Oops...We're Married?. Susan Lute

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СКАЧАТЬ out of the way of the stage workers who were exchanging the cubicles for an elaborate garden wedding scene.

      “This isn’t going to work, you know,” Dillon told his friend evenly, while Jake fixed the bridal boutonniere in his jacket lapel. Covertly, he watched Eleanor across the stage, fidgeting tensely while a woman, presumably one of Jake’s assistants, placed a long, trailing, lacy veil over her flowing blond hair.

      God, she was beautiful. She certainly wasn’t a shy tomboy anymore. Gone was the young girl he remembered. In her place was a gorgeous woman, but one who still lacked all the female graces.

      “Sure, it’s going to work. The crowd loves this stuff.” Jake indicated the wedding arch that was being placed center stage.

      “No. I mean Eleanor and me.” Dillon didn’t believe the picture that was being created of Eleanor as the perfect bride. Unexpectedly, a painful knot formed in his stomach at the fleeting, wistful look she cast at him. A look that was concealed behind indifference before it was ever fully formed.

      Damn. Why was he even thinking about this? He wanted more children. Maybe, lots of them. And in his experience, career women did not want children. At least not right away. Anyone could see that Eleanor Rose was a dedicated career woman.

      Even now, she was dressed in a gray pin-striped skirt and jacket as if she couldn’t wait to get back to the office. Surprisingly, the top button of her blouse was open, exposing a generous amount of her slender throat, slightly spoiling her perfect corporate image. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d met her type before.

      “What about you and Eleanor?” Jake’s pseudo-innocent inquiry made the hairs stand at alert on the back of Dillon’s neck.

      “We have absolutely nothing in common. After tonight we’ll probably never see each other again.” The ping that poked his heart at the thought of never seeing Eleanor again didn’t mean a thing. Suspiciously, Dillon watched his friend’s unchanging expression. Mary Towers was the more obvious choice for his list of possible wife candidates.

      “Hey. No problem. But it wouldn’t hurt if you and El got together after this.”

      Get together? With Eleanor Rose? The poster lady of corporate womanhood? No way.

      “It’s not going to happen, Jake,” Dillon firmly informed his friend.

      “All I’m saying—”

      “Dad, how come she’s standing way over there?” Ryan pulled insistently on his hand, effectively derailing Dillon’s conversation with Jake—a conversation that had been going nowhere, anyway.

      “Because the bride and groom are not supposed to see each other before the wedding ceremony, pal.” Jake answered for him, dropping on one knee to fix a matching boutonniere on Ryan’s lapel. “Everything seems to be ready. Why don’t we get your dad and El in place?”

      Eleanor turned to face the man she’d worked so hard to keep out of her dreams. She couldn’t go through with this. She wasn’t going to pretend to marry the one man who had once had the power to rock her to her very soul.

      “El, come stand over here.”

      Jake’s instruction set her teeth on edge. Forcing stiff limbs to move, Eleanor slowly walked to the spot her foster brother indicated.

      Why was she doing this? Because it was a fake ceremony…and for charity. Eleanor squared her shoulders. She had a fulfilling career and was just fine living on her own. She was not feeling sorry for herself or wishing for the impossible just because as a young woman she’d once wished she could be bound to this man for life.

      A small hand nestled into hers. Unable to stop the feelings suddenly warming her, Eleanor looked down into shining green eyes and the biggest smile she’d ever seen on a child’s face.

      “You’re going to be my new mom,” Ryan said, eyes twinkling at her. Eleanor’s heart sank. She didn’t need any new cracks to form in her armor.

      “Remember, son, this is just make-believe.” Dillon’s determined words sealed those cracks shut with a lonely clang.

      “Where’s the judge? Is there a judge in the house?” Jake demanded playfully of the audience.

      In unison the audience began to loudly chant. “Judge…judge…judge…”

      Keep your sense of humor. Don’t break your heart over this, Eleanor admonished herself as a sprinkle of laughter drifted through the room. Nervously, she adjusted her glasses on her nose. This mockery of a marriage was for charity. It didn’t mean anything more than that.

      Taking a deep breath to settle the skittish alarm clanging in her stomach, Eleanor looked up as a new disturbance erupted at the door. Now what?

      Causing the minor commotion was an elderly man in a western-style black frock and flat-brimmed black hat. Haphazardly, he was making his way toward the stage, patting his pockets as if he’d lost something. Finally, out of one deep side pocket, he pulled out wire-rimmed spectacles and pushed them onto his bulbous nose.

      “So sorry I’m late,” the old man wheezed, out of breath as he stopped opposite Dillon.

      Eleanor couldn’t believe her eyes. Jake couldn’t have gotten a more disreputable-looking judge if he’d tried, which he probably had, she decided, disgusted. The man looked as if he’d been pulled right out of an old-time western.

      “Are you two young folks ready? I’m Jed Banta. This is my third wedding for the day and I’d like to get started,” the old man muttered as Jake attached a microphone to his once starched collar.

      “Okay, young fella, what’s your name?”

      Dillon couldn’t help smiling at the old man’s appearance. Where in the world had Jake found this decrepit old gent? He was perfect for the part of an old boomtown judge. Even down to the unkempt white hair poking out from beneath the wide brim of his felt hat and the thick white mustache that generously covered his lips.

      “Uh…I’m Dillon Stone.” Dillon choked back a chuckle as the old man licked the end of a stubby pencil, then wrote his name on a slip of paper he’d pulled from the inside pocket of his coat.

      The man’s act was perfect, Dillon realized, as the audience openly responded to his antics.

      “Miss? What’s your name?”

      For a moment Dillon thought Eleanor wouldn’t go along. Her face was as white as the paper the judge was poised over, and he was sure she was about to faint. What was she afraid of? Because from where he stood, Eleanor Rose was definitely afraid.

      When he’d been a criminal lawyer, he’d seen the same look of sick fear on many a defendant’s face just before the verdict came down. Slowly, he laced his fingers with hers and was shocked by the bolt of electricity that raced from their touching hands clear down to curl his toes.

      “Eleanor?” he prodded. Had she felt that electric zing, too?

      Her pale face flushed with a pretty blush as she turned to look at him. The surprised look darkening her remarkable eyes heated the sizzle that was still blistering his fingertips.

      “My name…” Finally she looked away, leaving Dillon СКАЧАТЬ