Cowboy Seal Daddy

“But, Mom—”

“Not another word. You and Paisley are getting married here and that’s final. Pastor Jim will perform the ceremony, and I’ll trust you to have the license and ring.”

Before he could tell her no, she hung up. Great.

What was he going to tell Paisley? Damn Logan and Monica. This was all their fault.

Not entirely.

His father’s disease was the true culprit.

Was his mother so overwrought with the realization of losing her husband that she wasn’t thinking straight? While tending to his medical needs, there was no way she could handle one wedding, let alone two. What if the added stress made her sick?

On the flip side, his dad had never sounded better. His normally pitiful tone boomed with what Wayne could only guess was anticipation.

But how was he supposed to pull off a fake marriage with a real pastor and marriage license? Suddenly, for a man who’d spent his entire adult life training for impossible missions, Wayne found himself in the untenable situation of being in way over his head.

* * *

“IT WAS SO SWEET.” Monica practically floated to unlock the shop door. “Logan thought of everything. He hired a mariachi band and had the lead singer present my ring. My Instagram followers went wild.”

“You hate mariachi bands,” Paisley said on her way into her office. Since learning of her best friend’s sudden engagement, she’d been downing gummy bears by the fistfuls, and needed the emergency stash she had hidden in her desk’s bottom right drawer.

“This one was different. Incredibly special. Eek! Can you believe I’m getting married?”

“Not really.” Bears in hand, Paisley rejoined Monica in the shop’s showroom. “Just yesterday, you despised Logan. What changed?” And why couldn’t Paisley shake the deep sadness stemming from the fear that she’d never sport an engagement ring. She didn’t even have a fake one.

Her cell rang. Since it was her mom, she hit Decline.

Monica cocked her head and frowned.

Paisley wished for a decline button for her friend’s disapproval.

“Anyway,” Monica said, “I could never hate Logan. But I won’t lie that he hurt my feelings when Daddy asked his intentions toward me and Logan broke up. When he explained that he’d been scared, I totally understood. And now...” She collapsed onto her desk chair with a happy sigh. “We’re getting married!”

“You already told me. Like fourteen times.”

“Sorry. I’m really excited. Oh—and here’s the best part. I guess Logan is close with Wayne’s family and we’re going with you and Wayne over Easter. I’ve always thought one of those barn weddings would be adorable. Anyway, Logan worked it out with Wayne’s mom—promised her she wouldn’t have to lift a finger aside from eating cake and drinking champagne. Of course, you’ll be my maid of honor and Wayne will be Logan’s best man. It’s going to be perfect. I already hired a wedding planner, and he’ll handle every detail superfast. All we have to do is show up.”

Paisley knew she should be thrilled for her friend. And she wanted to be. Really. But beyond the insanity of this one-eighty regarding Monica and Logan’s crazy relationship, what about Wayne’s father?

Paisley cleared her throat. “Is Wayne’s dad healthy enough for a big wedding?”

“I guess? Logan asked Wayne’s mom and she said that aside from the arthritis in his knees, he’s feeling fine. Of course, I asked Logan not to specifically bring up the cancer. She must be out of her mind with worry. Who knows? Maybe the joy of Easter combined with our ceremony and the news that she and Peter are going to be grandparents will send Peter straight into remission?”

Paisley sat down hard on one of Monica’s acrylic desk chairs. “You’re going to send me into early labor. Wayne and I planned to surprise his parents with our news.”

“Oops. Sorry. Want me to call her back? I could ask her to act surprised?”

“Stop.” Paisley pressed her fingers to her forehead. Just when she thought her life couldn’t get worse, it nose-dived to a whole new level of disaster.

* * *

AFTER AN ENDLESS day of statuary shopping and paint selection for Mickey and Rick Levy’s formal entry hall remodel, Paisley drove home. Exhaustion didn’t come close to describing her level of tired. Her feet throbbed. Her lower back ached, and her boobs had mysteriously swollen to twice the normal size.

She’d just dumped split pea soup in a pan to boil, then headed to her room to change into sweatpants and a roomy T-shirt when a knock sounded on her door. Wayne? Part of her hoped it was him, but another part just wanted to be left alone. In the face of Monica and Logan’s true commitment, Paisley’s sham marriage felt icky and wrong.

A look through the peephole showed Wayne standing outside.

The baby kicked. Was that a good or bad sign?

Rubbing her belly with one hand, she opened the door with her other. “Are you as sick of hashtag #Mogan as I am?”

Wayne groaned. “As part of my best man duties, Logan made me put on a T-shirt that read SEALing the Deal! #Mogan.”

“Eew. I have no doubt I’d have been in the same boat, only Monica couldn’t find a T-shirt big enough to fit over my belly.”

He laughed, then drew her into a welcome hug. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny. For the record, I think your bump is cute.”

“Thanks?” It should be criminal for a man to smell so good. Hints of sweat, sun and Irish Spring wrapped her in the cozy bliss of Wayne’s strong arms. If she were smart, she’d resist, pushing against him until reaching a safe distance that allowed her to think. This close, her only coherent thought was that she could stay like this forever. Which totally wasn’t happening, so she ushered him inside and shut the door before checking on her soup. “I should be scolding you popping in again unannounced, but we have bigger issues. What are you thinking for damage control? I guess the happy couple already told your mom we’re getting married and expecting.”

“Well...” He sighed, helping himself to her fridge. “You’ve gotta get more food.”

“I’d love to—assuming the baby follows this trend of actually allowing me to eat.”

“Right.” He shut the fridge door.

“Want some of my soup?”

He blanched.

“Okay, spill it,” Paisley said.

“Your soup?”

Hands on her hips, she frowned. “Really? Spill the reason why your complexion looks grayer than mine.”

He sighed. “You’re not going to like it. I don’t like it. Honestly? We should bail.”

“Is this about #Mogan?” She poured her soup into a mug, then joined him at her kitchen table that was a repurposed wrought iron patio set she’d painted white. Her protruding belly wouldn’t allow her anywhere near the table’s surface, so she cradled her mug and leaned back in her chair.

“Look, I don’t know any way to say this other than blurting it. My mom called and is expecting us to get married along with the happy couple. She’s arranged for our family pastor to perform the service and told me to show up with you and our license. She’s expecting a real marriage, but we—”

“Are just neighbors! What do you mean we’re getting married? Like she’s expecting a real wedding in front of God and everyone we know? It’s official, you’ve gone off the deep end. I don’t even have a dress.”

“We’ll find one.”

She rolled her eyes.