Husband for a Weekend

“Yeah. My brother and I share our mother’s luck with romance, apparently.”

She climbed out of the car without giving Tate a chance to ask any further questions. So far when she’d told him these stories about her family’s past, he’d merely listened intently, then kept whatever reactions he’d had to himself. Perhaps he was too bemused to think of anything to say, since her background was so vastly different from what she’d heard of his and Lynette’s.

She knew he would never look at her quite the same way after this escapade. She just hoped that when this weekend was over, they could at least still be comfortable as once-a-week lunch buddies.

Before she could even unbuckle Daryn from the car seat, the front door to the house opened and her mother rushed out to greet them. “Kimmie! Trey! I’m so glad you’re here. Where’s that grandchild of mine?”

Tate had time only to give Kim a look of startled amusement before Betsy descended on him. Her mother, Kim noted, had needed no rehearsal. No one watching would ever suspect that Betsy had never even met the man she was hugging so warmly.

Betsy gave Tate a smacking kiss on the cheek before drawing back to gaze up at him. “How was the drive?”

“Very nice, thank you. Um—have I met your husband?” Tate asked in a quiet voice meant only for Betsy’s ears. Kim barely heard him, herself, as she approached them with Daryn in her arms.

“Not just yet, dear.” Betsy smiled blandly as she replied. “Don’t you remember, I came alone to visit you and Kim after Daryn was born?”

“Of course.” Tate grinned, clearly charmed. “How could I have forgotten that?”

Betsy beamed. Kim noted that her mom had adopted her newest role with the same attention to detail as all the parts she’d played before. She looked every inch the middle-class homemaker with her blond-highlighted hair, red-plastic-framed glasses, yellow-print cotton top and ivory cropped pants. She barely resembled the woman who’d worn braids and tie-dye during her bohemian phase, or designer-labeled suits and heels to country club luncheons, or denim and gingham and boots on the ranch.

Betsy patted Tate’s arm with a pink-manicured hand. “Funny and handsome. As I’ve said many times before, my daughter is so fortunate to be married to you.”

Tate laughed softly.

Betsy turned to plant an air kiss near Kim’s cheek. “Hello, darling. You look wonderful—though I did like your hair better a bit shorter. And look at my little Daryn. She’s growing so fast! You’ll want to be careful not to feed her too much, dear. Chubby babies grow into chubby adults, you know.”

Reminding herself that quarreling with her mother was like arguing with a cat, Kim responded mildly, “Daryn falls right into the middle of the recommended size charts for her age, Mom. She’s perfectly healthy.”

It didn’t surprise Kim that Betsy made no attempt to hold the wide-eyed baby, just kissed her soft cheek, then stepped quickly back. “Oh, I just love your wedding rings,” she said in approval. “Yours looks a bit tight on your hand, Kim. As though maybe you’ve gained a little weight since your wedding day.”

Kim had been all too aware of the unfamiliar ring on her finger during the drive here. She didn’t really need her mother pointing out the flaws with it, especially since Kim was wearing it to satisfy her in the first place.

Betsy moved toward the house without waiting for a response. “Come inside. Everyone’s eager to meet you, Trey.”

“His name is Tate, Mom. He really prefers that.”

“Tate Price,” he murmured.

Betsy winked at him and linked her arm through his. “Of course.”

Tate grinned over his shoulder at Kim when Betsy tugged him toward the house. “I’ll come back later for the bags, honey,” he said, his eyes gleaming a little too brightly.

Kim gave him a saccharine sweet smile in return. “That will be just fine, sweetie.”

Feeling as though she were caught in a current she couldn’t quite escape—a familiar sensation when her mother was around—Kim fell into step resignedly behind her mother and her “husband.”

Chapter Three

As much as he disapproved what he’d heard of Betsy’s maternal behavior—or lack of it—Tate couldn’t help but be amused by her. Was she really as oblivious to reality as she acted? She was either one of the most natural actors he’d ever encountered, or she was a little delusional. Maybe both.

A seemingly compulsive flirt, she held his hand and twinkled up at him as she towed him into her house, leaving Kim to follow behind with the baby. He looked rather helplessly over his shoulder at her, but Kim merely wrinkled her nose and shrugged as if to remind him that she’d tried to warn him.

“Everyone, look who’s here! Come say hello to Kim and Tate and precious little Daryn,” Betsy called out as they entered the crisply air-conditioned interior of her home.

Tate wasn’t one to pay much attention to interior decor, but he got an impression of tidy, rather generic furnishings and framed prints in a neutral color scheme with touches of gold and green. And flowers. Lots of flowers, cheerily arranged in glass and ceramic vases displayed on nearly every surface. He might not know a lot about furniture, but he could name every bloom on display.

A young man with limp brown hair and a vaguely disgruntled frown looked up from the tablet computer he’d been fiddling with on the living room couch. “Tate? I thought you said his name was Trey.”

“It’s Tate the Third, obviously,” Betsy replied without a pause. “He’s decided he prefers Tate. Stand up and greet your sister and brother-in-law, Stuart. Where are Bob and Julian?”

“Bob wanted to show Julian something under the hood of his car,” Stuart replied vaguely, remaining seated. “Hey, Kim.”

She greeted him politely, and only a little more warmly. “Hi, Stuart. How’s it going?”

“It’s all good. Nice to meet you, Tate,” he muttered in response to his mother’s meaningfully cleared throat.

“Good to meet you, too, Stuart.” Tate had forgotten to ask Kim if her stepfather and her brothers had been told the truth about her marital status; judging by Betsy’s words to her younger son, Stuart, at least, was still in the dark.

The teen nodded, then redirected his attention to his computer.

Betsy sighed in exasperation, and turned to Tate with a little moue of apology. “Stuart’s not much of a talker, I’m afraid. But I’m sure he’s delighted to welcome you to the family.”

Tate shared a baffled look with Kim. “Um. Okay.”

Sounds from the doorway announced the arrival of the final two members of the family. Tate summed up the newcomers in a sweeping glance. Bob Shaw was a meek-looking man in his late forties with thinning, sandy hair, a ruddy face, a potbelly and a warm smile. Julian was of medium height and weight, somewhere in his mid-twenties, dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans.

Of Betsy’s three offspring, Julian Cavanaugh bore the strongest resemblance to their mother. Dark blond hair spilled over his forehead, dipping into eyes the same clear blue as Betsy’s. Kim and Stuart must have inherited their brown eyes from their fathers. Tate couldn’t say whether Julian’s smile, as well as his coloring, resembled his mother’s. The way the guy was scowling now, it was hard to picture him smiling at all.

Betsy slipped a hand beneath her husband’s elbow. “We’re all here now. Isn’t this lovely? Bob, Julian, this is Kimmie’s husband, Tate Price the Third. And look how much our little Daryn has grown since the last photographs I showed you. Isn’t she adorable?”

Bob kissed Kim’s cheek, tickled Daryn, then stuck out a hand to Tate. “It’s nice to finally meet you—Trey, is it?”

“Tate,” he corrected. “I’ve decided I prefer to be called that.”

Betsy giggled softly in response to his quote of her, and he winked at her.

Bob nodded knowingly. “Thanks for coming with Kim to the reunion, Tate. It means a lot to Betsy.”

Apparently, Bob was in on the secret. “My pleasure.”

Julian eyed Tate with open suspicion. “Took you long enough to get around to meeting us. This is the first time Kim’s been home since you got married.”

So Betsy had lied to both of her sons. As amused as he was by the woman, Tate could understand why Kim had wanted to put some space between herself and her wacky mom. It had to be both frustrating and exhausting to try to keep up with Betsy’s whims and schemes.

Kim didn’t make it necessary for Tate to come up with a response to Julian’s accusation. “That’s not Tate’s fault. I’ve been very busy. Between my work and the baby, I’ve had very little free time. This long weekend is the closest I’ve come to a vacation since the last time I saw you.”

“That was at the reception for Mom and Bob,” Stuart mumbled without looking up from his computer. “It was the day after my fifteenth birthday. We were going to have a cake for me at the reception but no one remembered to order one.”

He didn’t sound particularly resentful, Tate decided. More matter-of-fact, as though he were accustomed to being overlooked. Tate wondered if Stuart, too, would separate himself from his family as soon as he felt comfortable being on his own. It sounded as though Julian came around somewhat more often than Kim now that he’d gotten out of the service, but from what he’d observed thus far, Tate certainly didn’t fault Kim for her different choice.