Jeremiah's Bogus Bride

by Liz Isaacson

  Thankfully, the waiter returned with two huge plates of the most delicious prime rib Jeremiah had ever seen, breaking the terrible, awkward moment. Whitney didn’t say anything, but she picked up her silverware.

  Jeremiah did the same, wishing he could tell Whitney how much he liked her, how beautiful she was, and that yes, he’d definitely like to keep dating her.

  He said nothing, and Whitney finally asked, “Do you have a middle name?”

  “Joseph,” he said, the name sticking in his throat. After all, middle names should come before proposals, and he couldn’t help feeling like the world’s biggest tool. Even the prime rib tasted like dust, and Jeremiah wished he could go back in time and fix this date.

  But if that were possible, he’d go back five years and break up with Laura Ann instead of asking her to marry him.

  Did people every call you JJ?

  Jeremiah had gone to bed and hour before the text came in. He kept his phone on at night, though, especially now that Evelyn was within a month of her due date. Sometimes Orion had a horse he slept in the stables with, and he might need to get in touch with Jeremiah.

  Maybe that was why he didn’t sleep very deeply, though he knew it was because he was afraid to dream. Of course, he still dreamt, because even he couldn’t go all the time. He caught cat naps in the hay loft that could be an hour, and he sometimes slept for thirty minutes after lunch.

  No matter what, he was easily roused from sleep when his phone notified him of a new text, and he puzzled over the one from Whitney. JJ? Why would they call me that?

  A slip of relief comforted him that she’d texted him. By the time they’d finished dinner, talking about mundane things, and he’d dropped her off back at her house, Jeremiah had convinced himself he’d never hear from her again. And next time he called? She wasn’t going to answer.

  But here she’d texted him.

  Because of the Jeremiah Joseph. What a mouthful.

  He smiled at the emoji that came in, because it was smiling. My mother was very religious.

  Oh yeah? I don’t think your brothers have overly religious names.

  Micah is, Jeremiah sent back. Rhett’s a family name. Tripp and Liam, well, I don’t know about them. My daddy always wanted a son named Wyatt, it being so cowboy-ish and all. And Skyler is named after my uncle that died a couple of months before he was born.

  He rolled his shoulders and laid back on the pillows. Why had he said all of that? Whitney didn’t care about his brother’s names. A sigh slipped out of his mouth, and his eyes drifted closed.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing,” he muttered to himself. “A little help would be nice,” he said to God. “I’ve messed up royally. Would it have killed You to let me know the idea was terrible before I proposed?”

  He sat straight up, horror moving through him. “Oh my word. I proposed to her.” A moan started somewhere down in his gut and rose through his chest. He didn’t understand how he’d gotten himself into this situation. He was almost forty-three years old, for crying out loud. He should know better. So much better.

  His phone chimed rapidly a few times in a row, but he took his time lifting the device so he could look at the screen.

  Wow, great stories, Whitney said.

  I’m not named after anything that I know of.

  Anyway, I know it’s late and you get up early. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  Jeremiah read the texts again and then again. He wanted to ask her to lunch tomorrow. Maybe he couldn’t screw up lunch, and she’d said they could talk, which was also comforting.

  Feeling like he had nothing left to lose, he tapped out a quick message. Lunch tomorrow?

  Then, thinking quickly, he added, I promise I won’t propose again.

  Haha.

  Maybe next time, you could at least get down on one knee.

  Good-night.

  Jeremiah chuckled slightly, then pulled in a breath. “Wait,” he said. “Next time?” He’d never get to sleep now, but he plugged in his phone and laid back down. Surprisingly, he did fall asleep faster than he ever had, and he dreamt of Whitney Wilde and those pretty red lips as she walked down the aisle toward him, wearing a vibrant, white wedding dress.

  The following day, he drove to town again. He parked in Whitney’s driveway. He walked up to her front steps. He was not going to say a single thing about his brothers, or how broken he was, or why he’d vowed to never date and fall in love again.

  Besides, he wasn’t in love with Whitney. He had feelings for her, sure. But that was a lot different than being in love and attempting to build a life and a house and a family together. No wonder she’d looked at him like he’d grown four heads.

  He hadn’t lifted his hand to knock yet when the door opened. Whitney held onto the door and smiled at him. “You lost, cowboy?”

  Jeremiah simply stared at her. Was she really going to just move past his blunder last night? Act like it hadn’t happened? Why couldn’t he do that as easily as she did?

  “A little,” he finally said. “See, I was lookin’ for this place that has the best mac and cheese sliders in town. You heard of it?”

  “I sure have.” She reached for something and came up with her purse. “Let’s go. I’ll show you the way.” She grinned with those lips and walked right by him, practically skipping down the steps.

  Jeremiah turned and watched her, wondering if he could just move on too. Dr. Wagstaff seemed to think so, but something inside him told him to talk to Whitney and clear things up. He climbed into the truck with her and started it so the air conditioning would start to blow.

  “Look, are we going to talk about what happened last night?” He twisted toward her and looked at her.

  Whitney gazed steadily back, and Jeremiah had no idea what she was thinking. He knew he liked her. He knew she was beautiful. He knew she made him feel something he’d not felt in so long. Too long. Years.

  “You said to forget about it,” she said. “And I gave up a lunch with my nephew, where he was going to tell me all about this date he had last night, to go to lunch with you. So let’s go.”

  Still Jeremiah didn’t put the truck in gear and move. “I don’t want to keep you from Dalton.”

  “Oh, I’m going to buy him ice cream on Monday.” Whitney waved her hand like the change in plans was no big deal.

  “Whitney,” he said, and the merriment slipped from her face.

  She swallowed and looked away from him. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll just let it go.”

  “Oh, I know you, Jeremiah Walker. You can’t let this go. You’ll be thinking about it for weeks.”

  “I feel so stupid,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “And honestly…I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, and, I don’t know.” She shrugged and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Maybe it’s not a crazy idea. Maybe I just needed a night to sleep on it.”

  Jeremiah couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you serious?”

  “I mean, you’d get to show your brothers you’re not broken, and I’d get to shoot at the ranch….”

  Jeremiah could only stare. “That’s hardly a fair trade,” Jeremiah said. “And you’d have to move to the ranch, and what will you tell your parents?” He shook his head. “No, it was some idiotic plan that I conjured up in my sleep-deprived mind. It’s fine.”

  “I’m just saying maybe we should think about it,” Whitney said. “Like you said, we could get married at the end of the summer. My parents wouldn’t need to know anything about anything.” She looked at him, an intense look on her face. “You aren’t going to tell your brothers, are you?”

  “That I concocted a completely insane plan to ask you be my fake wife to prove to them that I’m whole?” He gave her a dry laugh. “Of course I’m not going to tell them.”

  Whitney smiled at him, maybe a little more timidly than she had in the p
ast. “Well, then, maybe we should talk more about it.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not up to it today. Can we just eat burgers and take a walk and talk about your cats?”

  Whitney laughed, and Jeremiah put the truck in reverse. “Yes,” she said. “That all sounds really nice.”

  “Great.” Jeremiah was the king of putting hard things off until he could deal with them. Or until he was forced to deal with them. But right now, he really did just want lunch and easy conversation.

  Plus, it was absolutely crazy that Whitney hadn’t run for the border, that she’d texted him, and that she was even considering becoming his bogus bride.

  Chapter Ten

  Wyatt Walker’s gut wouldn’t settle down, no matter how many horses he rode for Ethan Greene. This went on for days before he finally turned right off River Road instead of continuing straight to go back to Seven Sons.

  The sun wouldn’t set for hours now that summer was dawning in northern Texas, and Wyatt hadn’t seen Marcy Payne for several weeks. He liked her; she knew he liked her. He’d had several good indications that she liked him too—but her father was going through a lot of health problems, and Marcy’s schedule and stress had exploded.

  She was running Payne’s Pest-free by herself these days, running her father to his multiple doctor’s appointments, sometimes an hour away in Amarillo. She cooked for him. She sat with him after his chemotherapy treatments. She tended to his lawn.

  Wyatt texted her about once a week, as he’d set an alarm on his phone. Not that he needed that. He thought about the blonde constantly. He wanted to take her to dinner. He wanted to help her with whatever she needed, from her own yardwork to picking up groceries for her and her father, to sitting with her while she sat with her daddy.

  He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her in his life. But he was willing to wait. He’d spent a couple of weeks with her in January, with nightly visits and dinners and laughter.

  Then she’d tearfully told him about her father’s colon cancer, and that she wouldn’t be able to see him in the evenings anymore, and maybe once she could sleep more than a few hours at night, they could spend more time together.

  He drove without thought, turning on the dirt road that led out to Marcy’s hangar, knowing she’d be there. She didn’t go to her father’s until about seven, she’d said, because she had the workload of two people she was managing herself.

  Wyatt had offered to help her, but she’d challenged him with a single word. “How?”

  He hadn’t known what to say. She claimed not to have the money to hire someone else, and where would she find a good pilot anyway? Wyatt couldn’t fly a crop-duster, though he’d watched a few Internet videos as if he could learn that way.

  He’d watched his brothers offer money to the women in their lives, and while Liam and Callie had made things work between them, there had been quite a few rocky months. And Wyatt didn’t know Marcy quite as well as Liam had known Callie Foster at the time he’d offered to buy her ranch but let her keep it.

  So Wyatt hadn’t offered Marcy a dime, though he had plenty of money to put someone on her payroll.

  He realized he’d been sitting in his idling truck when Marcy opened the door and stepped outside. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, sexy and sweet in that military green jumpsuit she wore to fly, repair planes, and manage the crop-dusting business that rested solely on her shoulders.

  Wyatt had seen her peel that jumpsuit off, his heart hammering in the back of his throat, to reveal a sexy yet sweet pair of cutoffs and tank top. She stepped out of her work boots and left them just inside the hangar, wearing flip flops home, and he liked watching her shed her mechanic’s skin and become a whole new woman with just a few changes.

  She lifted her hand and waved, and Wyatt got himself out of the truck. “Evening,” Marcy said. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I heard there was a party out here,” he said, looking around and feeling flirtatious. He walked right up to Marcy and engulfed her in a hug. “And I miss you.”

  She giggled and settled right into his embrace, and Wyatt couldn’t help thinking how perfectly she fit in his arms. “There’s no party out here, cowboy.”

  “Must’ve gotten bad directions.” He stepped back and grinned at her. “Are you nearly done? What’s on the docket for tonight?”

  Weariness filled Marcy’s eyes though she wore a smile. “Picking up dinner for Daddy. It’s romantic comedy night.”

  Wyatt wanted to invite himself along, because he knew Marcy wouldn’t do it. He bit back the words. She’d received him well, and he didn’t want to push her into a place she didn’t want to be.

  She turned back to the hangar. “It’s too dang hot already.” She went inside, holding the door for him to follow her. Wyatt ducked his head and did, wondering why he hadn’t gone home to shower the smell of horses off his shoulders before he’d stopped by to see her.

  But if he’d done that, Marcy would’ve likely been gone, off to movie night with her sick and dying father. Guilt moved through Wyatt, as he shouldn’t be frustrated that Marcy didn’t have time for him. She was dealing with so much, and he should’ve brought her dinner instead of just showing up and hoping for more than she could give.

  “How about I bring you guys dinner one night this week?” he asked, stepping onto that tender ground between them.

  Marcy turned back to him, her blue eyes searching his. “You know what? That would be great.”

  A grin burst onto Wyatt’s face. “Awesome. I can stop and bring you something tonight, if you’d like.” He glanced at the desk in her office, which was a complete mess, with folders and papers and old to-go coffee cups littering every available inch of the surface.

  Marcy let out a long exhale as she sat down. She ran her hands through her hair and gathered it into a ponytail, securing it with a band from her wrist. Just that simple action made Wyatt’s throat dry up and his mind blank. A woman had not affected him like this in years. In fact, Wyatt had never met a woman like Marcy Payne, and he’d known a lot of women on the rodeo circuit.

  As if he needed to be reminded of his time in the saddle, his lower back gave him a twinge of pain, which radiated down both of his legs. He reached for the desk—well, a lunge would probably be a more accurate description of what he did—dislodging a couple of folders and knocking a thankfully empty coffee cup to the floor.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly, easing into a bend to pick up the cardboard cup.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he said, staying down and stretching his back for as long as he dared. Standing was hard on Wyatt, though he could walk and ride and most everything else without too many issues.

  “I have a couple of things to do before I’m done,” she said. “Do you want to stay? Then you can grab dinner and bring it over.”

  “Sure thing,” Wyatt said, tossing the cup in the trashcan and looking at the chair he’d waited in previously. It was covered with a pile of dirty rags.

  “I can—”

  “I got it,” Wyatt said. “Want me to throw these in the washing machine?”

  “Do you know how to run a washing machine?” Her eyes sparkled with that tease he’d seen in January.

  “Of course,” he said. “I lived on my own for a lot of years, sweetheart.” He kicked a grin in her direction, scooped the mechanic rags off the chair, and left the office. He’d spent enough time in the hangar to know where the laundry facilities were, and he dumped the rags in the machine. Another pile waited there, and he added those too. He walked the shop, picking up every dirty rag he saw, before returning to the laundry room and starting the load.

  He reached into the cabinet above the machine and pulled out two garbage bags. Maybe Marcy would be embarrassed if he started cleaning up, but maybe she’d be grateful too. And Wyatt could sit with her or do something, and while both were good options, he didn’t want her to feel rushed or like he didn’t want
to help.

  He filled the first bag with trash from the shop itself, emptying the various trashcans around the hangar and picking up the remains of what she’d been eating. He made a mental note of the chocolate covered pretzel bags, the empty bags of cheddar and sour cream potato chips, and the sleeves of saltine crackers.

  At least he knew what to get her now should he find himself wanting to give her something she liked. And he did. He wanted her to be thinking about him as much as he did her. He wondered if she did as he took the trash out to the big bin on the north side of the building.

  Marcy was absolutely right about the heat this week, as it seemed like the devil himself had breathed over the whole state of Texas and heated it unnaturally. Still, he stayed outside for a moment and took a deep breath of the dusty air. It was extremely quiet out here, with the highway a ways off and only scrub brush out here.

  Eventually, he returned to the hangar and Marcy’s office, where he started picking up her empty coffee cups and emptying the trash beside the coffee pot on the small counter to the side of her desk.

  “You don’t have to clean up,” she said.

  “I want to.” He gave her another smile, finished the chore, and took the garbage back outside. By then, the rags were done, and he moved them into the dryer. Satisfied, he returned to Marcy’s office and eased himself into the chair in front of her desk. A sigh came out of his mouth and his back and shoulders tightened to a point past comfortable and then relaxed.

  He looked up, his eyes immediately finding Marcy’s. She saw something in his movement, he knew, but she didn’t ask if he was okay again. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

  “I said I’d help you anyway I could,” he said. “How are things going?” He saw the panic before she shuttered it behind her stoic mask. He wished he had a magic button that would erase that look from her eyes, that feeling from her life.

  “Things are going,” she said.

  “Is it business? Or your daddy?”

  “Things here are good,” she said. “Great.” She closed a folder and tossed it on top of a nearby pile. “It’s Daddy.” That was all she said.