A Fabulous Wedding

by Dianne Castell

  “Yeah, but he’s kind of a namby-pamby. I bet we could do it if we really tried. Danny has that chalet up in the foothills he and Charity never use because Danny’s too busy with work. We’ll take away all Nick’s clothes so he can’t escape. Maggie can get a pair of Jack’s handcuffs and—”

  “There is no way BJ and I are going to be a party to this hare-brained idea,” Maggie groused. “Though the handcuffs would be interesting, I’ve got to admit.”

  Dixie folded her arms and pursed her lips in full pouting mode. “All right, all right, you made your point. I’ll take his pots and pans hostage. Not nearly as much fun, but they’ll serve the purpose. Heaven knows he’d go to the ends of the earth for his saucier!”

  Maggie gave her the you-got-to-be-kidding eye roll. “Honey, no one, not even a homosexual man who loves to cook, goes after pots and pans.”

  Dixie tipped her chin, feeling better by the minute over her latest plan. “Wanna bet?”

  DUSK HOVERED over the town as Nick tossed the last piece of old rug into his leased truck to haul into the dump. He’d worked like mad these past few days to get stuff done. He swiped sweat from his forehead. Being an agent took him to a lot of places but none as incredible as Montana. Wild, free, natural. God’s country before man messed with it. Whistlers Bend restored his…soul. After all he’d seen, sometimes he doubted he even had one.

  He went back inside and gazed around the empty main room. Not bad, not bad at all. Tomorrow the tile guys were scheduled to put down terra-cotta pavers and the painters would strip the ugly wallpaper in the hall and stairway, then apply the stucco façade and paint the woodwork. He’d tear out the old kitchen himself and install the new cabinets he’d ordered if he was still around. Otherwise he’d have them delivered to his real restaurant. The Viking stove and Sub-Zero refrigerator and freezer would come in a day or two. He’d picked them out online, paid for them and would take them with him after the assignment was over. Thank heaven for the Internet.

  He didn’t have much of a choice about doing these things. His cover of opening a restaurant and being a chef was wearing thin with nothing restaurantlike happening around here. People in small towns were nosy as hell. Knew everyone’s business, especially that of the new guy who had gotten rid of their hair diva and didn’t seem to be doing much else with the place.

  But right now he was as hungry as a winter wolf. Where’d that expression come from? Not something he’d heard in L.A. or New York, that was for damn sure. Probably from someone at the hardware store when he’d picked out paint and gotten the names of the tile guys and painters. Or maybe it had come from one of the ranchers at the meeting that Maggie had dragged him to this morning. Then again, it could have been from the checkout man at the market—what was his name…Barney? He helped Nick select fresh produce every morning, even held some of the best tomatoes back just for him.

  He was getting to know everyone, and that’s what he was supposed to do. But now he was talking like them. He’d picked up gang slang fast enough; now it was Montana-ese. He liked that a lot more.

  He made his way to the kitchen, and pictured Dixie sitting at the table, eating spaghetti. He’d needed every ounce of self-control to keep his hands and lips to himself that night. The past two days he’d managed to avoid her since he’d been working, and that should be a good thing—out of sight, out of mind. Except it didn’t work. He missed her a lot more than he should.

  He went to the box to get a saucepan to warm up leftover spaghetti from the other night, pulled back the flaps and… “Holy hell!”

  “What’s going on?” Sheriff Jack Dawson asked from the doorway.

  Nick shook his head. “You are not going to believe this one.”

  Grinning, Jack took a chair at the table. “Oh, I think I am. Let’s see, someone’s filched your pots and left you a map telling you where to find them.”

  Nick put the map on the table. “And how in blue blazes the hell did you know that?”

  Jack tipped the chair on two rear legs, balancing against the wall. “Somehow Dixie Carmichael has gotten it into her head that you’re gay and…here’s where it gets even better.”

  “Gay? Gay! Oh, I can’t wait to hear the rest.”

  “She’s deemed it her duty to convert you. Turn you into a man for the benefit of women everywhere. Seems you’re really a hunk and she doesn’t want to see it wasted.”

  Nick went to the fridge and snagged two beers. He sat at the table and handed one to Jack. They popped the cans and drank. Nick swiped the back of his hand across his lips. “I needed that. I got to tell you that in all my years with the bureau nothing—and I do mean not one damn thing—like this has ever happened. I’m gay?”

  “The situation is more like Dixie’s borrowing your pans so you’ll come to her to get them back. I have no idea what you’re walking into, but I promise it won’t be boring.”

  “Nothing about that woman is boring. She’s got to be the most unboring person in the universe.” Nick sat and leaned his elbows on the table and chuckled. “How’d you find out about the pans and what in the hell gave Dixie the idea I’m gay?”

  “Dixie decided you were gay after she found your stash of knockoff purses.”

  Nick bolted straight up. “She broke into my house and went through my things?”

  “She had a feeling you were more than just a cook and when she came across a picture of Cher and a CD with show tunes she put it all together and got….”

  “Gay. The picture and music were a little bureau humor,” Nick growled. “Damn.”

  Jack laughed. “Well, whatever happens, tonight will more than make up for any inconvenience, I can guarantee that. In fact, I just bet you’re in for one incredible conversion. At one point handcuffs were discussed. Maggie told me all about it because she thought you should know what you’re walking into.”

  Dixie, him, handcuffs! This was not how to get over Dixie Carmicheal. “And here I thought this was a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere.”

  Jack tapped the map. “Dixie’s at her ex’s chalet in Cabin Springs. It’s not far from the old depot, but the best way there is to go west and take a turnoff before you reach the interstates. The roads are better that way. You’ll see the sign Danny’s Delight. Don’t know why people name their houses up here, but they do.”

  “Why is she doing this conversion thing? I don’t get it.”

  “Hell, man, she likes you. First time she’s really liked anyone since her divorce. Her ex made it big in the stock market and dumped her for a Victoria’s Secret model. They live in New York, but he keeps the cabin here just to remind everyone who he is. When Dixie got the divorce papers from Danny, she walked out the door, got a job at the Purple Sage and moved in with her sister, Gracie. She let Danny have everything. Said she didn’t need him or any man to make her way in this world. She was kind of living in limbo till she got it in her head to go after this reporting job, and then she stumbled onto you. And you’re gay. Poor girl’s got a bad streak going for her. But Dixie really is the best.”

  There was a glint in Jack’s eyes suggesting that if Nick Romero hurt Dixie Carmichael in any way, he’d live to regret it, FBI or not.

  Jack nodded toward the window. “You better get a move on. You don’t know the roads well enough to be driving them in the dark.”

  Jack finished off his beer and left. Nick took a ten-minute shower, then climbed in the pickup and headed out of town. He’d toss the old carpet into the landfill tomorrow. For now he’d secure it under a tarp to stop remnants from flying out.

  When he got to the turnoff road, it was deserted, not a soul on any of the private lanes to the incredibly huge vacation homes. The area was the perfect place to hide trucks and transfer merchandise before getting back to the expressways in no time at all.

  The sign Danny’s Delight came into view. Nick followed the road to a chalet nestled into the mountains, pulled up behind Dixie’s Camaro and killed the engine. Quiet surrounded him. He actuall
y heard a pinecone fall through a tree and land on the ground. Now, that was quiet.

  He walked up the stone path to the big wood chalet. Nice digs. Should he knock, or should he just barge in? Perspiration dotted his upper lip and it had nothing to do with figuring out etiquette. Dixie was probably sporting some skimpy sexy see-through thing designed to drive him wild and convert him on the spot.

  Except, he didn’t need converting. He was already a true admirer of all things female, especially Dixie Carmichael. He turned the knob and pushed open the door as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Two overstuffed chairs, coffee table, hardwood floor, ceiling windows to the back that let in sunlight and offered a view of the woods and the mountains beyond.

  A cardboard box, probably his All-Clad, sat by the sofa where Dixie lounged, wearing…jeans and a sweatshirt!

  What the…? Where was that flimsy stuff women bought when they wanted to entice? He’d been looking forward to being converted and enticed, even if it only lasted a minute or two till he could tell her the truth!

  She clicked on a ceramic rose lamp that sat on the end table. “We need to talk.”

  He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to ogle, even for a few seconds, before he told her he wasn’t gay. Now there was nothing to ogle except GAP across an oversized navy blue sweatshirt.

  No lush curves exposed, no voluptuous breasts straining against lacy fabric or spilling over the top—damn, he liked spilling! No spicy fragrance guaranteed to bring a man to his knees in five seconds flat. “You broke into my place, went through my stuff. What did you think you were doing?” Besides disappointing the hell out of me with this getup!

  “I’m trying to save you. You’re a handsome man and you react to me in a sexual way no matter how much you want to deny it or you pull away. You’re just confused about your masculinity, Nick, and I want to make you into the man you are. I’m going to transform you into a man’s man,” she growled. “I can tell that’s the real Nick Romero, no matter what you say or do or what kind of accessories you buy. I have a certain sense about things and you’re not who you think.”

  She stood and came closer. Okay, that was better. Now she’d take off the sweatshirt and there’d be some little skimpy thing underneath. He just wanted a harmless peek before he set her straight. Though when it involved Dixie, was anything harmless? “I’m really—”

  “Bewildered. I know.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me.”

  She reached behind her, but instead of removing the sweatshirt, she pulled out a bag of… “Pork rinds? You’re showing me pork rinds?”

  She tore off the top and plucked up one curl. “Men love these things, though I can’t imagine why. Fried grease?” She put it to his mouth. “Taste. Men’s food. Yum, yum. You’ll get used to it.”

  He opened his mouth to protest and she shoved in the curl. That was okay, because he was starving and because he really did like pork rinds, especially with beer, but right now he wanted Dixie!

  He crunched the rind and she put down the bag and grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the flat box. She wiggled the section in front of his lips. “Men can sustain life for years on this. I believe there’s documented proof.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her he knew cold pizza was terrific—hell, he made the stuff—but she shoved the piece into his mouth. You think he’d learn to keep his mouth shut. She said, “Sort of like cardboard with tomato sauce, but with enough pepperoni I guess anything can taste good. Consider it an acquired taste. It doesn’t have to be cuisine, Nick. It can be just plain food out of a box or freezer, not even homemade. Hopefully, cooked first, but sometimes not. Men don’t seem to mind either way.”

  He said around a mouthful, “I’m not gay, Dixie.”

  “See!” She stepped back, beaming, spreading her arms. “This is great. I knew it, I knew it! You’re getting the idea already. You’re getting the feeling. You needed someone to point it out to you and that’s me.”

  She aimed the wedge of bitten-off pizza at the bag of rinds on the coffee table. “Aren’t these terrific foods…at least, for a guy?”

  He took the slice from her fingers and put it in the box. “No, I mean I’m really not gay. Ever. And it has nothing to do with snacks.”

  “That’s the spirit.” She punched him in the arm. “Deep down inside is a manly guy. You need to say I am macho man every morning when you shave. There’s life beyond decorating and cooking and—”

  He cupped her shoulders to hold her still—something she normally wasn’t. He wanted her full attention. “My grandmother’s a decorator. I’ve been surrounded by colors and material and rugs and pictures and sconces and the rest of that stuff all my life—well, most of it. I went to more Italian weddings than you can imagine and I had to dance. Nonna—that’s Italian for grandmother—wouldn’t have it any other way. I learned to cook because when she was out on a job it was my task to fix us dinner or make pb-and-j for myself when I was hungry. I hate peanut butter and jelly. Nonna said that if I could read, I could cook, and she’s right.”

  “What about your mother?”

  That threw him. Anything regarding his mother always did. My mother was an alcoholic who spent more time passed out on the sofa than she ever did with her son, he thought, but he said, “Celest raised me.” And talked him into pursuing a career in the FBI instead the FBI pursuing him.

  Dixie looked at Nick for a long moment, then grinned and kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering, tantalizing him. “I understand that you’re trying to explain away what you thought you were, but—”

  “I like women, dammit. A lot.”

  “You’re doing great!”

  “What do you want from me, a list of references?”

  She smiled patronizingly and patted his cheek. “You have things, women’s things. Great women things, Nick. You have terrific taste. Men don’t buy five-hundred-dollar purses. And they don’t pack away pictures of Cher.”

  He was going to string the guys at the bureau up by their toenails. Why couldn’t his last assignment be something else besides Dixie and purses and her thinking he was gay? “All those are presents for my grandmother. I knew I wouldn’t be able to buy any of them in Whistlers Bend.” He gazed down at her. “I am not gay, Dixie. Do you believe me? I swear that’s the truth.” And for once it actually was.

  She bit her bottom lip. “You’re thinking in the right direction, as far as I’m concerned. But I have more ways to convince you.”

  Here it was. What he’d imagined all the way up here. His chest tightened, making his heart pound, as she…took a pair of jeans from the sofa and held them up? Worn, a hole in the knee. She said, “You need these. Makes you look and feel kind of rugged, tough.”

  She draped the jeans over his shoulder, then mussed his hair. “Doesn’t it feel better to be a little messy and unkempt? And—”

  He snagged her in his arms and kissed her, her full lips heaven against his. “Dammit all,” he finally got out. “I am not gay!”

  He’d been doing okay, keeping his cool, till she’d run her fingers through his hair. Then he’d snapped and all his good intentions about just ogling and staying away from her vanished like the smugglers into the mountains.

  He wanted her, all of her, right now. For a second she felt stiff, startled, shocked. Hell, he’d shocked himself! Then her body relaxed against his. She gave him a devil smile and winked. “This is really nice. But…”

  “No more buts.”

  She smiled seductively. “What I mean is, maybe I could do with a little more convincing. I really like the way you convince. You’re very good at it.”

  A hot ache settled below his belt. “I’m glad you think so.” He brushed her lips with his, teasing her and himself, bringing them together slowly, then he deepened the kiss, his tongue touching hers for a second, and a jolt of pure ecstasy shot right through him. He coaxed her sweet lips open more, wanting to taste her again and again. She whimpered, the good kind that said she liked thi
s as much as he did.

  He splayed his hands across her back, holding her tight, as her arms slipped around his neck, her breasts firming against his chest. Her fingers ran up his nape, setting every inch of him on fire. She brought her head back and looked at him with glazed eyes, her breathing labored and shallow. “Wow, you’re a fast learner.”

  “I learned a long, long time ago. You happened to put two and two together and got five. I’m not a five, Dixie.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gave him a lopsided grin and let out a bewildered sigh. “And right now I don’t care.”

  His mouth claimed hers, making his heart jump into overdrive. “Would I be acting like a horny teenager if I was gay? You’re a woman—a really delicious one, I might add—and I’m a man, which I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. This is pretty straightforward stuff. Don’t try to complicate it. Okay?”

  Her breaths came faster and she gazed into his eyes. “Either you’re not gay or you’re one heck of an actor. And I can’t imagine why you’d fake this.”

  “There’s not a man on the planet who’d have this reaction unless he was really attracted.”

  She gave him a desperate smile. “Right. I…I think I finally got it.”

  She swallowed. “Does this mean…Should we…Can we…” She let go of his neck and undid the top button on his shirt. When the next button refused to give way, she yanked the material apart, sending the button airborne across the room.

  He laughed. “In a hurry?”

  Her gaze met his. “Are you complaining?”

  His erection strained against his zipper. Not only were his pants suddenly too tight, but there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room and his brain fogged with lust. What had happened to “just being friends”?

  Then she ran her fingers through his chest hair and kissed his left nipple, and the idea of just being friends went up in smoke along with every rational thought. He grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her bra. A sexy see-through one, the very kind he’d thought she’d be wearing for the conversion. Having Dixie in his arms and her hands on him was all he could imagine and more. “I’m on fire for you.”