Hitched For The Holidays: Hitched For The Holidays / A Groom In Her Stocking

This was more than Eric wanted to know about the old college buddy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Mindy. She was wearing blue denim overalls, loose the way farmers in Iowa wore them, but hers barely came to mid-thigh. She probably didn’t know how sexy they were, which was a big part of their appeal. With only a little white camisole showing under them, the effect was pretty spectacular. He was too busy imagining how it would feel to run his hands under the loose denim and down her sides to her panties—if she was wearing any.

She must be. She was that kind of girl, and he deserved a swift kick for confusing what he felt—or didn’t feel—for Mindy with real sexual attraction.

From outside a horn beeped.

“Oh, there’s Jack,” Wayne said. “I’ve got a spare key, Mindy. You two have a good time.”

He went down the flagstones, swinging on his crutches like a kid let out of school and got into a dark green sports utility van big enough to haul a baseball team.

“Nice your father has a friend here,” Eric said, thrusting the flowers in her direction again after she closed the door. “These are for you.”

“Thank you.” She’d probably accept a summons with the same degree of enthusiasm.

“I don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“No, but…”

“I have spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, garlic bread ready to heat, salad already tossed and lemon bars in the fridge.”

“All that for me?”

He gave her a crooked little smile hoping to break through her anger, although he didn’t know why he cared.

“No, for my scheming, conniving father who never even hinted he was going off on his own tonight until a few minutes before you got here.”

Thanks, Wayne, he thought sourly. Ignite a brush-fire and let me get burned stamping it out. The guy was looking worse all the time as a prospective father-in-law.

“By then I didn’t see much point in trying to reach you, especially since I don’t have your cell phone number. If you’d been late as usual, Dad would have been gone.”

“I’m not usually late.”

Now he was mad, too. Maybe it would be best to leave.

“He’s staying until Christmas!”

He heard the distress in her voice and forgot his own petty annoyance.

“What?”

“You heard me.” She finally took the flowers out of his still outstretched hand, but made no move to do anything with them.

“Now what do we do?” he asked.

“I have to tell him the truth. It was bad enough deceiving him when he was halfway across the country and too busy to poll everyone he’s ever known for potential husbands. I can’t keep it up another…”

She used her fingers to calculate.

“Another five and a half weeks, longer if he doesn’t leave right after Christmas.”

“He won’t be happy when he hears it.” In the short time he’d known Wayne Ryder, even he could be sure of that.

“No.”

She stared at the bouquet in her hand as though just noticing it.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome, but maybe it would be better if I leave now.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t want to go, but didn’t know why, even though the situation was definitely getting complicated.

“Stay. Please. Dinner’s nearly ready. All I have to do is cook the pasta.”

“If you’re sure…”

He tried to conceal his relief at not being sent on his way. Later he’d try to understand it.

“Anyway, you haven’t told me what I need to be doing for your mother’s fund-raiser committee.”

“So far I’m supposed to pick up donations the merchants have promised. Prizes, food. Mostly last-minute stuff. But if you’re going to tell your father about us, you don’t have to help.”

“Let’s talk about it later.” She managed a weak smile. “Sorry we can’t eat outside. I had to bring the patio table into the living room to use as a computer table. I’m doing my work after he goes to bed. I’ll get the noodles started now.”

“Can I help?”

“You can set the table. Plates and stuff are in the dishwasher. I haven’t had time to unload it.”

He took two heavy white stoneware plates with green bands from the dishwasher and arranged them on opposite sides of a small kitchen table. Trying to keep his mind on his task, he arranged flatware on either side of each plate and folded yellow paper napkins from a basket on the counter.

Without looking at her, he was fully aware of everything she did. He could track her by scent alone, a delicate floral fragrance that somehow permeated the garlicky smells in the kitchen.

She walked over and inspected the table, making it impossible not to notice her eyebrows. They were thin but angled in an impish way, well worth the time her father claimed was spent on them.

“We could renegotiate our deal after dinner,” he suggested cautiously.

“No, don’t even think about keeping up this charade. I don’t want you to keep pretending because you feel sorry for me. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll get myself out.”

“Without hurting your father?”

“Low blow.”

She was gorgeous when her brows arched and her lips formed a pouty little scowl.

Face it, he thought with irritation, she was gorgeous all the time. He’d noticed that the first time she walked into his office with Peaches.

“None of my business,” he mumbled by way of apology. “Remember the first time you brought Peaches for a checkup? You gave me a hard time about stepping onto the scale with her. I still remember what you weigh.”