Her Triplets' Mistletoe Dad. Patricia Johns

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       CHAPTER TWO

      THE DRIVE FROM Benton to Eagle’s Rest was a quiet one. As Gabby stretched her legs out to feel the heat from the vents, Seth put on the radio to fill the silence. A few honky-tonk Christmas tunes about unrequited love were on various stations. She’d never been a fan of heartbreaking songs, but today they seemed more personal. She’d gotten married today, but she wasn’t in love with her husband.

      “Could you change the station?” she said.

      “Sure.” Seth flicked the station to an equally depressing song. He stuck it on a talk radio station and Gabby sighed. It was an improvement at least. Seth’s broad hand rested on the top of the steering wheel, and he looked about as somber as she felt.

      Gabby turned away from Seth, staring the window at the snow-laden farmland. She was thinking about her babies, and about this legally binding step she’d just taken. While a woman could do far worse than Seth Straight, with his rugged good looks and his strong sense of personal ethics, she felt a wave of misgiving. She had terrible luck with men—and at the age of thirty, she could accept that her “luck” was rooted in her decision-making. She chose the wrong guys again and again. Whenever she followed her heart, it brought more pain. Her heart needed to stay out of this.

      Seth had made better choices in his own life. His wife had been a saint. She really was perfect for him, even if she’d never trusted Gabby. Gabby, of all people, wasn’t a threat to their marriage. She and Seth had never felt more than friendship for each other, but she could understand a woman protecting her turf. All the same, Seth had loved Bonnie deeply. It had been the kind of connection that people envied, including Gabby. If she could find a guy who looked at her like Seth had looked at Bonnie, she’d never complain again—as long as he was legitimately single. Sad that she now had to add that qualifier to her list. But Gabby had been taken advantage of one too many times, and while Seth wasn’t the type to treat her shabbily, she had an even bigger reason to keep herself in control of her emotions. Her new husband was still in love with his late wife. Gabby was willing to accept this arrangement for what it was—a convenience—but she wouldn’t hope for anything more. This was a favor, nothing else.

      Gabby looked down at her wedding ring. It was just a simple band, but it was already taking on meaning. It certainly would to everyone else. They’d all expect a passionate love story, and Gabby wasn’t going to be able to deliver. How was she supposed to play this? Would their natural friendship look romantic enough to a casual observer? Would they have to amp up their physical contact in order to look the part? All things she should have thought through already, but she hadn’t had the time. Her boys were her priority, and they needed their specialty formula. Plus who knew what other medical help might be necessary down the road with premature triplets.

      They arrived in Eagle’s Rest in the late afternoon and headed to the south side of town, where Gabby’s aunt Bea lived. Bea was her mother’s aunt, so unlike Ted, she was legitimate family. Small, boxy houses built in the sixties, with large yards and mature trees, ran up and down the street, and her aunt’s house was second from the end. Most of the houses had Christmas decorations on their lawns—inflatable Santas, lights on the trees, wreaths on doors… The snow had stopped and watery winter sunlight filtered through the overhanging boughs of the trees. Gabby fiddled with the roses in her lap, then looked down at them.

      “What do I do with my bouquet?” she asked.

      “I don’t know,” Seth said. “Were you wanting to throw it or something?”

      “No.” Gabby sighed. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

      “Bring it back with us. Stick it in a vase.”

      He sounded so sure of himself that it actually sounded like a logical plan, as if that was what anyone would do with a bouquet after a secret wedding—stick it in the center of the kitchen table. But why not?

      “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll do that.”