But Taffeta took this seriously. She discarded one place because it looked tacky. The next one looked tacky to her as well.
Barney said, “Taffy, I’m afraid a lot of them are cheesy. It’s Reno!”
“Still.” She wrinkled her nose. “I really don’t want to have a Johnny Depp impersonator officiate at our wedding. Even worse, a fat Johnny impersonator.”
A horrible thought suddenly struck Barney. “Shit,” he interjected. “I just realized we don’t have a marriage license. How the hell can we get one on a Saturday?”
Chapter Nine
A panicked look spread over Taffeta’s face. She jerked the laptop from Barney’s hands and started typing in another search term with fingers that danced over the keyboard with far more speed than his own.
“Oh God, oh God. I never even thought of a marriage license.” She glanced up at him with eyes as round as nickels. “After all the hours it took to get here and all the expense for everything, we can’t let this be a wasted trip. What if we can’t get married?”
Barney had no answers, but he strove to reassure her. “People elope in Reno all the time. In the movies, couples get roaring drunk, decide to get married, and wake up in the morning wondering how it happened. Somehow they all got marriage licenses.”
The rigidity left Taffeta’s shoulders as she read what she’d found on the Net. “We’re good,” she said with noticeable relief. “We have to go to the Marriage License Bureau. There are directions. It’s open seven days a week, according to this, from eight in the morning until midnight.”
“Only in a city like Reno is a municipal office open until midnight,” he said with a laugh. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Next, Taffeta selected a chapel that she felt was the least tacky of the lot. Barney called to book a time slot, and then they drove to the Marriage License Bureau, which took forever because of road construction and detours. After procuring the license, they went directly to the chapel. Barney was surprised that it was so pretty, a small white house that had been tastefully converted into a wedding venue. Taffeta chose the least expensive marriage package, a basic civil ceremony for seventy-five dollars. Considering that the license had cost only sixty, Barney felt relieved. At least getting married wasn’t costing her a fortune.
Then, of course, they had to buy rings. She picked out the least costly band in the display case for herself and offered up her finger for a quick sizing. Barney followed suit and beat her to the punch by handing over his credit card to the cashier before Taffeta could get hers out of her purse.
“This is supposed to be on my dime,” she protested.
Barney winked at her. “We never discussed the rings.” In truth, he’d forgotten that they’d need them. “Besides, I’ll want to keep mine as a souvenir of my first marriage.”
• • •
Taffeta’s first wedding had been picture-perfect. By comparison, the chapel ceremony seemed superficial. But, for reasons beyond her, it meant more to her than it should have, far more. As they exchanged vows, Barney turned toward her and grasped both her hands. The honeyed timbre of his voice curled around her. Warmth radiated from his well-toned body. His scent titillated her nostrils. The expression on his face looked solemn, sincere, and sweet.
The JP had the ceremony memorized, but he tried to make it special with the vows. As Barney promised to care for her and cherish her, he gazed straight into her eyes as if he meant every word with all his heart. When it came her turn, she couldn’t look away from him.
With graceful ease, he slipped the smaller band onto her left ring finger. She nearly dropped the larger one and then struggled to get it on him. The crease flashed in his cheek.
After they were pronounced man and wife, the JP told Barney that he could now kiss his bride. Taffeta hadn’t anticipated this part of the ceremony, although why not, she hadn’t a clue. The groom always kissed the bride.
Barney winked at her as he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. It was a sweet, tentative kiss, the press of his lips as light and airy as gossamer, but even so, Taffeta’s pulse quickened and her breathing hitched. She could only hope that Barney didn’t notice.
When they got back inside his truck a few minutes later, Taffeta grumped, “Why do they so often pronounce newly married people as man and wife?” She prayed that her miffed tone would conceal her reaction to his kiss. Her hands were still shaking. “Why not call us man and woman? Or husband and wife?”
He grinned as he accelerated the Dodge and turned out onto the street. “Does it really matter? We accomplished our mission. We’re married. That’s all that counts.” He missed the first detour, swore, and circled the block. “And we can forget the lovey-dovey act here in Reno. Nobody knows us.”
None of this was real, Taffeta reminded herself. Only when Barney had gazed into her eyes as he professed his vows, she believed for a moment that he sincerely meant the promises he was making to her. Even worse, she wished that she could honor her vows to him for the rest of her life. Loving him, caring about him, being loyal to him. She could make that commitment to him so easily. Whenever she considered the magnitude of what he’d done for her—and also for Sarah—she couldn’t help feeling halfway in love with him already, and she knew that she could take the remainder of the leap without any hesitation at all.
Barney found a parking spot along the Strip, and they walked the brightly lighted sidewalk to check out the casinos. All of them stank of cigarette smoke, but they finally found one that was classier and less offensive to their noses.
“Dinner first, and then I’ll teach you how to play blackjack,” he said.
Taffeta hadn’t realized she was hungry until he mentioned food. They took an elevator upstairs to eat at a tower restaurant that sported tables draped in white linen and centerpieces with flickering candles.
“I’m not dressed for this,” she whispered as the maître d’ led them to their seats.
“You look fabulous,” he whispered back. “I love that top on you.”
Taffeta cringed when she saw the prices on her menu. “Barney,” she said in a hushed voice, “we can’t afford this!”
He smiled. In the candlelight, his hazel eyes shimmered as if they’d been sprinkled with gold dust. “Regardless of the circumstances, this is our wedding night, and I’ll be damned if I mark the evening by eating crap from that downstairs buffet. Ignore the cost. Order your dream meal. Once we decide, we can select a wine.”
The price of a bottle of wine would have covered a third of Taffeta’s monthly car payment. Despite what he’d said, she chose the cheapest entrée, a chicken cordon bleu dish. He ordered shrimp scampi. They savored a lovely white wine as they ate. Neither of them had room for dessert.
Barney paid the tab. She covered the tip.
Back downstairs, they scouted the tables until Barney found one that allowed one-dollar bets, and even that filled Taffeta with trepidation because she’d never played blackjack and didn’t wish to lose a lot of—or even a little—money.
Barney seated her beside him. Then, bending his head toward hers, he explained the rules and playing strategies. “I’ll help you with your hands for a while,” he said. “Players can get prickly if a newbie screws up the flow of cards by taking stupid hits.”
“What’s a hit?” she asked. “That sounds violent.”
He laughed. “Watch and learn.”
Taffeta found herself enjoying every moment of the remainder of the evening. Barney was handsome, thoughtful, patient, and one of the most genuine people she’d ever met. He also had an uncanny way of making her laugh, and it felt divine. The time she spent in his company was the happiest she could remember feeling in years. Not allowing herself to fall in love with him would be a challenge, and she already feared that she was losing the battle.
• • •
In clothing that revealed her curvaceous figure and
with her glossy dark hair flowing like silk around her slender shoulders, Taffeta was a knockout. Barney wrestled with his own demons and tried to tamp down his attraction to her. With touches of makeup to accentuate her eyes and lush mouth, she could have made a guy swallow his tongue without half trying. Amazing. She hadn’t had a chance to freshen up before they left their hotel, but she still looked fabulous.
Thank God I booked separate rooms. He wasn’t sure that he could keep his hands off her if she slept only a few feet away from him, his for the asking.
She wouldn’t say no. Hell, she’d put that offer on the table from the start, and he’d been the one who turned it down. Now he almost regretted his noble inclinations. How would he manage to keep his pants zipped when they got back to Mystic Creek and started living together?
Barney had no answers. When he leaned close to look over her arm at her cards, he had to school his gaze so he wouldn’t gape at her cleavage, modestly revealed by the scoop neck of the clingy top.
Throat tight, he said, “You’ve got twenty-one, honey. Lay your cards faceup on the table.”
“Is twenty-one good?”
God, he wanted to kiss her again. That fleeting taste of her mouth at the chapel had whetted his appetite for more. He’d made it a quick, friendly brush of his lips over hers, and he hadn’t expected the zing of electricity that jolted through him. The lady packed one hell of a punch.
“It can’t get better,” he explained. “If the dealer also gets twenty-one, it’ll be a push, and you won’t lose your bet. If the dealer doesn’t get a blackjack or goes bust, you’ll double your money.”
She shifted on the stool. “Really? Oh, Barney, I never thought I’d like gambling, but this is fun.”
Her enthusiasm warmed him. Okay, everything about her had his body humming. The only way he could keep his word to her about the no-sex arrangement was to stay in the bedroom at the back corner of his house. Then he’d pray that Taffeta didn’t parade around in front of him half-dressed.
When they cashed in their chips, Taffeta was fifty dollars ahead, and he was twenty in the hole. “Beginner’s luck,” he said.
She grinned. “You’re just jealous.” She crumpled the bills in her fingers. “I could stay up all night playing that game! I truly could. It’s a shame we have to head out in the morning.”
“We’ll come back soon,” he said, “and spend a whole weekend gambling and staying up till the crack of dawn.”
Where had that come from? Barney wanted to stuff a sock in his mouth. He’d forgotten for a moment that theirs wasn’t a real marriage. They didn’t have a future lying ahead of them. In a matter of mere months, they would get a divorce and move on with their separate lives.
While driving back to the stinky casino and ratty rooms, Barney almost ran a red light, and some cranky bastard leaned on his horn to complain about the sudden stop. What the hell’s wrong with me? Barney had slept with a lot of women, and he had been plenty turned on during the flirtation stage of an evening. But never had he gotten so rattled that he drove like a maniac.
Once in the hotel elevator, he tried to get his head on straight. Taffeta stood across from him, digging in her purse to find her room key. She looked so damned sweet, not to mention delicious. He wished he could scoop her up in his arms and carry her over the threshold as a real groom might. Then he would slowly undress her, tasting every inch of her skin as he bared it. And when he got her into bed, he’d make damned sure she got some satisfaction. He’d make her come until she screamed.
As he guided her from the lift into the hallway, he felt as if he had a log in the crotch of his jeans. Holding her arm, he hurried toward their rooms, not wanting her to see that he had an erection.
“Is this the right way?” She glanced at her key card. “I think the arrows pointed the other direction.”
Barney braked so suddenly that he damned near dislocated her shoulder. She threw him a startled look.
“Arrows?” he echoed, knowing he sounded dumber than a rock.
She glanced down to where his fingers were clenched just above her elbow. “Barney, you’re, um, pressing too hard.”
Barney had never in his life hurt a woman, not even as a kid when his little sisters had gone into brat mode. He let go of Taffeta’s arm so fast that she lost her balance, prompting him to grab her again to steady her. “I’m sorry. My mind was on other things. Are you all right?” He pushed at the knit sleeve of her top to bare her skin, only not in the same way that he had imagined doing. “Did I bruise you? God. I’m so sorry.”
She searched his gaze with those incredibly blue eyes. “I’m fine, Barney.” She stilled his hands with a cupped palm over his fingers. “You only gripped me a little too hard. What were you thinking about that upset you so much?”
Barney had been upset, all right, but not in the way she meant. His heart was pounding, and the blood rushed through his veins, making a swishing sound in his ears. He thought fast.
“I wasted that twenty bucks,” he blurted. “I love to gamble, but I always get pissed when I lose.”
“Uh-oh.” The dimple in her cheek winked at him as she smiled. “A gambler who’s only happy if he wins. How does that work out for you?”
“Not well, I guess.” Barney drove all thoughts of her naked body from his mind, gained control of his physical response to her, and guided her along beside him as he retraced their steps. This time he paid attention to the damned arrows and delivered her to her room. “I hope you sleep well,” he offered. “It’s been a long day.”
She nodded and flipped her key card back and forth between her nimble fingers. He wondered for a moment if she hoped for a good night kiss. Stop it. He slammed down hard on the thought. Then she smiled and turned to slip the card into the slot.
“It truly has been a long day,” she agreed. “What time should we ask for a wake-up call?”
“Six?” he suggested. “It’s over five hours to drive home. And we have to move your stuff to my place once we get there. We should head out early.”
“So, when will we leave? Around seven?”
“Sounds good to me.”
She nodded, treating him to another long study with those blue eyes. He’d heard of men feeling as if they might drown in the depths of a woman’s eyes, but Barney had never experienced the sensation—until now. Even worse, he feared that once he dived in, he’d never want to surface for air.
“Good night,” he said, his voice twanging in his ears like an overly tight guitar string.
Long after she closed the door behind her, he stood in the hall staring at her room. What are you hoping might happen? he wondered. Do you think the door will reopen if you wait here long enough? Get a grip, Sterling.
Chapter Ten
Taffeta enjoyed the long drive home, which became even longer because of road construction. Barney set the heater at full blast to keep the cab toasty warm, allowing both of them to shed their coats. On the outskirts of Reno, he had stopped at a convenience store for drinks and snacks, which they munched on when lunchtime rolled around.
The drone of the studded tires lulled her to sleep for a short nap. When she awakened, the first thing she smelled was the faint but enticing scent of him, a blend of freshly laundered clothing, shaving cologne, bath soap, shampoo, and a lingering trace of outdoor aromas, which she guessed clung to his discarded jacket draped over the console between them. Why she found the latter intoxicating was a mystery to her. She supposed it was the essence of Barney that held such strong appeal. Somewhere she’d read that one’s sense of smell played a huge role in physical attraction. Oh, how she wished it were so simple. To get over him, she could just stuff cotton balls in her nose.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” He flashed her a grin. “It’s about time you returned to the land of the living. I was getting bored.” His smile broadened. “How about another sing-along?”
Taffet
a laughed. “If your ears can stand it, I’m game.”
After they had sung until she was almost hoarse, he suggested that they play a travel game called “I see.” It was at times frustrating but also entertaining, and keeping their minds occupied seemed to make the time pass quicker. Taffeta couldn’t help thinking that Barney would make a fabulous father, at least on road trips. Instead of asking, “Are we almost there?” his kids would be too busy enjoying themselves to worry about it.
When they stopped at a rest area along the way, Barney couldn’t get his truck to restart. After messing around under the raised hood, he told Taffeta that he’d seen nothing abnormal and believed it was a blown starter fuse, which would only take minutes to fix if there were an auto parts store nearby. But, of course, there wasn’t. A temporary repair of the fuse could sometimes be done with a bit of foil, he’d told Taffeta, and they’d begun searching his vehicle for something that might work.
Finally they gave up on that idea, and Barney tried to call out on his cell phone to get help. He grimly related to Taffeta that his phone said it was searching for service. They were in a dead zone. Typically of Barney, he kept Taffeta smiling with silly jokes and stories as they sat in the pickup, hoping someone with a piece of foil might pull into the rest area for a break. None of the individuals Barney approached had anything in their cars made of foil.
Finally after being trapped there for three hours, a man driving a pickup that was the same model as Barney’s pulled in and parked beside them. When Barney exited his vehicle to ask if the guy had any foil, he hit pay dirt. The stranger kept extra starter fuses in his glove box and gave one to Barney for free.
“Always carry extra starter fuses,” the fellow said. “This model blows them out a lot. I learned that the hard way.”
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