Cowboy Seal Daddy

“Worse than Logan and Monica pretending they’re not insanely hot for each other?”

She laughed. “This is stupid, but you hurt my feelings.”

“What did I do?” He killed the engine, removed the keys, then turned to face her.

She worried her lower lip. “More what you didn’t do. But now that I’ve had time to reflect, I’m making a big deal out of nothing and you’re forgiven.” After opening her door, she eased out of the truck and onto her feet.

“Oh no—” He gave chase. “You’re not getting off that easy. Tell me your beef.”

“Leave it alone. Sorry I said anything.” She entered the bakery, zeroing in on a wedding cake display.

“May I help you?” a clerk asked.

“We need a simple wedding cake,” Paisley said.

“How many guests will you be expecting?”

“Just the two of us. I mainly want it for our wedding album—something special to commemorate the occasion.”

“Of course.” The clerk’s name tag read Daisy. “But an option many of our brides choose is our fake cake.”

“Perfect,” Wayne said. “I heard about them.”

Paisley’s furrowed brow read confusion. “I’m not sure about this.”

Daisy laughed, leading them to a corner display. She plucked up a seriously swanky, three-tiered cake, tossing it to Wayne. “Catch.”

He did, bracing for the impact of fifty pounds’ worth of cake and frosting. Instead, the thing must have been made of Styrofoam and couldn’t weigh over five pounds. “Impressive.”

“I know, right? We’re famous for them and ship worldwide. Our fake cakes have been featured on hundreds of feature films and TV programs. We even make simple sheet cakes for your guests to enjoy, but if you choose to buy rather than rent, your wedding cake can be the perfect keepsake of your special day.”

“Sold,” Wayne said. What could be better for a fake marriage than a fake cake? He turned to his betrothed. “Pick which one you want. Maybe it’s my affinity for all things Western, but I’m vibing on the one with all those little cacti and the cowboy hat topper.” To Daisy he asked, “Do you rent by the hour? We just need it for pics. Oh, and we’ll need one piece of real cake to smoosh in each other’s faces.”

“Perfect. We do rent by the hour, and there’s an adorable park just at the end of the street with a rose garden perfect for photos. For an additional fee, we can set the cake on a banquet table and even take professional photos. We call this our Social Media Wedding Package. It has all the panache of a spectacular wedding event for the price of dinner and a movie. We can also handle your floral needs—arrangements, bouquet and boutonnieres—the works. They’re made from the finest silks and trust me, from photos they look real enough to smell. Your friends and family will be impressed.”

“Sign us up.”

“Wayne,” Paisley said, “isn’t this all moving a little fast? Plus, I think your mom will be less disappointed to have missed our wedding if we make it a simple, courthouse ceremony. Frills will only upset her.”

“Relax. Considering we have to be married and on the family ranch with photo proof by Easter, which is in only three weeks, this is the perfect solution. And I think Mom would be more disappointed if I didn’t treat my bride to a good time. She’ll understand that because of the baby, we needed a rush job.”

Paisley’s thunderous expression said she wasn’t so sure.

Back in the truck, before he started the engine, he angled sideways to face her. “So, what’s bugging you? And don’t tell me nothing, because we shouldn’t be lying this soon into our relationship.” He winked, trying to keep things light.

“Honestly? Besides your faulty rationale in regard to your sweet mother’s potentially broken heart?” She gazed out her window rather than at him. “It may sound stupid, but I’d like more regular communication between us. You go days without so much as a text, then pop in unannounced. Even as your pretend fiancée, I’d appreciate more consideration. I don’t expect a full accounting of your every move, but regular updates would be great.”

“Noted.” Interesting. One part of him was annoyed by having to check in. Another part was flattered she cared...

Chapter Four

“What’s got you so damned smiley?” Wayne was hating every second of their 0500 six-mile beach run. A three-mile ocean swim was next on the PT agenda. Most days he didn’t mind, but ever since learning of his father’s condition, he felt as if his time would be better spent on the ranch.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Hell—I still don’t believe it.”

“Knock off the chitchat!” Their CO passed them as if they were standing still. “You losers aren’t a SEAL team, but freakin’ cheerleading squad. Move it, move it, move!”

“Such a charmer,” Logan said once their commanding officer passed them to harass the next guys in line. “But not even his hard ass could bring me down. You’re not the only one around here getting married—only mine’s the real deal.”

“Wait—what?”

“You heard me. I popped the question to Monica last night and she accepted. She wanted me to ask if you’d mind us tagging along to your family ranch. We want to get hitched over Easter. No big deal. I’m sure your dad isn’t up for a major production. But since that’s the only leave we have coming for a while and I want you to be my best man and Monica wants Paisley for her maid of honor, it makes sense.”

“No, man. Nothing about this makes sense. You hate Monica. She hates you. My dad’s dying. Like seriously, what the hell?”

“What can I say? We kissed and made up. And I couldn’t be happier. Not only is Monica obsessed with the photos I’ve shown her of your family ranch, but your dad has always been like a second father to me. Your mom, like my mom.” Tears shone in Logan’s eyes. He swiped them away. “Since my mother passed, they’ve been there for me. It would mean a lot for them to share this special day—especially, since your dad is—well, since he’s not feeling his best.”

“I appreciate all that, but I thought you had that ugly talk with her father?”

“It wasn’t so much ugly as it was a gut check. He basically asked my intentions. When I told him we were having a good time, he told me she was ready for a more serious commitment. He also told me not to even think about seeing his daughter anymore unless I was one thousand percent ready for a lifelong marriage. I got spooked and broke things off. But damned if being without her didn’t scare me more than being with her. I missed her, you know?”

“You’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”

“Is that a yes for the ranch? I showed Monica pics from the last time we were there and she couldn’t get enough of those back-porch views. Oh—and Monica told me your fake wedding is right before we leave. I’m hurt you didn’t ask me to stand up for you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Nah.” Logan flashed a smile. “Just a fool for love. By the way, I ran this past your mom and she loves the idea—although she’s crushed you and Paisley aren’t joining us for a double wedding. Monica and I both think you should reconsider.”

Hours later, Wayne was fresh out of the shower when his cell rang. Caller ID showed his mom, so he answered. “Hey. Is Dad all right?”

All he heard was her crying. The sound wrung his heart like a soaked towel.

“Mom? Is Dad having a rough day?”

“H-how could you do this to me? Y-you’re my only son! Y-you not only got that sweet neighbor of yours p-pregnant, but couldn’t bother to tell us y-you’re getting married again?”

Lord...

Think fast. “Mom, I’m sorry. I thought with everything going on with Dad—the divorce from Chelsea—it would be better to just—”

“When is it ever an appropriate time to break your mother’s heart? Logan told me you and Paisley aren’t married yet, so I worked everything out with Monica’s wedding planner and we’re having a nice double wedding. It’s happening on a whirlwind timeline, but I’m excited. This is all going to be a lot of fun. I can only imagine the cost.”

“What?” Raging heartburn had the protein bar he’d downed doing push-ups in his stomach. Like the entire world wasn’t shattering, he covered his right ear from the sound of guys laughing in the showers.

“Son?”

“Dad?” Wayne gulped. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Fine. Like new man. This news has me happier than June bug dancing in lemonade. I’m finally going to be grandpoppa!” Wayne would miss his Russian-born father’s thick accent and ridiculous analogies that rarely, if ever, made sense, but somehow still managed to convey his meaning. At least he was happy, which was fantastic.

But only if he and Paisley pulled off their charade. He could only imagine what Monica’s nickname for them would be.

#Payne?

The joining of his and Paisley’s names would be hilarious if not so tragic.

“Wayne? It’s Mom.” Swell. “The double wedding will be lovely. The thought of it is the only thing stopping me from permanently grounding you.”

“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.

“Promise, everything will be fine. Besides, as soon as Dad... Well, we both know this is only temporary.”

The fact made her beyond sad.

But it was the truth.

Another truth? The more this sham relationship forced the two of them together, the more she saw that maybe Wayne was more of a stand-up guy than she’d always thought. He was handsome and sensitive. Funny. A safe driver. Great for fishing her flip-flops out from under her sofa. But legit husband material? Nope. Not happening. Her baby boy was all the testosterone she could handle.

For his dad, for the sake of their friendship, she had to play this sham marriage through to the tragic end.

“I’ve got an idea.” She set her mug on the table.

“Lay it on me.”

“What if we faked the license? I’m sure we can grab one online, then fill it out, but not file it. For that matter, you could even grab a legit one from the courthouse.”

Eyebrows raised, he asked, “You’d be okay with lying before our friends, my family and God?”

“How upset was your mother?”

“Sobbing. I’ve never heard her like that. But she wasn’t upset about Dad—but us. She was mad at me. I honestly don’t think she has a clue how bad off he is. Which means he’s either doing a miraculous job of hiding it from her, or there’s more to the story. She wouldn’t even talk about him. It was bizarre. But then he got on the phone and sounded happier than I’ve ever heard him. He was a new man. Didn’t even sound sick.”

“Grief affects everyone differently.”

“I suppose.”

“Or, maybe you’re right and he hasn’t told her. I can’t imagine how tough it would be for him to hide something like this, but I suppose if he’s determined it could be done. We won’t know for sure until we get there and see the two of them together.”

Arching his neck, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefingers. “I’m sorry to have dragged you into this. We should probably call it off. I’ll come clean with my parents and—”

“No way. If this news made such a huge improvement in your dad’s entire demeanor, we should at least try. If he makes a full recovery and they figure out our marriage isn’t legit, we’ll deal with it then, but otherwise, for his sake, let’s roll with it.”

“You’re sure?” He held his hand out to her, only not to shake, but hold.

Her pulse quickened at his touch. Her attraction to her neighbor had Paisley unsure of her own name, let alone if this was a good or bad decision. But then he released her and she just as quickly rationalized this was a horrible decision—for her.

For Wayne’s poor, dying dad? It was the only way to go.

Paisley nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

* * *

THE FRIDAY BEFORE the Easter weekend, after a grueling run and ocean swim, Wayne brushed sand from his base locker, beyond relieved for the weekend and to get off at the highly reasonable hour of 3:00 p.m.

He’d worked it out with his CO to have a week’s leave in conjunction with the Easter holiday. Logan had done the same. The plan was to leave next Thursday, celebrate and help with wedding prep, get married on Saturday, celebrate Easter Sunday, then depart for a brief honeymoon at some nearby swanky ranch/spa that Monica’s mother highly recommended.

Wayne was exhausted just thinking about it all. He hated lying to his parents. But then he remembered the way his father had brightened at the news of the wedding and baby. It had been downright miraculous.

Logan approached, swatting Wayne’s ass with his towel.

“What the hell?” Wayne snapped. He was already on edge from the angry rock one of the younger guys was playing at full blast at the other end of the room.

“Chill, bro. I’m high on life. God, I can’t wait to be married. Monica decided we’ll be living at her place for the time being, but her folks want to buy us a house for a wedding gift. Can you believe it? Am I the luckiest guy on earth, or what?”

“I’m happy for you,” Wayne said. “If you’re sure this is what you want?”

“Of course, it is. I love her, she loves me. Done deal.”

Logan dropped his towel to pull on boxers.

Wayne returned to his locker; he’d brushed and brushed, but there always seemed to be more sand. Story of his life.

“Are you and Baby Momma getting hitched for real?”

“Don’t call her that,” Wayne said with an angry crackle to his tone. “And no. After my last go-round with marriage, I’m never doing it again. We’ll fake the license. I’ll talk with Pastor Jim at the rehearsal—explain about Dad.”

Logan whistled. “That sounds fun.”

“Screw you. It never would have gone this far if you and Monica hadn’t invited yourselves to what would have otherwise been an ordinary weekend.”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.” Logan slapped his shoulder. “You were drowning in this from the first day you popped the question to your girl.”

“She’s not my girl and you started this whole thing by suggesting I rent a wife.”

Laughing, Logan said, “I didn’t know you’d be stupid enough to actually do it.”

“Yo—how come no one else is invited to your weddings?” Lion wandered up. Big, blond and sometimes scary, Lion had been given his call sign for his tendency to roar when going into battle. Plus, his furrowed brows made him look perma-pissed.

“Agreed.” Monk was next in the complaint line. His name came from his preference to hole up with his Bible during leave as opposed to hitting bars. He kept his hair buzzed so short that no one remembered the shade other than buzz-black. “Friends don’t let friends hit an open bar alone.”

“Since when do you even drink?” Logan asked Monk.

“I drink plenty—only, since I stick with fine wines, none of you beer guzzlers ever see it.”

The room erupted in laughs.

Wayne slammed his locker door, escaping the crowd to let Logan handle the mess he’d created.

Outside in the blazing sun, he gulped fresh air.

The worst part of this whole thing was that the more he was around Paisley, the more he enjoyed her company. She was a good woman. Sweet and funny. Cute and yet still somehow sexy. She was the kind of total package that if he had been looking, he might be interested in catching. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t. He had his career to consider. His dying father. His mother.

Plus, he’d already tried marriage once and it was a complete failure.

In his truck, he didn’t just drive to his apartment complex, but to Paisley. For some odd reason, he craved being with her. Getting to know her. He wasn’t typically a touchy-feely guy, but for once, considering what he was going through with his dad, he’d go with it.

With her.

Chapter Five

“Wayne.” Paisley stood at the partially open door wearing a voluminous pink sundress. With her hair in pigtails, she probably looked twelve—not counting her baby bump. “You’re the last person I expected to see. What happened to you calling first before popping in?”

“What kind of welcome is that for your fiancé?”

“Ha-ha. Look, it’s really not—”

He brushed past her to pace her living room. He was so large that his constant motion cramped the already tight space. “I was thinking...”

“Yes?” She closed the door, then collapsed onto the sofa.

“It occurred to me...”

That you should call before barging in on a woman who is wearing her fave grunge wear?

“You and I are pretending to be engaged. We leave next week for our wedding, yet have never been on a date. Wanna go?”

“Now?” She fingered her dress that was more of a nightgown. “I’m not exactly...”

“You look adorable. Let’s go.” He took her hands, tugging her from the sofa. “There are a couple of things you need to go along with that perfect wedding gown we’ve still got to find you.”