A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel (8 page)

“But  . . .” Sassy protested.

“I really do have quite a bit of experience in these matters, Mrs. Bing. I assure you, your daughter’s wedding is in good hands,” she continued in a no-nonsense tone. She’d dealt with difficult mothers of the bride before. “I may encounter questions along the way, so if you’ll both leave numbers where you can be reached, that’ll be a big help.”

“Perfect.” Sassy jumped up and hugged Rosie about the shoulders, as if the whole thing had been her idea and Rosie had agreed. She scribbled an amount above Rosie’s notes, then breezed toward the exit. “I need to go talk to the caterer, anyway.”

With her hand on her hip, she paused and turned. “Oh. One last thing . . .”

The uncertain smile and bobbing index finger didn’t fool Rosie. The woman was desperately trying to appear casual.

“Yes?”

“On the invitations? No one’s called me by my given name in years. Just leave it at Sassy.” Another overly bright smile accompanied her exit.

Rosie turned to Cass, her what-was-that-all-about expression turning to a wince when her hand was grasped enthusiastically.

“Thank you. Thank you! Mother is driving me crazy with her opinions on my wedding. I wish I could stand up to her like that.”

She eased her hand from Cass’s. Could she do this wedding—Dean’s wedding? Already she saw red flags in the younger woman’s behavior. Granted, it took courage to defy a mother as brash and opinionated as Mrs. Bing. But if Cass couldn’t manage that, Rosie didn’t even want to consider what her relationship with Dean must be like.

And there was another issue they had yet to address.

“Cass, is Dean aware you’re hiring me to do your wedding?”

For the first time, the light dimmed in Cass’s eyes. “Of course. It was his idea. He said you guys were yesterday’s news, and as the best florist around, you’d have no problem doing the job.”

“And he’s right.”

Jeezus Pete, she never thought she’d hear herself say those words in connection with her ex-fiancé. Controlling and manipulative to the extreme, he had a knack for twisting logic around until your head ached. “But for the record, are
you
comfortable with the situation?”

Cass shot Rosie a conspiratorial smile. “Well, don’t tell Dean, but I wanted to hire you all along.”

Rosie nodded, pleased. “Good. Now that we’ve cleared the air, why don’t you tell me what it is you want and I’ll take it from there. That way, the suggestions will come from me, and your mother won’t be so apt to dismiss them.”

Rosie soon discovered Cass had some very definite ideas regarding her wedding. She scribbled notes, growing concerned at the number of times she heard “Dean thinks we should” or “Dean wants.” She glanced up occasionally to see Cass’s face glowing with the inner vision of her dream wedding.

When the chatter halted, Rosie looked up, hand poised to continue her note taking.

Cass smiled softly as she studied her engagement ring and sighed. “All this doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? I’d marry Dean in a barn with a handful of wildflowers, or elope if I needed to. All that really matters is that we love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Her love for Dean was palpable. Maybe he’d changed and they’d simply talked about the ceremony enough that Cass knew his preferences. It was none of Rosie’s business. Obviously, Cass wouldn’t appreciate or heed any warning at this point.

“Rosie, if you have enough information from me, I think I’ll drop by the bank and see my fiancé.”

“Oh, sure. I have plenty to go on. How about we meet again next week, same time?” Rosie suggested.

Cass agreed and practically floated through the door. Rosie jotted the appointment in her book as the droning hum of the refrigerated units filled the silence.

The Bing-Lassiter nuptials, while tasteful and small, would put her own wedding to shame. A business loan and a quick divorce when she wanted it wasn’t exactly the stuff romantic dreams were made of.

How could she even think of marrying Sam under the circumstances he’d offered? On the other hand, how could she
not
help him keep his daughter?

Just once, she wanted a piece of the dream her clients experienced. The thought clicked firmly into place in her brain and in her heart.

Jeezus Pete! Here she was repeating old behavior, accepting Sam’s dictates without a protest, while all along the loss of yet another dream nagged at her.

She might never experience a real marriage and most likely wouldn’t ever know the joy of being a mother, but she could experience a little bit of what it must be like to have a real wedding.

The doormat syndrome stopped right here, right now. The thing she had to figure out was how to get Sam to agree to a slight adjustment in their plans.

CHAPTER SEVEN

R
osie stood on the back porch of her parents’ home, enjoying the cool breeze from an overhead fan, her mind focused on how to tell Sam she wanted to make adjustments to their bare-bones wedding plans.

Things were shaping up. Ernie’s delivery van was back on the road, and she needed to return her rental. She and Claire had managed a whirlwind trip into Little Rock the evening before, killing two birds with one stone. They’d purchased several items, including the dress that Rosie now worried was too much, too formal, and blatantly advertised her growing need to turn this imitation wedding into something she could remember fondly.

She had no problem being assertive where her business was concerned. Why should this be any different?

Behind her, the screen door slammed, jolting Rosie from her reverie and back into her birthday celebration. As the guest of honor, she wasn’t allowed to help with the meal. Today of all days, she could have used the distraction.

And where was Sam? He’d been beside her a moment ago.

Panic held Rosie in its grip. She blocked the noise of J.T.’s boys playing, the sizzle coming from her dad’s grill, and her mama hollering for someone to shut the back door so they didn’t have to cool the great outdoors.

In a few minutes, the wedding plans would be public knowledge and there would be no turning back. She glanced around the backyard. Lorelei was nowhere in sight.

“Sam?” she called.

“In here, Rosie.”

She stepped into the house, following the sound of his voice. Remembering her mama’s shouted request, she shut the door behind her and clamped her hand tightly across Sam’s forearm. He relinquished his hold on a tray of tinfoil covered rolls. His eyes flared briefly at the panic she knew existed in her own.

“Hey, Travis,” he called to her brother over his shoulder. “Could you take this outside? I, uh . . . need to talk to Rosie for a minute.”

Without waiting for an answer, Sam hustled her through the kitchen and into her father’s study at the far end of the hall.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.

“Is Lorelei in the house? I didn’t see her.”
Chicken. Just tell him what you want.

“Sara took her wading down by the river.” He propped his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”

Tell him. Now
. “I don’t know. I panicked there for a minute, trying to imagine us pulling this off successfully.” In the familiar surroundings of her childhood home, their plans felt impossibly wrong.

She envied her future husband standing there, feet apart, looking so self-assured. Could it be that easy? You believe everything will be fine and it will?

She moved away, stopping in front of her dad’s desk. Its orderly, almost bare surface and the books slotted alphabetically in neat rows were indicative of the way her parents lived their lives.

No artful arrangement. Nothing for show or aesthetics. Straightforward. Honest.

They’d never understand Sam’s insistence on subterfuge and secrecy.

“What are you worried about?” His kept his voice low. “People see what they want to, remember? They’ll be looking for a couple in love and we’ll give it to them.”

She turned, surprised to find him so close. He usually maintained a healthy amount of personal space between them, another thing that would look odd to her affectionate family.

“How, Sam? We haven’t . . . practiced much. What if we look awkward? People in love naturally gravitate toward each other because they’re used to touching and kissing.”

Sam’s lips twitched in amusement. “So, you want to practice before we—”

“No.” Jeezus Pete, she didn’t want him to think she was hot for him! How embarrassing. “Well, yes, but not because I want to. Maybe we need to, you know? So our act looks convincing, natural.”

Sam nodded as she continued to babble. “Being reserved in public is one thing, but my family is a little more, uh, relaxed about such things.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“They might expect—”

“Me to do something like this?” Sam slid his palms down her biceps, cupped her elbows, and drew her closer.

“Uhh . . .” The breathy sound whispered from her suddenly dry throat. The placket of his cream golf shirt came into focus, the middle button twisted. Half-in, half-out of the little thread-reinforced opening, it mirrored her indecision. Open herself to temptation and risk revealing her attraction, or remain buttoned up and risk exposure of their scheme?

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounded funny, kinda strained. She’d put him in an awkward position.

“You’re sure we need to keep the true nature of our relationship from my folks?”

“I wish it weren’t necessary, but yeah. I’m sure no one here would do leak anything intentionally, but the more people who know, the more risk we incur.”

She nodded.

“It’ll be okay.” In one fluid motion, Sam embraced her fully and settled his lips over hers in a soft, sweet kiss. Just as quickly, he released her and stepped back.

“See how easy that was?” his voice now held a satiny growl, stoking the flame his kiss had lit low in her abdomen.

Soft and sweet wasn’t enough. Not when they’d already experienced more. Rosie nodded again, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Hey,” Sam coaxed. “It’ll be fine.” With one finger under her chin, he tilted her face. Rosie kept her lids lowered, reached for the misaligned button and secured it. She tried unsuccessfully to hide her desire. When she dragged her gaze to Sam’s, it was her breath that hitched in response to the smoldering look reflected there.

Time screeched to a halt.

Nothing existed except this.

Sam’s head dipped forward. Rosie swayed toward him. Their combined breaths mingled, whispering across her lips seconds before he repeated the soft kiss.

Rosie draped her arms around his neck, her nipples pebbling as they came into contact with his solid chest. She opened her mouth to him. His tongue touched hers, igniting a firestorm that engulfed them both in its intensity. A jolt hit Rosie’s midsection, the heat sliding lower, pooling deep in her abdomen. Sam urged her closer, one hand pulling her lower body toward him. Breast to chest, thigh to thigh, it still wasn’t enough.

His firm hands clamped around her bottom, pulling her in tight, a blaze flaring where his rigid length pressed into her pliant belly.

Her fingers furrowed into the silky softness of his hair. His roamed her back, settled at her waist. His thumbs slid under the front of her baby tee, stroking, inching upward.

Yes. Touch me.
Need built, raging through her now. A high-pitched mewl escaped her throat, the sound exploding into the room like a gunshot.

Rosie jerked back, only to find herself sandwiched between a hard male and an equally hard desk.

Their ragged breathing joined the faint tick-tock of an old-fashioned pendulum clock on the side wall opposite the desk. By slow degrees, they pulled apart, smoothing hair and clothes without their gazes meeting.

With her eyes downcast, Rosie’s attention caught on the swell at the front of his pants—one she imagined must be very uncomfortable right about now. Pride swelled in her, knowing she was the cause of his condition.

Sam huffed around a mirthless chuckle, drawing her gaze upward. There was no censure, no apology, no blame staring back at her, nothing but tightly leashed desire.

He wanted her.
Her
. If they got this hot over a kiss, what would sharing a bed with him be like?

Sam’s brows lifted over a knowing gaze. “Still think we’ll look awkward?”

The question was a dousing of ice water so thorough, not even a warm coal remained. Of course he wanted her. He was a man, and she’d practically thrown herself at him. While she’d lowered her guard, he’d been thinking about the effects they’d have on their audience.

Rosie shoved him away and stepped around him. “A few minutes ago, I had my doubts. But that’s what rehearsals are for, right? The performance is always better when you throw yourself into the role.”

Safely out of arms reach, she turned, chin raised. “I made a few minor adjustments to the wedding plans. You know.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “To make it look more convincing.”

Sam regarded her through narrowed eyes, his expression hard. “As long as it doesn’t delay things. Weddings are your business, but I don’t see much leeway in a civil ceremony. We’re already having attendants instead of witnesses. What else should I know about before we go back out there?”

Relief left her feeling a little giddy. She really had to quit expecting Sam to react like Dean would have.

“I found a wedding dress. Not a formal one, but nice. So I thought—”

A quick knock sounded on the door before it swung open.

“Daddy!” Rosie shrieked.

John Thomas’s tall, lanky frame filled most of the doorway. “Y’all gonna hide in here all day,” he asked with a lazy drawl. “Or come and join the party?”

“On my way, Daddy.” Rosie glanced back and found Sam standing nearby. “Coming, Sam?”

“You go ahead. I need to talk with John Thomas for a minute.”

She nodded, waiting for her daddy to step into the room before slipping out. Sam closed the door behind her.

Now what was that all about?

* * *

A
half-hour later, Sam hitched a hip onto the porch railing and congratulated himself on successfully avoiding embarrassment. After nearly getting his eyebrows singed with that kiss, it had taken all his concentration to sound unaffected and casual.

Though he knew Rosie had enjoyed the kiss as much as he, she’d recovered awfully fast. Too fast for her reaction not to have been part performance. Her being a good actress shouldn’t bother him. Didn’t bother him. It was exactly what he needed from her. Now wasn’t the time to let his ego mess with his focus.

The screech of an overused hinge drew Sam's attention. Reba and Sara shouldered their way through the screen door, letting it slam behind them, their arms loaded with sweating pitchers of iced tea and mesh covers to protect the food from insects.

“You’d better come on, Sam. When it comes to meals with this family, stragglers could end up with an empty plate,” Sara warned with a grin.

“I’ll be right there.” Two folding tables in the shade of a large loblolly pine were piled with tantalizing dishes. He doubted they’d run low on food any time soon.

Two more tables with chairs all around had been placed under a nearby oak, sporting yellow plastic tablecloths. “Come and get it,” Reba sang out, her voice easily carrying over the din. Everyone surged toward her, filling their plates while laughing, talking and trading good natured insults. Everyone except Travis, the reputed Casanova in the Baxter clan, and Claire. Both were more interested in flirting than what they were putting on their plates.

Given the place of honor at the head of the line, Rosie was the first to be seated. She turned toward her family, eyes searching until she spied him and waved.
Nice touch, Rosie
. He returned the gesture.

Sam hung back until he and Reba were the last to go through the line. Although he was used to the noise and bustle of the city, this was different, more oppressive somehow.

“You go ahead, Sam.” With one hand at his elbow, Reba motioned for him to precede her.

“Oh, no. Ladies first.”

She squeezed his arm on her way past him. “You always were a gentleman. Even as a boy, you had better manners and were much more responsible than my heathens.”

He forced a smile, the magnitude of what was to come weighing on him. “Gran would have had my hide if she’d heard otherwise.”

“Well, I guess that’s true enough.” Reba launched into a nostalgic story about his grandparents and Sam tuned out, having heard it all before. He nodded occasionally, his mind too focused on his own plans to enjoy her reminiscing. Without pausing, she lifted two heavy-duty paper plates and handed him one.

Sam filled his plate, following Reba. Had the Baxter’s always been so touchy-feely? He honestly couldn’t remember. Everyone he'd talked to today had touched him. Handshakes, backslaps, pats and squeezes. And plenty of personal contact with Rosie earlier. Even John Thomas had pulled him into an awkward hug after their conversation, putting him on tactile sensation overload.

He’d also gotten an inkling of the conscience-pinching Rosie experienced at the diner. As a kid, he’d often fantasized about what it would be like to be a Baxter. He’d envied their close ties, even the occasional sibling rivalry and bickering. Having the matriarch of that same family call him “son” after Sam asked for John Thomas’s daughter’s hand in marriage had been both heart-warming and guilt-inducing. Especially the latter, because it came on the heels of a deception.

After today there would be no more practicing. No more kisses without witnesses, no more fighting to hide his enjoyment of them. Good thing, too. Otherwise, he’d be spending a lot of time in a cold shower.

“You like pickled beets, do you? Most of my family can’t stand them.” Reba’s words filtered through his thoughts, and he stopped, horrified at the mound of dark fuchsia on his plate.