Cowboy Seal Daddy

“How do you consider something as sweet as a mother wanting her daughter’s father to see their child sing to be drama?”

“I was teasing. Logan says the CO’s wife gets bent out of shape if he’s so much as a minute late—kinda like how he goes off on us.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Where were her stupid sandals?

“Why are you so testy?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You fake proposed to me, the clock’s ticking on us becoming a convincing couple by Easter weekend, yet I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Sorry. Work’s been hell on a stick.” He fished her sandal out from under the kitchen table, then asked, “I am curious, though. What kinds of plans have you dreamed up?”

“After all this bickering, I’m no longer in the mood to tell you. Besides...” she rubbed her burning chest “...now I have wicked indigestion.”

He landed her sandal on the coffee table. “What can I do to help? Need medicine?”

“I wish, but I’m doing an all-natural pregnancy.” She rubbed her throat, too, then winced. “It’s really bad.”

“There has to be something you can do?”

She nodded before dropping to the sofa. “But it would take too much effort.”

“Name it. Whatever it is, I’ll get it done.”

“Thanks—if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, I need a tablespoon of honey dissolved into a cup of warm milk.”

“Those exact measurements?” As if she’d sent him on a life-or-death mission, he was already halfway to the kitchen.

“Close is fine.”

“Got it.”

While he banged pots, Paisley warred with her conscience. She had to admit, having Wayne around more often wouldn’t be a terrible thing. On the flip side, as a soon-to-be single mom, she needed to learn to be independent. Leaning on Wayne, only to lose him when he no longer needed her, would do her or her baby no good.

Eyes closed, she willed her heart rate to slow.

What was wrong with her?

Being around Wayne had never caused this sort of indescribable, system-wide panic. They were friends. Why was she now concerned if he was judging her for not having done the dishes or wiped down her stove? Did rough-and-tough guys like him even look at stuff like that? Cerebral Dr. Dirtbag had, but his opinion no longer mattered.

“Almost done,” Wayne called out.

“Thanks.”

A few minutes longer than it had taken her to nibble what little remained of her fingernails, he handed her a steaming mug. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, resulting in still more confusion. Butterflies flapped up a storm in her tummy. That was new. “Careful. It’s hot.”

“Bless you.” The soothing liquid proved perfect. After a few sips, she could have purred with relief.

“Well?” Instead of resuming his seat opposite her, he perched beside her on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

She worried her lower lip. “I’m one hundred percent ready to help, but I do have reservations.”

“Shoot.”

Did he have to sit close enough for his radiant heat to warm her chilly toes? It was distracting her from sharing concerns—of which there were plenty!

“Okay...” She licked her lips. “First, I think we should let your mom in on our secret.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her dearly, but she’s incapable of keeping a secret. For Dad to genuinely believe I’m going to be a father, I’m sorry, but Mom also should believe. We’ll break the news to her after Dad passes.”

“What if I have the baby before then?”

“I’ll consider myself blessed.” He sighed. Scratched his forehead. “There’s no delicate way to say this, so I’ll blurt it out. Dad is dying. He may have a couple months, but according to his doctors, we’re only looking at weeks.”

Paisley caught herself holding her breath. “That’s so sad.”

“Agreed. And look, I know this whole idea is FUBAR, but—”

Nose wrinkled, she asked, “What’s that?”

“Military slang that shouldn’t be used in the presence of ladies. Basically, it just means our pretending to be married is about as screwed up as anything we could ever do, but for the sake of my dad, we’re only talking about maintaining this act for sixty days—ninety tops. When are you due?”

“Eighty-eight days.” She hugged her baby bump. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if your father should pass before then, I think news of this charade would be easier on your mom. If I have my baby and she grows attached to him, believing he’s her grandson, that could hurt her more.”

“True. It’s a potential minefield all the way around. But I’m looking at risk versus reward. I can’t stomach the thought of Dad passing with regrets.”

“Have you ever thought to consider that this news might be so agreeable to your father that it actually helps him recover? Miracles might be rare with his kind of disease, but I’m sure they do happen. What are we going to do if he’s so thrilled with our sham marriage that he goes into remission?”

Eyebrows furrowed, Wayne asked, “I fail to see how this is a problem? That would be awesome.”

“Not if the whole reason for his recovery is an eight-pound bundle of joy who isn’t his grandson.”

“Oh.” His shoulders sagged. “I see what you mean. But hey—that’s a long shot. I promise, if something like that happens, I’ll take the heat. You won’t even have to be there when I come clean.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay...”

“Does that mean you’ll still do it?”

“I already said I would.” Monica would lecture her till the end of time about the recklessness and irresponsibility of this plan, but since when had her fun-loving business partner and best friend become the morality police?

“You’re awesome.” Wayne stood, only to then kneel beside her, squeezing her in an awkward, but not entirely awful, hug. “You won’t regret this. I’ll map out the whole thing. Oh—and we’ll need wedding pics.”