Bachelor-Auction Bridegroom. Mollie Molay

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      Chapter Two

      T.J. choked on the lemonade. “Say again?”

      She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. “I said I want you to be my husband.”

      “That’s what I thought I heard you say.” T.J. repacked the lunch and thrust the box at her. “Here, you can have this back. You’ve got the wrong man. You’ll have to find someone else to give you a wedding ring. I may be hungry, but I’m not for hire. And certainly not with a box lunch.”

      “Wait a minute!” She shoved the box at his stomach, forcing him to take a step backward to keep his balance. “You have the wrong impression. I wasn’t asking for a wedding ring. I only intended to ask you to pretend to be my husband. And only for one day.”

      T.J. blinked. If she’d announced a meteor was hurtling toward Earth and was about to land at his feet, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Either he was a victim of sunstroke or Emily Holmes had asked him to be her husband!

      No matter how inviting she looked in that wisp of a dress, neither choice was acceptable. Red-blooded man that he was, T.J may have given Emily Holmes his attention all right, but she wasn’t going to have him for a husband.

      He shrugged and dropped the box lunch onto the crate at his feet. “The answer is no, not for five minutes, let alone one day. And certainly not while I still have the brains I was born with. Do us both a favor and find someone else.”

      “I can’t,” she protested. “You cost me three hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t have the time or the money to make up another game plan.”

      “Well, I’m sorry,” he said with a look over his shoulder at the men who were watching them, “I’m not interested. I have a ton of work waiting for me, and I’ve got to get back to it.”

      “Wait a minute!” She reached out to stop him. “I’m not finished yet!”

      “Sorry, I am.” He turned to go back to work, but the distressed look on her face stopped him. “Now look here, Miss Holmes, no matter who you think I am, I’m still not your man.” To his chagrin, she looked more determined than ever. “If you ask me, it looks as if someone has taken you for a sucker. Who’d you give the money to?”

      “To the Foundation for Homeless Children. They had a bachelor’s auction yesterday at the Beaumont Hotel.”

      At the mention of the foundation, pieces of the puzzle started to fit together. The answer to the case of mistaken identity was unhappily becoming clear. “I’ve heard of it,” he answered cautiously. “But I still don’t know what this has to do with me.”

      “I bid more for you than I’d expected to. The fact is that I won you for a date fair and square. I didn’t have a date in mind yesterday, but I do now.”

      “A date?” The thought of taking Emily Holmes out to dinner blew his mind, but at least it was better than being a husband. “You’ll have to make up your mind, Miss Holmes. Just what is it that you want of me?”

      “I told you, I want you to be my husband.” When he shook his head, she went on. “You promised to do whatever I asked you to do.”

      Enough was enough. Frustrated, T.J. rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you it wasn’t me. I swear I wasn’t even at the auction!”

      “Yes, you were. You gave me your business card and agreed to meet me here today,” she went on stubbornly. “I can prove it!” She searched in her bag and came up with the business card. “There!”

      T.J. reached for the card and muttered under his breath. There were no two ways about it, the card was his. Or at least, his company’s. “This must be someone’s idea of a joke.”

      His mind awhirl with possibilities, T.J. fingered the card. Surely not his wheelchair-bound adoptive father. The two of them didn’t even look alike.

      Cold chills ran down his spine when he recalled his brother joking about his participation in the foundation’s bachelor auction. The same foundation that had facilitated his and his brother Tim’s adoption. T.J. had been asked to participate in the auction himself, but pleading a heavy schedule, he’d made a generous contribution instead.

      The answer to the case of mistaken identity was rapidly becoming clear.

      What really blew his mind was Tim’s parting comment this morning before he left on an unexpected business trip. Laughing like a loon, he’d told T.J. he was sending him a surprise!

      A surprise?

      Emily Holmes?

      He bit his lower lip. His younger brother’s fingerprints were all over this scenario. And not for the first time, either. Trading on their remarkably similar appearances was Tim’s traditional and not-too-novel way of getting out of the hot water in which he regularly found himself. T.J. was used to putting up with his nonsense, but sending Emily here today as a surprise was going too far. The time for Tim to grow up had passed.

      He took a last, long swallow of lemonade, cleared his throat and plunged into muddy, deep waters. “I suppose I owe you an explanation, Miss Holmes. The fact is, T. J. Kirkpatrick is the name of the family business.”

      When he had her frowning attention, he took a deep breath and gestured to the sign behind him. “Since my dad, my brother and I all have the same initials, it seemed more practical to use T. J. Kirkpatrick for our building restoration business. My father’s name is Thornton John, mine is Thomas Jefferson, and my brother is Timothy James.”

      Emily’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell me all of you are called T.J.?”

      “Not exactly, but close. My brother and I were renamed when we were adopted and my father, Tim and I all wound up with the same initials. My father is largely retired, so I’m called T.J. now. My brother is called Tim. He’s an architect. He should have told you so yesterday instead of giving you this card.” He smiled wryly. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

      Her lips tightened, and her eyes lit up. He realized he hadn’t made a dent in her belief that he was the guy at the auction. Not that he blamed her. It wasn’t the first time people had reacted in disbelief to the similar initials. But never as badly as now.

      She took a small photograph out of her purse and thrust it under his nose. “Men! I was afraid you’d try to weasel your way out of the deal, and I’ve turned out to be right. As far as I’m concerned, you made up that ridiculous story. It doesn’t wash with me, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I have this picture we took together yesterday to prove you and I were together. Everything I’ve told you is true.”

      T.J. smothered a groan and reached for the photograph. It was the type of instant photograph a person could take at a drugstore, an airport or a hotel for twenty-five or fifty cents. He studied it carefully, the truth shimmering before his eyes. There was no doubt about it. The culprit in this caper was Tim.

      “I swear this isn’t me,” he said, raising his right hand. СКАЧАТЬ