Hitched

by Pippa Grant

  “But I didn’t know he was from Canada,” Hope says, glancing Tweeledum’s way. “He has an Atlanta address. And I was going to pay him, not the other way around. And can we please talk about this later? Chewpaca is missing, and we have to—”

  “You can get another llama,” her mother says with an eye roll.

  “No, I can’t, Mom,” Hope says, “and he’s not—”

  “I’m afraid it might not matter what you knew, or didn’t know, about Mr. Boucher,” the lawyer cuts in cheerfully—too cheerfully, making me wonder if he’s drunk. I would swear I’m smelling whiskey again, but that could be Kyle’s stench still burned into my nostrils. “They’re cracking down on marriage fraud these days. Handing out huge fines and even jail time for the people they really want to make an example of.”

  “But I didn’t marry Frederick.” Hope’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, as if she, too, is having a hard time reconciling Tweedle’s upbeat tone and his doom and gloom news. She reaches for me and I take her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “I married Blake, and I didn’t pay him a dime.”

  “That’s the truth,” I confirm, but my smile petrifies on my face as Mr. and Mrs. St. Claire keep their focus on Hope, acting as if I haven’t spoken at all. Jaw clenched, I direct my next statement to the lawyer. “I married Hope because I love her, and I want to spend my life with her. That’s all there is to it. Now, if you’ll please excuse us. We have a crisis to deal with.”

  “Some might say that liquor license you recently obtained is a form of payment,” Tweedle says with a grimace of commiseration that’s still absurdly chipper. “And also a crisis, I’d say. The fact that Hope finagled that for you so soon after the marriage looks pretty fishy. Potentially fishy enough to be deemed fraud.”

  “Even if that were true,” I say, quickly adding, “though it’s not, I was born right here in Happy Cat. My citizenship isn’t affected by our marriage and neither is hers.”

  “True, but there are other factors to consider.” Tweedle’s head bobs and another whiskey-scented breeze drifts my way.

  He’s definitely been tippling. It would make me wonder what the men of Happy Cat are coming to, with so many of them drunk by breakfast, but if I had to work for Hope’s parents I’d probably be hitting the whiskey first thing too. They’re a miserable pair, both of them oozing judgment and anger so intensely I can feel it shoving at my shoulders, snarling in my stomach, making my skin itch with a discomfort so intense that if it were anyone but Hope beside me, I would have already excused myself.

  But I’m not going to leave her alone with these dismal, disapproving people. The poor thing already had to spend her entire childhood at the mercy of Cranky and Crankier, she doesn’t deserve another moment of pain or suffering.

  “Later,” I say. “Right now Chewpaca is our first priority.”

  “There are significant assets at stake,” the lawyer continues. “It might be enough to get law enforcement involved. And with confirmation of your attempt at bribery in his back pocket, if your cousin decided to bring a civil suit against you, he’d almost inevitably win.”

  “Just because I tried to pay one man to marry me doesn’t mean I paid Blake.” Hope turns to her parents. “And no one ever would have known about Frederick if you’d trusted me. And Blake’s right. We need to find my missing alpaca. All of this can wait.”

  Hope’s mother makes a sound that could be a laugh or a cough. Whatever it is, it’s unpleasant. “Trust that you’ve made an informed decision about a life partner you randomly married one morning? Please, you barely know each other.”

  “That’s not true,” Hope protests. “He knows me better than either of you ever will.”

  Both St. Claires snort in response to that, and my outrage bubbles over.

  How can they treat her like this?

  “I know her and I love her,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to my side. “If the liquor license is the problem, I’ll give it back. She’s more important to me than opening a tasting room.”

  Hope’s head jerks my way and her jaw drops. “No, Blake, it’s your dream, I can’t let you—”

  “You’re my dream.” I gaze into her sweet face, wishing I could turn back time and rescue the little girl she was from the horrible people who raised her. But I can’t take away that pain. All I can do is make sure she has a home filled with love from now on. “Nothing else is ever going to matter the way you matter.”

  Her eyes fill and her lips part, but before she can speak, her father cuts in.

  “He’s clearly after your inheritance, Hope,” he sneers in a way that makes me want to punch him. Or maybe beat him with Dildo Shaggins, because I get the feeling he’d find that way more insulting than a simple punch. “Don’t be a fool,” he continues. “Men like this are always looking for a reason not to put in an honest day’s work, and you’ve fallen right into his trap.”

  The punching-urge grows stronger, but I force my hand to remain still and loose by my side.

  I will not punch my wife’s father, no matter how much he deserves it. I was raised better, and if there’s even the ghost of a chance we might all be able to get along, I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

  For her sake, not his.

  “So which is it, Dad?” Hope lets out a humorless laugh. “Am I a criminal who’s so pathetic and unlovable I had to buy myself a husband? Or a fool who’s fallen into a golddigger’s trap? Tell me quick so I can go find my missing alpaca.”

  “Please, Hope, don’t be so dramatic,” her mother says with a disdainful sniff. “You’ve made a mistake, and we’re here to clean up your mess before it gets any worse. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “I won’t leave it at that,” Hope says, her voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not leaving Blake, not unless he asks me to. I want to make this marriage work, even though I’m scared to death I won’t be good enough for him.”

  I hug her closer. I want to tell her that she’s far too good for me. And I will, but not in front of her parents. They don’t get to see any more of our private life. They’ve proven they don’t deserve that kind of access.

  Her mother’s eyes narrow. “Then so be it. But don’t come to us for help when you find yourself in the middle of a legal battle you can’t afford.”

  “Or end up losing half your inheritance to a man who married you for money,” her father adds. “Because he’ll want his half before he grants you a divorce, girl. You can be absolutely sure of that.”

  “Can I?” Hope asks, anger flickering to life in the words. “Because he didn’t ask for a dime the first time we got an annulment four years ago.”

  I stiffen—shocked to hear her say it aloud—but when she looks up at me, I nod.

  Hell yes, let’s tell the truth. Finally. I’m tired of keeping secrets and pretending I haven’t wanted to be with her for a hell of a lot longer than the past few days.

  “We got married in Vegas four years ago,” Hope continues, her gobsmacked parents keeping their mouths shut for once. “But we had it annulled because we were young and…” She trails off, taking a deep breath before she continues, “No. That’s not the truth. We got an annulment because I was scared of marriage. But I was never scared of Blake. Not a single day in my entire life. He makes me happy.” Her voice breaks, but she keeps going. “He makes me feel beautiful and special. Like I’m someone worth fighting for, and I want to make him feel the same way.”

  Before I can assure her that she makes me feel that and so much more, Clint shouts from the porch, “He’s an ugly bastard in comparison, Hope, but he’s crazy about you. We’ve all known it for years.”

  “And we’re here for you guys!” Cassie calls.

  “No matter how full of shit you are,” Jace adds.

  “This is just a bump in the road on the way to all the beauty waiting in your future,” Olivia says before adding in a more plaintive voice, “and it’s never too late to make a change for the better. Love is a
lways there, just waiting for you to say yes.”

  The words are clearly aimed at the St. Claires, but her lovely sentiment bounces off their anger shields and falls to the ground.

  “And I’m tired of wasting time on pointless discussions when we’ve got an animal to save,” Clint adds. He’s got his Marine face on now. “Either join the search or remove yourselves from the property.”

  The St. Claires’ eyes go wide.

  “He’s right,” Hope says softly. “I think you should leave.”

  “Agreed,” I say from beside her, where I intend to stay for a very, very long time, no matter what her parents or anyone else has to say about it.

  A chitter of what sounds like agreement sounds from the other side of the fence, where Too-Pac is grazing in the pasture, looking as forlorn as I’ve ever seen an animal to be without his buddy. A moment later George Cooney drops onto the grass on our side and waddles across the parking lot wearing a familiar hat. When he spots Hope’s parents, he erupts in raccoon conversation again.

  Her mother looks at me. Then Hope. Then the trash panda, who plops onto his back and rudely scratches his undercarriage with something silver he has clutched in one claw, a challenging gleam in his eye. She huffs in disgust, circles her hand in “let’s wrap this up” gesture, and stomps off to the Acura parked beside the house, the lawyer and Hope’s father following in her wake.

  They don’t even say goodbye.

  Or toss a parting shot over their shoulders.

  They’re just…done with their daughter.

  Just like that.

  And good fucking riddance because they don’t come close to deserving her.

  “I can’t say how this will play out in a court of law,” Tweedle says in a hushed voice. “But I think you two are a darling couple.” He glances furtively over his shoulder before turning back to me with an intense, grin-free expression. “Love her, son. And don’t ever let her go. There’s nothing soft waiting to catch her, if you get my drift.”

  “I do,” I say with a nod. “And I won’t let her go,” I promise her, gazing into her tear-filled eyes, my chest squeezing tight. “Don’t cry, baby. It’s all going to be okay.”

  “It will. Oh, it most certainly will,” Tweedle says, before he pauses and his eyes go wide with a snap of his fingers. “Oh, and Hope, I’ve been trying to call your cousin to warn him about that private investigator he hired, but he’s not answering his phone. Apparently, the man was trying to extort your parents.”

  Hope stands up straighter and a cold rush of dread floods into my veins. “Who? Dean?” she asks.

  George waddles over and plops down on my foot, now scratching his armpit with the silver square he’s holding, making me think Ryan might want to check the troublemaker for fleas.

  “Yes, apparently a man named Dean Finister offered to sabotage your marriage in exchange for an exorbitant fee,” Tweedle says quickly. “When your parents refused, insisting they’d hire their own investigator to look into the matter, things got ugly. Threats were made and he ran over the marble statue of your Great-Uncle Oliver on his way out.” He looks over his shoulder again, to where the St. Claires are slamming into the car and firing up the engine. “I have to go or they’ll leave me, but call me if you need anything. Wishing you both the best!”

  “Thank you.” Hopes waves numbly as Tweedle scurries away. Meanwhile, George is now scratching at my boot with the metal square, leaving thin scars on the leather. I bend down, plucking it from his fingers, and frown.

  It’s a business card holder.

  With the name Dean Finister engraved on the front.

  And it’s full of business cards, his and the cards of other people he must have met in his travels.

  Hope looks up at me with haunted eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  I pluck out a business card with an elegant-looking farm sketched across the bottom—a card for a guy who deals in alpacas. “That a man so desperate for money he’ll threaten strangers might decide stealing an alpaca is an easier way to make a buck?”

  She scans the card, her eyes starting to shine again. “Shit, yes. Of course! Dean’s the only other person who knew Chewy was worth something. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him sooner. I feel so stupid.”

  “Don’t feel stupid,” I say. “I didn’t think of him, either. He played it so damned nice from the beginning.”

  “To throw us off the scent.” She bites her thumb. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re on it, Hope,” Cassie says, trotting off the porch. “I’m already posting a BOLO to InstaChat. Anyone have a picture of him?”

  “I love it when you use words like BOLO,” Ryan says.

  Clint steps between them. “This him?” he says, holding out his phone. “Ruthie May sent me pictures from bingo.”

  “That’s him!” Cassie replies. “Shoot it to me and I’ll post that Be On The Lookout memo.”

  While they rally the town, Hope turns to me. “Are you mad at me?”

  I shake my head. “No, of course not. Why would I be mad at you?”

  Her lips turn down. “Because I spilled my guts about our first wedding in front of everyone.”

  I smile. “I don’t care. And obviously they don’t either.” I nod toward my family on the porch. They’re pretending not to be listening in while they’re working, but I’m sure they’re hanging on every word. “Do you guys?”

  A chorus of “nope,” “no way,” and “are you kidding?” fills the air, but Hope’s relieved grin only lasts a second before it fades away.

  “And you’re not mad about the terrible things my terrible parents said?”

  “I won’t lie, I wanted to punch your dad, but that’s not your fault.” I give her upper arms a squeeze. “I’m just sorry they don’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Because you’re the best and if they don’t see it, they’re as dumb as a box of dildos.”

  She laughs even as tears spill down her cheeks. “Thanks. I love you. So much.”

  My throat tightens, the joy that swells inside me at finally hearing those words almost more than I can take. “Me too. More than George loves cake.”

  “Will you marry me again when this is all over?”

  “I will marry the hell out of you, baby,” I promise. “As many times as you’ll let me. Now let’s go find my man of honor.”

  “Chewy would be a great man of honor,” she says, not missing a beat. “But I might need him to walk me down the aisle, considering the state my father’s in.”

  “Nonsense,” a deep voice pipes up from the porch. We both turn to see my father standing at the railing, a misty look in his eyes as he adds, “I’ll walk you down the aisle, sweetheart. It would be my honor to help welcome you to the family.”

  “Your forever family,” my mom adds firmly, making Hope burst into tears.

  But they’re happy tears. I know because the same damned thing is happening to my face. I’m a fucking mess, but it’s okay. I’ve got the best family in the world, and if anyone can find a lost alpaca with nothing but a business card to go on, it’s these hard-loving, zero-shit-taking people.

  Hope makes the call to the sheriff’s office, and within four minutes, Cassie has a lead. “Someone posted on InstaChat that they spotted a vintage Ford station wagon with a white alpaca leaning its head out the window headed out of town on the highway to Atlanta!”

  “Oo-rah!” Clint yells.

  “I’m calling the sheriff,” Ryan says.

  “The dogs!” Hope suddenly shrieks. “I need to let the dogs out to run. And the goats need to be fed and milked, and—”

  “We’ve got them,” Olivia tells her, and Jace nods. “You go get my favorite alpaca back.”

  We pile into Hope’s truck, and Clint and Ryan hop into Ryan’s truck to follow us, and we’re off, on our way to bring Chewy home. Because, in the immortal words of the blue alien from that movie I loved as a kid, family means no one is left behind.

  Twenty
-Five

  Blake

  * * *

  The sheriff tells us all to sit tight and wait for the deputies to report back with news.

  We, of course, pay zero attention to that and divide ourselves into search parties.

  Forget waiting for the sheriff’s deputies.

  We have an alpaca to save.

  Hope and I are racing down the highway, me driving, while she stays plugged in to InstaChat for alpaca-spotting updates, while Ryan and Clint follow a short distance behind.

  “I thought he was one of the good guys,” she fumes, refreshing the screen for the hundredth time. I keep waiting for a sign that she’s going to go uber-electric and short it out, but nothing’s buzzing despite her clear anger with Dean. “People who do yoga in the grass beside a field shouldn’t steal animals. He should know that’s terrible karma.”

  I reach over and take her hand. “He won’t get away with it.”

  She bites her lip and nods. “No, he won’t.” Dropping her cell into her lap, she brings both of her hands to cradle mine. “And Blake…I meant what I said to my parents. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I’m sorry I’ve been too weird to say it.”

  “Ah, baby, I know. You show it. Even when you don’t mean to.” I squeeze her fingers. “And I like you weird. Don’t ever change.”

  She smiles. “Couldn’t if I tried, so that works out.” Her phone dings, and she releases my hand to grab it, getting an update that has her bouncing in her seat. “Turn right!” she says, pointing to the exit up ahead. “Lizzie at the Kennedy Family Day School just spotted them heading toward the river port a few minutes ago! She said Chewpaca looked angry, but wasn’t trying to climb out the window.”

  I swing a hard right onto the exit that quickly becomes a graying county road that’ll take us the short way to the river dock.