby. We don’t need to be married for that. Believe me.”

  His brows pulled together as he slowly stood.

  A nervous frisson skittered up her spine. She barely caught herself from taking a step back.

  “I told you before that you were my responsibility now. The same thing goes for the baby.”

  “Oh my God.” She threw her arms out to her sides. “There is no baby!”

  “If there’s a baby, the same thing goes.” His voice was inflexible. “I don’t walk away from—”

  “Your mistakes?”

  His lips compressed. “My duty.”

  He couldn’t have chosen a word less likely to comfort her. “Andy always talked about duty, too. Right up until duty got him killed. And you’re no better. You think I want to hitch my wagon to that again? Not to mention the fact that I’m not in love with you.” The very idea sent her head into a tailspin. “Not even close!”

  He ducked his head close to hers. “Love’s not the issue. Your wagon’s already hitched to mine, sweetheart. We’re married. Remember?”

  Her pulse was pounding in her ears. For a second there, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. And she couldn’t tell if she was relieved or frustrated that he hadn’t. “As if I can forget!”

  “What’s all this shouting about?”

  Penny jumped nearly a foot at the voice on the other side of her screen door. She pressed her hand to her chest at the sight of her boss through the screen. “Mrs. Templeton. What brings you here?” Why now? When Quinn was there?

  Vivian pulled open the door. “I knocked. But you obviously didn’t hear. You don’t mind, do you?” She stepped inside, obviously not caring in the least if Penny did mind. “Quinn, dear. What a surprise.” Her tone said it wasn’t a surprise at all.

  In fact, her tone sounded wholly satisfied.

  Penny sidled out from between Quinn and the bookcase behind her. Vivian had never before sought her out at her home. “Did you drive here?”

  “Well, I hardly walked,” Vivian said drily. “Of course I drove.” She walked into the room, looking around her with unveiled curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for such whimsical decor.”

  Navy blue and white was whimsical? Penny supposed maybe it was, when compared to the gilt and glamour of Vivian’s home. And she’d rather it be thought of as whimsical than boring. “Mrs. Templeton, what can I do for you? Did I forget we had something scheduled?”

  Vivian looked at Quinn. “As if Penny ever forgets anything on our schedule,” she answered. “The girl’s an organizational demon. No doubt she had to learn that working for your idiot father.”

  She set her old-fashioned pocketbook on the footlocker that Penny’s mother had claimed belonged to Penny’s father before he’d abandoned them both, and perched on the edge of the couch. “Penny, you wouldn’t happen to have something cool to drink, would you? The afternoon is turning out warmer than I expected.”

  “Of course.” Penny warily walked past Quinn into the kitchen. She poured a third glass of lemonade, thinking somewhat hysterically that if another person dropped by unexpectedly, she’d be out of glassware altogether and it would be red plastic cups from there on out. She grabbed a paper napkin and carried it back out to the living room.

  Neither Quinn nor his grandmother had moved a muscle.

  Penny swallowed nervously and set the glass on top of the napkin on the footlocker. “It’s just instant lemonade,” she cautioned. Her wealthy boss had probably never even tasted such a thing.

  “It’s delicious.” Vivian didn’t reach for the glass. Her bright eyes bounced back and forth between Quinn and Penny. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Vivian,” Quinn’s low voice held a warning that even a stump of wood could have understood.

  Vivian smiled. She took her sweet time before reaching for her purse. Before Penny’s hope that Vivian meant to leave could fully form, her boss merely opened up the purse and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers. She extended them to Penny. “I’ve been working on debate questions. Those are my notes.”

  Penny took the papers. “This is great, Mrs. Templeton, but you know I still haven’t been able to get Squire Clay to agree to a debate.” She’d told the woman about it the day before, after her third failed attempt to get one scheduled.

  “He will. Keep bugging him. It’s only a matter of time before he succumbs.” Vivian looked confident. “If for no other reason than to tell the world what a horrible person I am.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t do that,” Penny demurred.

  “I’m not.”

  “Why?”

  Vivian looked toward Quinn at his question. “Surely someone in your family has filled you in on my many transgressions, mistakenly believed or otherwise.” She snapped her purse shut and folded her hands over it on her lap. Her ankles were crossed neatly. Not a hair of her stylishly short, silvery hair was out of place. “When it comes to Squire Clay, though, they’re true enough.” Her voice was crisp. Matter-of-fact. “When I was a young woman, I was a judgmental, silly fool. I didn’t want Sawyer, your grandfather—” she nodded toward Quinn “—being embarrassed by the existence of an illegitimate sister who happened to be Squire Clay’s wife. Back in those days, these things mattered. At least I believed they did. Squire’s never gotten over the fact that I didn’t welcome Sarah into the Templeton family with open arms. That I did my best to keep Sawyer from openly acknowledging his sister. Then she died and it was too late anyway. Sawyer didn’t forgive me, either. But times changed and so did I.”

  “So you’re running against Squire so that you can do what? Make up for insulting his wife by beating him in a town council race?”

  “Don’t be dim, Quinn. I’m running against him because he’s an ornery old fool who wouldn’t know progress if it bit him on the nose.”

  That wasn’t exactly the reputation Penny knew about the old rancher, but she intended to keep her mouth shut on that score. “I’ll try again to get the debate scheduled,” she promised.

  “Aim for first Tuesday after Labor Day. That will give us a week before election day,” Vivian said. “We need to allow enough time for word to spread in town after I trounce him.”

  That was one thing Penny did know about, though. “News spreads in Weaver just as effectively as it does in Braden. If you—when you trounce Mr. Clay, word will get around just fine to anyone who didn’t see it for themselves. It certainly won’t take a week.” More like a day. Or less.

  “That’s my hope.” Vivian clasped her pocketbook and rose. She tugged down the hem of her lightweight salmon-colored jacket and marched to the door.

  Quinn got there before she did and opened it for her. “Thank you for the lemonade, dear,” she told Penny. “I’ll see you on Monday morning. And Quinn,” she said as she stepped outside onto the porch step, “if you want to make an impression on Penny, try flowers. I would even lend you a proper car if you wanted to take her out for a proper date.” She gestured at the Rolls Royce parked incongruously in front of the small house. “Maybe even put on your uniform. Seems the least you can do when you’ve already married the girl.”

  Silence descended.

  Mortified, Penny could only stare.

  Quinn was equally silent.

  Vivian, no doubt, was enjoying the reaction she’d gotten. “I assume this happened in Las Vegas.” It wasn’t a question.

  Quinn glanced at Penny over his shoulder. “Does anyone else know?”

  “Not from me,” Vivian assured. “I had my suspicions but until now didn’t know for cer
tain.” She peered around Quinn’s wide shoulders. “Close your mouth, Penny, dear. You look like a gaping fish. I’ll see you Monday.”

  Then she patted Quinn’s cheek as if he were a good little boy and turned to walk out to her car.

  A few minutes later the engine gunned and the Rolls narrowly avoided colliding with the motorcycle before it purred down the street.

  “I didn’t tell her,” Quinn said when the sound of the engine had finally died away.

  Penny knew that. She just shook her head and threw herself down on the couch. She dropped the sheets of Vivian’s debate questions on the cushion beside her.

  Quinn moved them to the footlocker when he sat down on the cushion beside her. “That was unexpected.”

  Penny made a soundless snort. “She must have overheard more than I thought.”

  “I told you that she wouldn’t be as shocked as you feared.”

  “She might not have been shocked, but I’m not ready to place bets on what she really thinks, either.” Penny covered her eyes with a bent arm. The old lady was too unpredictable. She had an obvious tendency to say whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, if only so she could sit back and enjoy the shock waves she caused.

  “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”

  “Easy for you. You’re her grandson. I’m just the hired help.”

  “She’s not going to fire you,” he dismissed.

  “I think we both can agree that nobody knows what your grandmother will do until she actually does it.” She lowered her arm. Stared blindly at her “whimsical” decor.

  Images from the wedding video swam inside her head and she chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to think about something else.

  But it was futile. Not while Quinn was sitting beside her, his warm arm brushing against hers.

  She jackknifed off the couch. “I have to finish mowing the lawn.” Not waiting for a response or reaction, she stomped outside and across the lawn to where she’d left the lawn mower. She squeezed the handle and leaned over to grab the pull cord. She gave it an unnecessarily fierce yank and the gas engine growled to life. She lined up the mower with her last swath through grass.