The Temporary Bride Read online

  “My mother is in matchmaking mode.”

  “So what,” she snapped.

  “I’m single, and my mother wants all her children… not single. Apparently, I’m the holdout,” he managed say without losing his cool.

  “Aw,” she said with a little pout and a whole lot of sarcasm. “Did your baseball bunny hop to another guy with a bigger basket?”

  His basket was big enough, but if he even hinted as much, she would tear him down in two seconds flat. “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  Heath glanced over his shoulder. His mom was almost to them, but different people at the reception kept sidetracking her. “I’m sure that big brain of yours can figure it out.” While she just stood there, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried again. “You. Me. Together. Date.”

  “Oh my word.” A look of horror covered her face. “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” Then she hightailed it out of the reception tent and left him to face the one woman he loved to death but drove him crazy, too.

  “Heath,” his mother said, kissing his cheek and then wiping away her lipstick with a thumb. “You looked so handsome today, and the woman you escorted—”

  “Married,” he said flatly.

  “Oh, isn’t that nice,” she said, but he didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes.

  “Having a good time?” he asked, hoping to derail her get-my-son-with-a-woman train from its tracks.

  “Wonderful time. Your father and I got to get a little shagging in when the DJ played Carolina Girls. Now, I’m beat.” His mother’s back had been bothering her more and more lately as had flagging energy levels. Between raising six kids and being a farmer’s wife, hard work was a constant in Leah’s life. Now her body was paying for it.

  His heart skipped a beat. He hated to think of his parents as getting older. Older meant sickness, and sickness eventually led to death. She was only in her sixties—that wasn’t old at all, but her health was on his mind.

  A lot.

  Gently taking her by the arm, he led her to a couple of empty chairs and helped her sit first before he took the one beside her. “You danced to Carolina Girls without me? Man, I was hoping to dance with the most beautiful woman here.”

  His mother’s cheeks pinkened. “You are a mess.”

  “I only speak the truth.”

  Leah made a little noise of dismissal. “I heard the cucumber sandwiches are to die for, but they’re already gone.”

  “I didn’t get to have any either.”

  “And here I thought you were the one to clean off the plate,” his mom said with a laugh.

  Heath could feel someone’s eyes on him. He sliced his gaze to the right and found Haven staring at them. She was far enough away that his mother wouldn’t notice her, but he wasn’t sure if Haven was far enough away to hear what they were saying.

  He didn’t want her hearing their conversation, mostly because he didn’t want it used against him at another time. Then again, Haven had never used her sharp mouth against his family. Only him.

  Wasn’t he special?

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Heath looked up to find a man holding a tray. “Yes?”

  “The lady said you and your mother would like some of these.” He lowered the tray.

  “Oh my goodness,” his mother said, taking a sandwich. “How adorable. Practically bite-sized with the bride’s monogram on top.”

  Heath searched the tent again, looking for Haven, but she was nowhere to be found.

  What was he thinking? A more likely answer was that Willow had sent the server over because Haven would rather die a thousand deaths than have anything to do with him.

  Always had, always would. Well, not always. In middle school, they didn’t hang out. It wasn’t until he started dating Bella that Haven became a constant fixture in his life.

  Or rather, a constant pain in his ass. Hell, he even remembered the first fight they ever had. They’d been in high school. Freshman year. As usual, she’d been running her mouth, showing the world just how brilliant she was while insulting everyone else in the process for their stupidity.

  He stopped by her locker, leaning one shoulder against it. “If you’d be a little less acidic, more people would sign up for the food drive.”

  Tossing her purple hair over her shoulder, she sneered at him. “It’s acerbic, and it’s not my problem if they can’t handle the truth.”

  “Maybe not.” He saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes when another student made a point of crossing to the other side of the hall. “You know, I could get some guys on the team to help you—”

  “Why—so I would be indebted to the entire team and y’all can lord it over me for the rest of high school? I’ll pass. Besides, any favor from you would require one in return.”

  “I thought you were all about helping people?”

  “People who actually need help. Your kind always comes out on top.”

  “My kind?”

  She waved a hand at him. “Dumb jocks.”

  “Your best friend doesn’t have a problem with me.”

  “We all have our weaknesses.” She turned around and began to rearrange her display, effectively dismissing him.

  “I’ve also been informed that there’s an empty guest room, if Mrs. Ambrose needs a minute to get refreshed,” the server added.

  Heath blinked. The only person here who could offer that was Haven…

  He glanced up at the server and said, “Tell the lady that my momma and I said thank you.”

  Finally, he spotted Haven. She stood on the edge of the dance floor, a high-heeled foot tapping to the music. For the first time, he allowed himself to look at her.

  A light blue dress with silver beads at the hem clung to her curvaceous figure. As usual, she wore a matching headband that pulled her hair back—a small tattoo in the shape of a feather was barely visible behind her ear. She had three more, two on her wrists—one said forever and he wasn’t sure about the other, while the third was new. It was a sleeve of tropical flowers that started at her shoulder and ended right before her elbow.

  “Such a pretty girl,” his mother said with a sigh.

  “She is,” he agreed. He wasn’t blind to her looks, just immune to them—an immunity that had been built up over time and hundreds of her pricking remarks.

  “It’s a crying shame the two of you—”

  He took his mother’s hand, noticing for the first time the age spots on her skin. “Haven’s her own woman, and she doesn’t have time for a schedule like mine.” Not to mention the fact that they couldn’t be in the same room together for longer than five seconds without verbally sparring. Privately though, he liked it, or at least, he liked it when she wasn’t taking pot shots at his intelligence and package.

  He grimaced.

  “True. I’ve always admired her—the way she gave up that scholarship to Duke to come back and help her grandparents out by taking over Chesson House. Not many kids would have done that.”

  “Probably not.” He looked at Haven again, trying to see her as a person who cared about someone other than herself and not the smart-mouthed kid who’d told everyone she was leaving the ass-backwards town of Holland Springs and never coming back.

  Well, she’d said that in so many words, during her mock valedictorian’s speech at rehearsals. The problem was that most people didn’t get her humor—too dry, witty, and blunt.

  On graduation day, she’d been booed off stage before she could even speak, but he hadn’t taken part. Then again, he hadn’t exactly stopped anyone from doing it. Right before she walked away from the podium, he’d caught the pained look she’d given him, as if he had disappointed her somehow.

  Haven caught him staring at her and he smiled, mouthing, thank you. Instead of scowling or giving him the evil eye, her cheeks pinkened a little and she glanced away, but not before replying with two shocking words.

 
“You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  “List time,” Willow sang out as she danced her way to the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a pen.

  “I don’t wanna,” Haven mumbled, chasing the carrots in her soup around with a spoon.

  “But you will, because you want to keep Chesson House forever, and I want you to keep it forever. Because if you don’t, then the next people to own it might not let me use the facilities, and I’ll go out of business.”

  Haven snorted. “So your motives aren’t strictly altruistic.”

  “They’re partially altruistic.”

  At least she could always count on Willow to be honest with her.

  “Who’d you come up with?”

  “Er… no one really,” she said with a little wince. “Sorry, but almost everyone I know is already engaged.”

  Haven held out her hand. “Just give it to me.”

  Willow placed the paper in her palm, and Haven glanced over it. “Heath Ambrose. Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No, he’s all I could think of,” Willow said slowly.

  Crumpling up the paper, Haven tossed it on the table. “Think harder.”

  “I think he’s perfect.”

  Letting go of the spoon, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s hear it.”

  Willow sat down at the table and began to tick off reason. “One, he’s local. Two, he’s a nice guy. Three, he’s hot. Four, he’s gone for half the year.”

  Two out of four were good. Okay, so maybe three, but there was no way in hell she’d ever admit Heath was hot. Out loud, anyway.

  “Best of all, the two of you can’t stand each other, so there is absolutely no danger of love or anything messy. You can marry and divorce just like that.” Willow snapped her fingers. “He’s perfect.”

  An odd pang hit Haven in the chest. When she was younger, she had thought Heath was perfect… until she realized that he only had eyes for her best friend, Isabella Edwards. But that was all in the past.

  She was older and wiser now. She knew love didn’t last. If it had, then Heath and Bella would be together. For people like her parents and grandparents, love like theirs was rare. Special. A once-in-a-lifetime thing.

  “It’s the end of baseball season. I doubt Heath would give up his off-season bag-every-woman-in-sight plans to help me.”

  “Why don’t you ask him and find out?” Willow poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Haven.

  “Same reason why you never asked Logan Ambrose out.” The wine was cool and tart as it hit her tongue. She finished it in one gulp.

  Willow flushed. “It’s not the same. He’s older and doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “I’ll make you a deal—if you promise to ask him out, then I’ll ask Heath to marry me.”

  “But he’s with Corinne…”

  “He won’t be for long.” Haven made a face. “According to her sister, Corrine’s been sleeping around on him and not even bothering to keep it a secret.”

  “That’s horrible—he’s deployed, for goodness sake!”

  “Even better for you.”

  “How is that better?” Willow’s blue eyes turned stormy.

  “Because your opportunity will soon present itself.”

  “You sound like a fortune cookie fortune.”

  “Thanks.”

  Willow glared at her. “A bad fortune cookie fortune.”

  Haven stuck her tongue out at Willow. “Swear you’ll do it.” She held out her pinky. “C’mon.”

  Willow leaned across the table and shook Haven’s pinky with her own. “I can’t wait for you to ask him.”

  “It’s no biggie. Either he’ll say no and I’ll move on, or he’ll say yes, and I’ll move on later. It’s a win-win.”

  Willow’s gaze turned knowing. “That’s what you’d like for me to believe. But you forget that I know what you really think about Heath Ambrose.” She lowered her voice and gave Haven a smug look. “And it’s not bad at all.”

  Gotham chose that moment to jump into Haven’s lap. She purred and then settled down once Haven began to stroke her. “You’re wrong. My thoughts about Heath are so bad, they would make you blush.”

  Willow laughed. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  Heat suffused Haven’s face. “That’s not what I meant.” But it was. She totally had very bad thoughts about Heath. Usually, they involved her, him, and lots of bare skin.

  “Oh, please. I got your number, you double-talking woman.” Willow stood up, grabbing her purse. “I have to run. Weddings to plan and brides to calm down. Text me as soon as you talk to Heath.”

  “Thanks for your non-help,” Haven grumbled, but her friend did have a point. She and Heath had a relationship—of sorts—that lived off sarcasm and one-upmanship. Okay, so that was mostly on her side. Heath seemed to tolerate her attacks. He’d also call her out on it, too.

  In any case, their aversion to one another could work in her favor. She could marry him, and then they could each do their own thing until Chesson House was securely in her name. Afterwards, they could quietly divorce and go on with their lives.

  Willow was wrong. Heath wasn’t perfect. The plan was perfect.

  Gotham began to knead Haven’s thighs. “Good kitty.”

  The cat opened one eye and glared with it, as if to say, Human, you’re lucky I’m allowing you the honor of petting me. Which was why she ended up getting a cat in the first place from the animal shelter. That, and she liked saying, Gotham needs me; Gotham’s in trouble; and her favorite; What would Gotham do without me?

  Plus, she felt like Gotham got her personality—more than anyone else in this town, including Willow.

  Growing up, she had discovered right away that she was different from everyone else. Due to her grandparents’ influence, she had a love for sixties music, comic books, and all things retro. In a small, southern town, when her love manifested into her everyday wardrobe and weekly changing hair color, it was met with perplexed stares and more than a little ribbing.

  Especially once she hit high school.

  She knew the only reason she’d made it through those four painful years without becoming a recluse was because of her unlikely friendship with two of the most popular and nicest girls in their age group. To this day, she had no idea why Bella and Daisy had looked past her sharp words and befriended her.

  Now that they were married and living a world away, she’d become closer friends with Willow—a woman who got paid to blend in for a living. From what she remembered of Willow in high school, it wasn’t out of character.

  Still, it was odd that the girl who purposefully stuck out like a sore thumb considered the girl who’d blended in with the wall her closest friend.

  And now… she had to ask her childhood enemy to become her husband.

  Life was funny like that.

  *

  Clarkson Field was hot, humid, and designed so poorly that even the crowd couldn’t get a decent breeze, but it was home to the annual Carolina Charity Games, and every bit of the money that was made today benefitted the charity of whichever team won, so none of that mattered today.

  Sweat trickled down the back of Heath’s neck as he squatted behind home plate. He was covered in dust and grime and his knees were sore, but he wouldn’t have given up his position for anything.

  Resting his right hand on the edge of his inner thigh, he signaled to Rodriguez, who’d just begun the windup. Rodriguez, a rookie pitcher from Alabama who was already making his mark, usually listened to him since he’d been playing longer.

  But not today.

  With seconds to spare, Heath tipped his mitt back as the hitter looped the bat.

  “Strike!”

  “Shit,” he muttered. For the second time this inning he’d had to adjust because the kid went rogue. At least it was the last inning and an off-season game. He rose slightly and threw the ball back, narrowing his gaze.

/>   Rodriguez winked, gave him a shit-eating grin, and shrugged. It worked on most people, but not on him.

  Heath liked Rodriguez, thought he was a hell of a pitcher, but all the kid wanted to do was take selfies to post on Instagram during practice, spend money on women, and party six days a week. If he didn’t watch it, Rodriguez would be like the rest of the new guys who went hog wild their first couple of years—broke, divorced, and miserable because they ended up getting cut.

  Thing was, Heath knew exactly how Rodriguez felt about being in the spotlight, although catchers weren’t exactly fronting the pages of Men’s Health and cereal boxes. Despite that, he had caught the eye of a few Hollywood types—though he suspected that his actor/producer brother-in-law might have helped with that a little—and he had actually been featured on the covers of well-known magazines. He’d enjoyed it. Actually, he’d enjoyed it a lot. The attention, the money… everything.

  It was a source of ribbing from the team. The Face, they liked to call him. Yeah, it was stupid and juvenile, but what could he do but take it?

  Hell, if his teammates didn’t joke with him like that, then he’d worry. Earning a nickname was like a rite of passage that never ended, since it stuck for the rest of a player’s career.

  Rodriguez got in stretch position. Heath quickly signaled for him to throw a forkball. It was hard on the arm, but the kid could handle it.

  A smile kicked up the corners of Rodriguez’s mouth a split second before the ball left his hand. The bat connected with the baseball with a resounding crack, but instead of going out into the field, it went up.

  And up.

  Shoving up his facemask, he began running backwards while keeping an eye on that small, white circle in the Carolina blue sky as it descended.

  “Come to Daddy,” he muttered, sliding to the right. The ball fell straight into his mitt with a plop.

  “Out,” the ump cried.

  Heath fisted his hand, jerking his arm back in victory. “Hell, yeah.”

  Game over.

  The crowd roared their approval. The Buccaneers had won and the cancer ward at County Med would receive all the monies collected from tickets sales, as well as player donations.