A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel (9 page)

He hated beets. Their insidious juice had already begun to spread toward nearby foods, contaminating everything it touched.

“I usually don’t put many on the relish tray, but there's more if you want them,” she offered, her look questioning.

“This is plenty,” he assured her, quickly, afraid she'd make good on the offer. “Thanks.”

He settled into the empty chair beside Rosie. She leaned in close and whispered, “What’s up with you and Daddy?”

His talk with John Thomas was an idea inspired by the need to put distance between himself and temptation in a snug pair of capris. It had felt right, asking for Rosie’s hand.

Rosie had worried about them looking awkward. For a man unused to casual touch, he'd found plenty of excuses to feel her skin beneath his fingertips. Never once had it felt awkward, and therein lay the danger. She was familiar, knew things about him he’d shared with few. With her he could easily slide into wanting too much, letting himself feel, though he knew better.

Ever conscious they had an audience, he half-turned, leaned in and draped a hand over the back of her seat, effectively creating the illusion of intimacy. His nose brushed against the delicate shell of her ear. The flowery fragrance of her shampoo mixed with the more earthy one of perspiration taunted him. His fingers curled tightly around the chair back.

“What could be more convincing than asking for your hand in marriage?” He drew back, catching Rosie’s startled reaction, needing the distance. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough to be had today.

Avoiding her gaze, Sam glanced around the table and frowned. “Where's Lorelei?” He’d half-risen from his chair when Rosie detained him with a hand on his arm.

“She’s sitting with Ryan.” Rosie pointed in the direction of the table where J.T. and Sara’s youngest helped the little girl into a chair which contained an old booster seat. Sara assisted in pushing the chair in.

“I hope you don't mind. He’s very protective of her, and Sara’s supervising.”

“No. It’s fine.” And it was. Amazingly, Lorelei was more at ease around Rosie’s family than anyone else she'd encountered. He’d feel the same way if he weren’t lying to people who readily accepted him as their own. That he’d become negligent in keeping an eye on his daughter was a fine example of why he couldn’t relax his guard.

Rosie picked at her food. Though it was delicious, Sam’s nervous anticipation made it difficult to force down what little the beet juice hadn't ruined. He tried to catch Rosie’s attention, but she was listening to Travis tell a joke. The punch line brought a round of laughter—the perfect pause in conversation he needed. Under the table, he nudged Rosie’s knee with his own, stood and asked for everyone's attention.

Except for the intermittent buzz and whirr of an insect, silence fell around the tables and all eyes focused on him with curiosity.

Nobody made speeches at a Baxter family celebration.

“As you all know, we’re here today to celebrate a very special lady,” he began the little speech he’d written and rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror. “When this excellent meal settles, we’ll wish her a happy birthday with cake and ice cream. But in the meantime, I’d like to share some exciting news with you.”

He offered his hand to Rosie. She took it and stood beside him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“While corresponding by phone and e-mail, Rosie and I discovered the friendship we established over two decades ago changing, growing, becoming something totally unexpected.” Murmurs and chuckles from his audience gave him pause.

“Cut to the chase, man. We’ve heard the gossip,” J.T. heckled from the next table, making everyone laugh again. “Are you two dating or what?”

So much for his pretty speech. “Better than that. Rosie and I are getting married.”

Following a split-second of shocked silence, noise erupted around them. Over it all, a whoop of joy came from Reba, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Good. They had both elder Baxter’s approval, which would go a long way toward community acceptance of their hasty engagement.

Sam endured the congratulatory affection he'd thought he'd prepared for, but found his throat squeezing around a lump when Travis made a comment about them finally being brothers.

Reba pushed through to Rosie. “Where’s your engagement ring?”

“We haven’t had time to talk about a ring,” she hedged.

“Actually . . .” Sam pulled the small velvet pouch from his shirt pocket. “I thought I’d surprise you. If you don’t like it, you can exchange it for something else.”

She cupped her hand, and he spilled a plain solitaire into it. If a decent-sized brilliant cut diamond in a platinum setting could be considered plain, that is. The diamond caught the sunlight, drawing gasps from the ladies.

Sam looked into blue eyes glistening with unshed tears and for a brief moment he couldn’t help wishing all this was real. Ridiculous. His writer’s imagination was working overtime. Hadn't he seen how quickly Rosie had recovered from their encounter in her dad’s office? How she’d crowed about throwing herself into the role? Well, get ready, baby. Performance time.

He pulled her into his arms for a quick kiss as a cheer rose from their audience, and J.T.’s boys sent up a loud chorus of “eww.”

“Well, put it on. Let’s see how it looks.” Claire clapped her hands as Sam did the honors.

It fit Rosie’s left ring finger perfectly.

“Thank you, Sam.” She leaned in for another quick peck, and he couldn’t help thinking their kiss in private had far surpassed anything needed for this audience.

After everyone had admired the ring and offered more good wishes, they all found their seats again and the questions rolled in.

“Have you set a date yet?” Sara asked.

“Next week,” Rosie said.

Reba choked on her iced tea, and John Thomas patted her on the back. The others stared as if Rosie had announced they were getting married on the moon.

“Next week?” Reba squeaked. “Very funny. You can’t pull things together that fast. We’ll need longer than that to arrange the kind of wedding our only daughter deserves. How many attendants are you having? What about dresses and tuxes for you and your attendants, not to mention food, cake, music, reserving the church, ordering flowers. And what about our minister? He may be booked already.” She shook her head. “We need months.”

“We don’t want a big wedding. Sam’s been there, done that, and I’ve planned so many weddings through the shop, I’m over it. We thought a quick appointment at the courthouse next week would take care of the legalities.”

“I don’t think so.” The four words, quietly spoken by John Thomas stopped all conversation. He shot Sam a hard look and stood. “We’ll discuss this inside.”

Rosie’s brows knit together in concern as they followed a short distance behind her parents. “Did you know about this?” she whispered.

“No. The ceremony didn’t come up.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Let’s play it by ear and see if we can compromise. I’d like to have their approval.”

“So would I. Thanks, Sam.”

Within a few minutes, they’d all compromised. Sam insisted on keeping it small but agreed to a minister. The afternoon wedding would take place in two weeks time, using the park gazebo near Rosie’s house.

“The flowers and rentals are a no-brainer since I have connections.” Rosie perched on the wide arm of the sofa, next to her mama, gesturing animatedly as she expanded on the plan. She incorporated flowers, tuxes, digital photographs and a small reception within minutes.

Good Lord. Not only did she know her stuff, but beneath Rosie’s practical demeanor still beat the heart of a died¬-in-the-wool romantic.

“I knew the same little girl who planned every aspect of her wedding at the age of ten wouldn’t be happy with a courthouse ceremony on the fly,” John Thomas declared.

“Oh, Daddy. Every little girl does stuff like that, but they grow up and realize there are more important things. I had a client tell me this week that she’d marry her fiancé in a barn if she needed to, and she was right. It’s not the where and when or how that’s important, but finding the person who’s perfect for you.”

“Augh!” Reba fanned her face with both hands and sniffed, her eyes watery.

But it was Rosie’s far-away look that drew Sam’s attention. Who was she seeing waiting at the altar in her grown-up dreams?

The ex-fiancé, no doubt.
Dean
. The name echoed in his head with contempt, though he knew nothing about the man except he’d apparently captured Rosie’s heart.

On the ride home that night, Sam kept silent, unable to shake the thought of her pining for another man while married to him. Though it made no sense, the irritation grew, affecting him as nothing else had in a long, long time.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“
S
am, it's Bill. Are you sitting down?”

“I'm sitting.” Sam sucked in a deep breath and stared at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. Nothing good ever followed that question.

“I received word. Jasmine is suing you for shared custody,
as expected
.”

The central air kicked on, the normally quiet whooshing magnified in the silent room. In the corner of his monitor the time changed to 11:45, and his screen saver took over, the scrolling letters advising him to Keep Writing Every Day. As expected.

“I guess this is where you say ‘I told you so’, and you're right. I was a fool to hope Jasmine would stick to our agreement.”

“Right or wrong, we need to think strategy. We've got to think smart and act fast.”

“About that. I’ve been meaning to call you regarding the wedding.”

“You’re not married yet?”

“No.”

“But the wedding’s still on?”

“Yes.”

“Then hold that thought. The conjectures in the tabloids after you were awarded custody, coupled with the fact she’s been unavailable for weeks, has sparked a lot of speculation since you left. There’s doubt regarding her squeaky-clean image. She’s going all-out for this, using the poor-mother-denied-her-child card.”

“What’s your opinion of her chances?” Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the irritation that had been his constant companion all week.

“Pretty good. Thanks to that ritzy rehab center and the silence you bought, the world hasn’t a clue about the real Jasmine. Our fight is against her deceptively pristine public image.”

Why should the public see what he hadn’t? Jasmine had taken great pains to hide her drug use, even from him—including shutting him out of their bedroom mere weeks after she'd duped him into marrying her.

She’d hidden a monster behind a disarming smile.

Within a month, he’d been ready to call it quits. Then she’d announced her pregnancy, and he’d had to watch her like a hawk to keep her relatively healthy for the baby’s sake.

“I’ve been sitting here reading an interview she gave yesterday wherein she claims you took Lorelei away while she was ‘recovering from a collapse due to a physically demanding work schedule.’” Bill leaned heavily on the sarcasm.

Sam swiped at the perspiration accumulating on his brow, despite the air conditioner’s valiant efforts. He was done playing Mr. Nice Guy. One thing he was certain of—Jasmine would never have an unsupervised visit with Lorelei. This time he would protect his daughter, no matter what it cost him.

“She also claims to have signed over custody while under the influence of what she calls ‘physician-prescribed sedatives’. She's painting you as the heavy in all this.” Frustration and impatience tinged Bill's voice.

“I don’t care what Jasmine says about me. She sounds desperate and that’s good. With me getting married and having custody, her chances get slimmer, right?”

“Speaking of the wedding. What’s the holdup? I haven't seen a formal announcement in the mail, but I thought you’d planned to get it over with.”

“I did, er . . . we did. Plan to, that is, but there's been a new development.” Sam outlined the change in plans from courthouse quick-stop to family in the park and the reasons why.

Bill whistled softly. “Say, that's not a half-bad idea. I'm not crazy about the delay, but having a larger wedding with her family will give the court even less reason to suspect your marriage is anything other than a love match.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And your bride, this Rosalee Baxter from your childhood, is she pretty?”

“How did you . . . ? Oh, right. You saw her legal name on the prenup.”

“Pretty name for a pretty lady, or is the witness refusing to answer the question?”

“None of your business,” Sam growled into the phone.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Bill chuckled. “If she’s got a sweet figure, give her my number. Who knows? Maybe she’d like to visit New York after all this blows over.”

“Not on your life. She deserves better than being the flavor of the month.”

Bill chuckled again. “So that's the way the wind blows.”

“You’re delusional. I’m hanging up now.”

And he did, without waiting for a response.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, Sam backed up his file and reached for his keys. Within fifteen minutes, he’d parked behind Rosie’s Posies and entered through the back door.

After some small talk with Sara about how her eldest was liking the first week of school, he asked if Rosie was around.

“I’m sorry, Sam. Rosie left a few minutes ago to meet with a client,” Sara explained. “If it’s important, you could reach her on her cell.”

“No, it can wait. I don’t want to interrupt a business lunch.”

“I don’t think—” Sara halted mid-sentence and became totally engrossed in inserting dainty purple irises in an arrangement of yellow roses—a task he suspected she could have done in her sleep.

“You were saying?” he prompted.

“Oh, nothing really.” Sara waved her hands, her movements jerky despite her offhand comment. “We’ve gotten weepy brides calling before, believing their wedding will look like total crap when the pressure gets to them or they blow a little argument out of proportion.”

“Does this one have you worried for some reason?”

Sara raked her fingers through her dark hair and sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but I don’t think this meeting was about business. The client sounded upset when I answered the call, and Rosie didn’t take her planner. She never forgets it.”

Sam didn't see what the big deal was, and shrugged.

“How are your wedding plans coming along?”

He was inclined to let Sara change the subject, until she attempted to insert another iris into the vase and broke the stem.

“Dammit!” Her fingers trembled as she tossed the broken flower aside.

“Sara, if you think Rosie is walking into a bad situation, for God’s sake, tell me.”

“Oh, Sam, no. I'm sorry to worry you. It’s nothing like that. Just an awkward situation because Rosie was once engaged to the fiancé of the client she went to meet and now you're—”

“Dean and his fiancée are clients?”

“You know about him? Well, yes.” She laughed self-consciously. “I guess you would. You probably know more than the family does about why she came back from grad school so withdrawn and nervous.”

Sam smiled and lifted his chin, neither confirming nor denying he knew anything.

So Rosie had mourned the breakup. That proved she’d had deep feelings for the guy as he suspected. It didn't mean she still did.

When Sam didn't comment, Sara filled the silence with chatter. “She was more herself after she bought the shop. Then Dean moved here. We all thought they’d get back together, especially when Rosie marched herself over to the bank his first day on the job.”

“Dean works at the bank?”

“Yep. He’s the loan officer. Took over when old Mr. Purdy retired. It was about time, too.”

Sam lost interest as Sara continued. Dean’s position might explain why Rosie had trouble securing a loan. Had Dean rebuffed Rosie’s welcome, making her reluctant to approach him hat-in-hand, so to speak? Or maybe Dean was the dumpee, and his resentment carried over into their business association.

Whatever the scenario, the signs all pointed to strong feelings being involved.

“Excuse me, Sam.” Sara waived a hand in front of his face. “I need to get past you and answer that.”

“What?” He stepped aside, only then hearing the phone ringing.

“Oh, hi, Rosie.” Sara listened, nodding. “No problem. It’s been slow, but Sam’s keeping me company.”

Sam hated the way his pulse leapt at the possibility of seeing Rosie. Would he never learn that women were trouble for him? Hadn’t he confirmed her heart already belonged to another man?

“Not long. He stopped by to have lunch with you.”

Yes, and he wasn’t sure why. They lived in the same house. Even so, he’d seen precious little of Rosie this week, and she still hadn’t made any attempt to bond with Lorelei.

He should be working on those proposals his agent wanted, trying to keep his page count going while Lorelei was at the sitter’s. The wedding would wreak havoc on his schedule, not to mention the weekend getaway J.T. and Travis had insisted would be their treat. They’d called it a honeymoon, but he refused to think of it those terms. Otherwise, between Rosie’s kisses and her lust-inducing figure, he’d be forced to spend the weekend in an ice bath to avoid overheating.

“Yes. He’s right here. Hold on.” Sara offered him the receiver. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Hey, how about having lunch with me?” he asked as Sara left the cold prep room to give them privacy.

“Did we have something planned? I don’t remem—”

“No. No. It was a spur of the moment thing.” He lowered his voice, unsure how much could be heard through the glass wall. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt for us to be seen around town again, you know?”

He hadn’t thought any such thing, but he should have. What was wrong with him these days?

“Sorry, Sam. I can’t. This meeting was unexpected and is playing havoc with my day. I called to remind Sara I’m headed to the Booney-Marsh rehearsal next. The bride is insisting on last minute changes, and I need to go reason with her.”

“I understand. I’ll see you—”

“Hang on a sec. Cass is trying to get my attention.”

A rustling noise and muffled voices followed her interruption. Then Rosie’s voice gradually came through clearer, as if she were speaking while raising the phone to her mouth, “Jeezus Pete. I gotta go. Bye.”

An element of fear in her voice had Sam shouting for Sara.

She jerked the door open. “Wha—”

“Where did Rosie go to meet Dean’s fiancée?”

Her gaze flicked over his face. “Is something wrong?”

“Where, Sara.”

Her eyes widened at his commanding tone. “I’m not sure. Oh, wait. At the skating rink, maybe. Check her planner. I remember Rosie telling Cass it had been ages since she’d been on skates. Why? What’s— Hey, wait!”

Sam paused on his way down the hall. He could be wrong. Any number of things could have happened at a skating rink. Kids fell or ran into each other all the time. In any case, there was no need upsetting Sara.

“Uh . . . Rosie’s in a hurry. She needs her planner for the next appointment, but didn’t say where to meet her.”

Sara slapped a hand to her chest in relief. “It’s not in the office, it’s on the front counter, right where she left it.”

“Thanks.” He retrieved it and left, spurred on by an unshakable sense of foreboding.

* * *

A
t first glance, the parking lot around the barn-like skating rink looked empty. Sam noted the presence of a large skateboarding park which now took up half the front lot. Too hot in the middle of the day to tolerate helmets and joint pads, he supposed. But where was Rosie?

Had Sara gotten it wrong?

Going purely on a hunch, he slowed to a crawl and drove behind the building. Slightly past the rear entrance sat Rosie’s van and four vehicles in the shade created by the structure.

Since there wasn’t a shortage of spaces and Rosie was in a hurry, he parked facing the side of her van and approached it from the rear.

“You watch what you say to Cass. I don’t need you filling her head with your sick lies,” an angry male voice demanded.

“Dean, honey, don’t be like this.”

“Let me handle this, Cass.”

“Careful, Dean. Don’t want to give yourself away before the wedding, like you did with me.” Rosie’s voice held contempt, except for the slight quaver at the end.

Sam stepped into view. No one noticed him, giving him time to assess the situation. The trio stood in a vacant space between Rosie’s van and a flashy red convertible Corvette.

Rosie stood facing him, her attention focused on the man, fists clenched at her sides. Splotches of anger colored her cheeks.

A petite blonde he assumed was Cass clung to the man’s elbow, a pleading expression on her pretty face.

And
that
was Dean? Sam couldn’t see the man’s face, but was surprised by his stature. Barely Rosie’s height and slight of build, he hardly seemed the type to have more than one woman gaga over him.

Dean changed his tactics, tucking the blonde under his arm and holding her close. “Don’t listen to her, baby. I wanted to give Rosie a second chance, thought maybe she’d changed. But she’s as jealous and suspicious as she ever was. You and me, we’re soul mates. You know I love you, right?”

Something about the guy raised Sam’s hackles. Maybe it was the too-smooth delivery, as if he’d had plenty of practice.

Cass hesitated.

Sam didn’t know what goaded him into action at that exact moment, but found himself moving forward. “There you are, sweetheart.”