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About the Author

GINA WILKINS is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than seventy novels for Mills & Boon®. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three “extraordinary” children.

A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Ms Wilkins sold her first book to Mills & Boon in 1987 and has been writing full-time since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of a Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of RT Book Reviews.

Husband for a Weekend

Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

“You don’t think I could make it work?” Tate Price asked his friend and business partner, Evan Daugherty.

Evan shook his head, his mouth quirking into a faint smile. “No. For an hour or so, maybe. But not for an entire weekend.”

“Want to make a bet on that?”

Kim Banks shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Um, guys?”

The two men in the party of five at the restaurant table ignored her, even though she was the one who had unwittingly initiated this good-natured confrontation.

“I’ll take that bet,” Evan said, his gaze locked with Tate’s smiling amber eyes. “Say, a hundred bucks?”

Tate’s firm chin lifted in response to the provocation. “You’re on.”

“Seriously, guys. We’re not doing this. My mother will just have to be disappointed in me—again.”

Kim might as well not have spoken at all, for the reaction she received from her regular Wednesday lunch mates.

“I tend to agree with Evan.” Kim’s coworker Emma Grainger absently speared bamboo chopsticks into the noodles on her plate as she focused on the conversation. “I’m not at all sure this scheme would work.”

Before Tate could reply his sister, Lynette Price, another coworker of Kim’s, jumped in. “Tate could definitely do it. He’s, like, the king of practical jokes.”

Emma tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and shook her head. “Married people give off a certain—well, vibe. Tate and Kim just don’t have it.”

“Because they haven’t tried for us,” Lynette countered logically.

Growing increasingly uncomfortable with this line of talk, and hardly able to even look at Tate now, Kim cleared her throat. Maybe she should not have told her friends about the bizarre appeal her eccentric, five-times-married mother had made during an out-of-the-blue phone call last night. It turned out that, unbeknownst to Kim, her mother had been lying for more than a year that Kim was happily married to the father of her nine-month-old daughter. Now her nutty mom had asked Kim to bring the baby—as well as someone pretending to be Kim’s husband—to an upcoming family reunion.

Kim had learned years earlier to shrug off Betsy Dyess Banks Cavenaugh O’Hara Vanlandingham Shaw’s antics, because she would drive herself as crazy as her mom if she took it all too seriously. Humor and avoidance had become her two weapons of choice against her mother’s periodic campaigns to draw Kim back into the chaos from which she had escaped nine years earlier, as soon as she had turned eighteen and graduated high school. Though Kim had assured her amused friends that she had no intention of complying with this latest wacky request, somehow the conversation had wound around to whether anyone—specifically Tate—could hoodwink Kim’s extended, estranged family into believing he’d been married to Kim for some eighteen months.

She shot a quick look at Tate then. Despite the incredible twist their conversation had taken, he lounged comfortably in his seat, looking as fit and undeniably hot as ever. Seeing her looking at him, he winked, and she dropped her gaze quickly to her plate, feeling her cheeks warm. For the past five months, Kim had been trying to hide her attraction to Tate from her friends, and she thought she’d done so successfully. She’d tried just as hard to deny it to herself, but that had been a much more futile effort.

“Tate would also have to convince them he’s her kid’s dad,” Evan pointed out. “So not only would he have to pretend to be in love with Kim, he’d have to look comfortable with her kid. Having the kid shriek every time he picks her up would hardly help his case.”

“Her name is Daryn,” Kim muttered. “And I—”

“That wouldn’t be an issue,” Tate said with a chuckle. “I just wouldn’t pick her up. Kim could be the hovering mom who doesn’t give anyone else a chance to take the baby.”

“And it’s not like Daryn is old enough to talk, so she wouldn’t be a problem,” Lynette agreed.

Emma propped an elbow on the table as she looked at the men with a contemplative frown. “This still doesn’t sound like a very good bet for you, Evan. Why would anyone openly challenge Kim about whether she and Tate were really married? You’d need a more definitive sign to prove Tate was able to convince Kim’s family that he’s her loving husband.”

Evan looked intrigued. “Like what?”

“Grandma’s ring,” Lynette chimed in eagerly.

Kim choked. “Oh, now that’s going too far.”

She had confided in her friends that her long-widowed maternal grandmother was disgusted with her children’s and grandchildren’s dismissive attitudes toward their marriage vows, resulting in an appalling number of divorces among them. Grandma Dyess had informed everyone that the first of her grandchildren who entered into a union that Grandma herself believed would last would receive her diamond engagement ring. So far Grandma had refused to endorse any of her grandchildren’s choices, and rightly so, since only one of the seven was currently married and Kim had heard that union was a shaky one. Still …

Lynette waved a hand dismissively in response to Kim’s protest. “I didn’t say you should take the ring under false pretenses. Obviously, that would be wrong. But if you and Tate could convince Grandma to offer it to you, that would mean he’d won the bet.”

“And that’s not wrong at all,” Kim murmured sarcastically.

Lynette just beamed at her, visibly pleased with herself for coming up with such a perfect solution.

“That would definitely work,” Emma agreed. “If Grandma offers the ring, it would be clear that Tate pulled off the charade.”

“That would be the ultimate proof,” Evan conceded. “But I still say if anyone—grandmother or other relative—expresses doubt, the bet would be lost.”

“Well, since you won’t be there, how would you know if anyone expressed doubt?” Emma asked. “Tate wouldn’t have to tell you if they did.”

Both Lynette and Evan looked offended by Emma’s naive question.

“Tate wouldn’t lie to me to win a bet,” Evan disputed loyally.

“He’d only lie to my entire family,” Kim said with a shake of her head, both exasperated and reluctantly amused by this insane conversation.

“Well, yeah,” Lynette agreed matter-of-factly. “That’s the challenge, right?”

Setting down her chopsticks, Kim looked from one of her friends to the other with a frown of disbelief, her gaze sliding rather quickly past Tate. “Are you guys really serious? You’re actually suggesting Tate should accompany me to my family reunion in Missouri and pretend to be my husband? My daughter’s father?”

“You said you wouldn’t mind seeing your ailing grandmother one more time,” Lynette reminded her. “And that your mother would never forgive you if you exposed her as a liar to her entire family. Seems like the perfect solution.”

“The perfect solution is for me to skip the reunion altogether, which is what I told my mother I plan to do. Just as I’ve missed the past three Dyess family reunions.”

“Lynette’s right, this would give you a chance to see your grandmother without permanently alienating your mother. And if he can make it work, Tate’s a hundred bucks ahead,” Evan agreed with an uncharacteristically mischievous laugh.

Tate shrugged, his smile easy, his eyes inscrutable as he looked across the table at Kim. “No one’s given you any say in all this.”

“It’s about time someone acknowledged that.”

He chuckled. “It’s a crazy idea, of course. Would probably get awkward as all get-out. But if you want to give it a shot, I’m in.”

She blinked. “You would really do this?”

“Sure. I could use the extra hundred bucks,” he added with a quick grin toward Evan.

Kim wasn’t fooled that the money had anything to do with his offer, but she was not quite certain how to read the expression in Tate’s amber-brown eyes. She’d had lunch with him almost every Wednesday for the past five months, but there were still times she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Kim, Lynette and Emma had started the Wednesday lunch outing six months ago as a little break from their usual, frugal practice of brown-bagging. A month later, Lynette had impulsively invited her brother to join them when he’d mentioned that he would be in the area. He had brought his business partner, Evan, and somehow Chinese Wednesday had evolved into a weekly ritual after that. Occasionally other people came along, and sometimes one or more of the core group had other obligations, but most Wednesdays found the five of them gathered around a table in this popular Little Rock, Arkansas, restaurant. They ate, chatted casually about a variety of topics—usually work-related—then Kim, Lynette and Emma returned to the medical rehabilitation center where they all worked as therapists and Tate and Evan left to check on their ongoing landscape projects.

Kim always looked forward to these get-togethers. She told herself she needed the break from work and deserved the weekly splurge. The conversation was always lively and sprinkled with lots of laughter, a nice midweek pick-me-up. During the almost seven months since she’d started working with them, Lynette and Emma had become her friends, and she considered Tate and Evan friends, as well. They all carefully avoided any intra-group drama, which meant no real flirting between any of them. It was nice to just be pals without complications.

Which didn’t mean she was unaware of exactly how attractive Tate and Evan were. She had no intention of getting involved with either of them, but she was far from oblivious to their appeal. Especially Tate, she had to admit, if only privately. If she were looking for someone with whom to have a toe-curling fling—which, as a hardworking single mother, she had neither the time nor the inclination for—brown-haired, tanned and fit Tate Price would most definitely qualify as a candidate. Evan was a great-looking guy, too, with his thick, near-black hair and gleaming, solemn dark eyes, but there had always been something special about Tate….

Not that she would want to hook up with the brother of a good friend anyway, she always assured herself hastily. Way too much potential for awkwardness involved there. And Tate had stated on more than one occasion that he had no interest in any commitment until he and Evan were comfortable that their fledgling landscape design business was established and successful. His business was just about the only thing Tate took seriously.

Lynette bounced a little in her seat, all but clapping her hands in excitement. “You should do it, Kim. It’s not like anyone would be hurt by the game. And in a way, it would serve your mother right if she has to scramble to keep up the ruse she started.”

Lynette thought of this as a game? Having Tate pretend to be a husband and father?

“It would be kind of funny,” Emma murmured, her almond-shaped dark eyes crinkling with a smile as she looked from Kim to Tate and back again. “I would love to see you towing Tate around like a bossy wife.”

Tate eyed Kim in teasing appraisal. “You think she’d be a bossy wife?”

Emma giggled. “No, I just think it would be funny if she acted like one toward you.”

“I have no interest in being any kind of wife,” Kim reminded them, aware that embarrassment made her sound more cross than she intended. “Daryn and I get along quite nicely by ourselves.”

Lynette’s smile faded. “I know your father and stepfathers all left you eventually, but that doesn’t mean all men abandon their families, Kim. I could name lots of couples who have been together for a long time, including my parents. You’ll meet someone someday who’ll always want to be there for you and Daryn.”

Kim shrugged, having no intention of discussing any baggage she carried from her past with her lunch companions. “You know what they say—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I’m quite content with the life I have. Now if only I could convince my mother of that.”

“She’d never understand it,” Emma said perceptively. “Not if she’s the type who always has to have a man in her life to feel complete.”

“Bingo,” Kim murmured.

“Then maybe you should just skip the reunion rather than risk a permanent falling-out with your mother,” Evan remarked. “Besides, I still believe it would be hard to fool everyone. Even for Tate.”

“Maybe Kim’s the one who doesn’t think she could make it work,” Tate said, his ego still piqued, apparently, by his partner’s doubts. “She said she didn’t want to go to the reunion and pretend to be married because she’s a terrible actor.”

“I said I’m a bad liar. It’s not necessarily the same thing as being a bad actor. And that’s not the only reason I don’t want to get involved in this.”

“Of course not.”

She frowned at him, trying to decide if he was patronizing her.

“Well?” Lynette prodded impatiently. “Are you going to at least think about doing what your mother asked? Especially if Tate’s willing to go along?”

Feeling everyone’s gaze focused on her, Kim bit her lip, warning herself not to let her friends sweep her into this impulsive plot. “I’ll think about it. But I’m still inclined to say no, even if it makes Mother mad. She’ll get over it. Probably.”

Lynette’s dimples flashed again. “You take your time deciding.”

Something told Kim that Lynette would do her best to help with the decision—and by help, she meant persuade. Studying Tate’s rather challenging smile through her lashes, Kim felt a sudden surge of nerves, wondering if she was insane for even considering this reckless scheme.

She had to admit that there’d been a time when she would have jumped at the chance to pull a practical joke of this magnitude on her annoying family—but that was before she’d grown into a responsible, serious-natured single mom, she reminded herself. Her impetuous, adventurous, wild-oats-sowing days were behind her now.

But maybe she could indulge in one last, reckless escapade before settling into a maturely circumspect future?

“Tate, why don’t you give Kim a kiss? We’ll tell you if it looks natural.” Emma made the suggestion as if it were perfectly reasonable, then looked vaguely surprised when Kim spun to gape at her. “What? You want this to work, don’t you?”

Kim wasn’t sure why Emma, Lynette and Evan had gathered at her house at noon on Friday, nine days after that fateful lunch, before she and Tate departed for the four-hour drive to Springfield, Missouri. Kim and Tate had both taken the afternoon off work for the trip, but the others had wasted their lunch break for this. Evan, apparently, was there primarily to make fun of his partner. Emma and Lynette had shown up presumably to make sure Kim didn’t back out at the last minute. Which, she admitted privately, was a definite possibility.

She had spent the past nine days changing her mind so often she now had a dull headache. Even standing outside her house preparing to start the drive, she dithered about whether she should risk any future contact with her mother and just call off this whole crazy scheme. Tate was still taking the situation as a big joke, even as he loaded his suitcase into the back of Kim’s hatchback, stuffing it among the numerous bags and miscellaneous accessories necessary for traveling with a nine-month-old.

“Kiss her?” Closing the hatchback with a snap, he turned to respond to Emma. “You mean, now?”

Always the ultraorganized, detail-oriented member of the group, Emma nodded thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t hurt to practice before you leave.”

Tate grinned. “I don’t think I need practice kissing.”

Kim would just bet he didn’t. Even the thought of kissing Tate made her toes curl.

Emma rolled her dark eyes in response to Tate’s quip, but continued seriously. “I’m assuming you haven’t kissed Kim before. If your first time is in front of her family, it could be awkward.”

Kim nearly choked. As if this weren’t already awkward enough! “Even if Tate and I really were married, I doubt we’d be kissing in front of my family. I tend to be private with that sort of thing.”

Looking up from the baby she was holding and cooing to, Lynette gave a little shrug. “Emma’s right. You two have to look comfortable together if you’re going to make this work. And frankly, Kim, you’re the one who needs the practice. You keep looking at Tate today as if you’ve never seen him before.”

While the others laughed, Kim felt her cheeks warm, and it had little to do with the stifling early-August heat. The truth was, she did feel almost as if Tate were a stranger to her today.

Prior to last week, she’d believed she knew him quite well, that he was one of her good friends—her inconvenient attraction to him notwithstanding. Now, with him preparing to accompany her to her family reunion—as her husband, no less—she wasn’t sure she knew him at all. For example, she couldn’t figure out exactly why he’d agreed to participate in this crazy charade. It certainly wasn’t because he needed the hundred dollars from his business partner.

“I still don’t understand why your mother felt the need to lie to everyone,” Evan mused, his thoughts apparently similar to hers, if for another reason. “It’s not like being a single mom is considered all that shameful these days.”

“You’d have to know my mother and her sister to understand,” Kim said with a wry shrug. “They just can’t comprehend how a woman could be happy without a man in her life. Which explains why Aunt Treva just ended her third marriage and Mom’s on her fifth. The minute one loser leaves, Mom hooks up with another one. Every time I talk to her, she reminds me that all three of her children were conceived within wedlock—even if it was by three different husbands. She said she had to tell her mother and her sister I was married or she would never be able to hold her head up in the family again.”

“Bizarre,” Emma agreed, “but still, if you’re going to convince your family that you and Tate are a settled-in couple, you’re going to have to work at it a little.”

“You know, this is really getting out of hand,” Kim said abruptly, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Let’s just forget the whole thing, okay? Thanks, Tate, but I won’t be needing you this weekend, after all.”

Emma and Lynette swapped a look as if they’d predicted this moment. Lynette shifted the wide-eyed baby on her hip. “You can’t back out now, Kim. You want to see your grandmother, remember? And you wanted her to see Daryn at least once.”

“So, I’ll go alone. I’ll tell the truth—that I never married and that Daryn’s father isn’t a part of our lives.”

“And expose your mother’s lies to everyone?” Sympathy for Kim’s plight reflected in Lynette’s green eyes. “She would never forgive you. I know you’ve had a rocky relationship with her, but are you really ready to burn all your bridges with her?”

Hearing her own concerns put into words, Kim sighed. “I don’t know. Situations like this one have made me keep my distance from her, but she is my mother …”

“Exactly.”

“So, I’ll go along with the fabrication, but I’ll tell everyone my husband had to work or something and couldn’t join me this weekend.”

“You’d never get away with it,” Evan predicted with a wry smile. “You said yourself, you’re a terrible liar.”

“How bad could it be if I accompany you?” Tate asked. “We’ll show up for the reunion, I’ll stand close to you and smile a lot, you introduce your grandmother to your daughter and then we’ll make an excuse to leave early. Your mother will owe you an enormous favor and you can hold it over her head forever to make sure she never drags you into a mess like this again.”

He made it all sound almost logical. Kim shook her head in bemusement, thinking insanity must be contagious. She didn’t know if Tate had caught it from her, who’d been infected by her mother—or if both she and Tate were being influenced by the three friends standing nearby and enjoying this spectacle. Easy enough for them, she thought with a frown.

“Tate’s bag is already in your car.” Lynette spoke as if that were the deciding factor, as if the bag couldn’t be removed quite easily. “You might as well go through with it now.”

“Apparently, she’d rather call the whole thing off than kiss Tate,” Evan commented, his eyes gleaming. “Not that I blame you for that,” he added with a half smile.

This situation seemed to have brought out a roguish side of Evan that Kim hadn’t seen much before. She’d always thought of him as the serious, disciplined partner.

“I’m thinking y’all made your bet with the wrong person,” Tate murmured, eyeing Kim with lifted eyebrows. “Kim seems to be the one who doesn’t believe she has the talent—or maybe the nerve—to go through with this. Actually, I’d be willing to make a fifty-dollar side bet that Kim’s the one who’ll blow our cover before I do.”

Even though she knew she shouldn’t let his mild taunt pique her ego, Kim still felt her hackles rise. The others watched her speculatively, and she wondered if they agreed with Tate that she was the weak link in this impromptu partnership.

She reminded herself that none of them had known her prior to her new life as a quiet-living, hardworking single mom. She’d started working at the rehab clinic after her maternity leave, and they hadn’t known her when she’d worked at another facility in a different, nearby Arkansas town, so they couldn’t be aware that this was exactly the kind of escapade she once would have thrown herself into with impish gusto. She wasn’t that person any longer—but it still irked that they so obviously doubted her.

She sighed gustily and let her youthful recklessness reassert itself—but only temporarily, she vowed. “I’ll take that bet.”

She reached out to grab Tate’s navy polo shirt and yank him toward her. Before he could finish his sputtered laugh, she pressed her mouth to his.

Chapter Two

Fireworks. Trumpets. Operatic voices bursting into song. Were there any clichés that did not spin through Kim’s mind when Tate wrapped his arms around her and responded enthusiastically to the spur-of-the-moment kiss?

She had always appreciated his lean but solid build, figuring the manual labor he did outdoors in his landscape design business built muscles and burned calories. Now she felt the strength in those tanned arms, the rock-hardness of chest and thighs.

She had always thought he had a sexy mouth with shallow indentions at the corners that could almost be called dimples. Now he demonstrated just how skillfully he used those warm, firm lips.

She wanted to believe she was the one who brought the kiss to an end, but she suspected Tate drew back first. She was too dazed to be certain. She blinked at him, wondering if she saw a similarly stunned look in his narrowed eyes before he masked any reaction behind his usual easy grin.

“Well?” he asked the others. “Did we pass?”

Lynette lifted an eyebrow as she studied Kim’s face. “Either you’re a better actor than you claimed, Kim, or Tate made that kiss work, because … wow.”

Kim’s chin lifted again in response to the implication that Tate had been in control of the kiss, regardless of whether it might just be true. Acting once more on the impulsiveness that had so often gotten her into trouble in the past, she turned to Evan. Catching the collar of his cotton shirt in both hands, she planted a kiss directly on his lips.

No fireworks this time, she noted with some dismay. No trumpets or other clichés. Evan was a good-looking, well-built guy and it was a nice kiss—but it didn’t shake her to her toenails the way kissing Tate had. Deciding she didn’t want to analyze the difference just then, she pushed Evan away and turned almost defiantly toward the others. “Any more comments about my acting abilities?”

Evan cleared his throat rather loudly. “So, maybe I should be the one to accompany you this weekend,” he said with a teasing leer, reaching for Kim again.

Emma and Lynette laughed as she dodged him, and Kim was satisfied that her unexpected move had derailed their sudden speculation about whether she was a little too attracted to Tate.

What might have been a slight frown on Tate’s face smoothed quickly into a grin. “Too late, pal. My bag’s already in the car. Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be on the road, Kim? And don’t the rest of you guys have to get back to work?”

Emma glanced at her watch. “We do, actually. Have fun, you two—and remember, we’re going to want to hear all the details.”

Lynette turned toward her brother. “Do you want to put the baby in her seat? It would be good practice for you.”

Tate held up both hands and backed off. “No. I said I’m not using Daryn to help me win this bet. You know babies scare me. If Kim needs my help with anything, she only has to ask, but Daryn isn’t a prop for me to rehearse with.”

Kim appreciated several things about Tate’s words, most especially the fact that he’d used Daryn’s name, rather than calling her “the kid,” as Evan was prone to do. She stepped forward to take her daughter from Lynette. Adorable in a red-and-white gingham-checked romper, with a red-and-white stretchy headband festooned with a white fabric daisy circling her fine, light brown hair, Daryn kicked and babbled, enjoying the attention. She gave Kim a slobbery, two-toothed grin and, as always, Kim’s heart melted. She’d made quite a few mistakes in her life, but she would never classify Daryn in that way. A surprise, yes, but never a mistake.

Kim fastened Daryn securely into her rear-facing car seat, then handed her the soft, stuffed monkey that accompanied the child everywhere. Settling in contentedly, Daryn kicked her feet and waved the toy enthusiastically to elicit jingly chimes from the bells inside. Kim was used to the sound, but she wasn’t sure how Tate would feel about listening to it for the next four-plus hours. Fortunately, Daryn tended to sleep during car rides, so the jingling would be sporadic.

“Would you like me to drive?” Tate offered, nodding toward the driver’s door of her car. “That would free you to take care of the baby.”

She deliberated only a moment before tossing him the keys. “Sure, why not? You might as well make yourself useful.”

Tate winked at Emma. “You’re right. She is a bossy wife.”

Everyone laughed, including Kim, though she felt a funny little jolt at hearing Tate refer to her as a “wife.” As she opened the front passenger door, she reminded herself that she’d better get used to it—at least for the next day or so.

“Oh, wait!” Lynette made a show of hitting herself in the head with the palm of her hand. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.”

Kim lifted her eyebrows in question. “Forgot what?”

Lynette dug into her pocket and pulled out a gold band. “I brought this for you,” she said to Kim. “You and I wear about the same size in rings, I’d think, and this fits me. Tate, did you bring yours, like I told you to?”

Tate held up his left hand, demonstrating that he was already wearing a band on the ring finger. Kim hadn’t even noticed, and it took her aback to see it there. She hadn’t thought about rings, which only proved how little prepared she was for this weekend.

“Whose ring is this?” she asked as Lynette pressed the other band into her hand.

“It was our grandmother’s. Tate’s wearing our grandfather’s ring. We inherited them when they passed away. I realized last night that you’d need rings to convince your family you’re married, so I called Tate and told him to bring his and I’d let you borrow mine.”

Swallowing hard, Kim shook her head. “I don’t want to take responsibility for your grandmother’s ring. I’m sure I have something that will work. I have a silver band somewhere, I think.”

“What can happen to it on your hand?” Lynette asked matter-of-factly. “Besides, it’s more believable with a matching set. You can return it to me when you get back. I’m going to want to hear all the details, anyway.”

“Maybe Tate should put it on for you,” Evan suggested with another wicked grin.

Wondering what had gotten into her usually serious-minded friend, Kim frowned at him and quickly shoved the ring onto her finger. It was a little tight, which was a good thing, since she didn’t want to risk having it fall off. “I’ve got it. Now, you guys had better get back to work. Tate, if we’re going through with this, let’s get on the road.”

He chuckled and opened the driver’s door. “Yes, dear.”

The others were still laughing when Kim closed herself into the car and reached for her seat belt. She couldn’t quite share their amusement.

Hands on the wheel, Tate slanted a quick, sideways glance at Kim, who sat very straight and prim in the passenger seat of her car, her face turned away from him as she gazed out the side window. The car was so small their arms almost touched over the center console, but it might as well have been a yacht for all the emotional distance between them at that moment. She hadn’t said a word since he’d driven away from her house ten minutes ago.

Was she regretting again that she’d become involved in this admittedly outlandish scheme? Probably she wondered why he’d allowed himself to be swept into the plan by his sister and friends. He’d had plenty of time to ask himself that question during the past nine days, and still hadn’t come up with an answer that was entirely satisfactory. He’d decided to stop analyzing and just go with it, a philosophy that had always served him well in the past.

Was Kim anxious about what lay ahead? He couldn’t blame her for that. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, figuring the next couple of days would be interesting and provide plenty of funny stories for his friends, but he was aware of the challenges they could encounter. He hoped she wasn’t uncomfortable being alone with him now—especially after that unexpectedly volatile kiss.

Surely she knew she could trust him not to let things get out of hand; just as he knew she wouldn’t read too much into his behavior this weekend, since she had always been adamant that she wasn’t looking for a relationship. He and Kim were friends, and he treasured that friendship. He had no intention of breaking that bond.

Okay, maybe there’d been times when he’d been tempted to carry their relationship beyond a casual acquaintance. Maybe there had been more than a few occasions when he’d looked at her laughing with her friends across the lunch table and felt a strong urge to have her all to himself. More than once, he’d considered asking her out, but he’d always dissuaded himself with the reasons that would not be a good idea. He didn’t want to ruin their comfortable friendship. He had always been wary of dating single mothers. His sister would never forgive him if he did anything even unintentionally to hurt her friend. And then there was the fact that Kim had never given him any significant sign that she wanted him to ask her out, despite an occasional moment of what he thought of as heightened awareness between them. Even now, after a kiss that had shaken him to his bone marrow, Kim was as reserved and carefully cordial with him as ever.

Maybe the kiss hadn’t been as stimulating for her as it had been for him. He’d thought he saw some of his own surprise and awareness mirrored in her eyes when she had pulled away, but then she’d turned and planted one on Evan. Which, Tate admitted privately now, had rather annoyed him. Just what purpose had that served in preparing her for the coming weekend?

A particularly enthusiastic round of tinkling and babbling came from the backseat as Daryn pumped her toy and kicked her feet. “She seems content back there,” he said, figuring talk about the baby would set Kim more at ease.

She glanced over her shoulder. “She likes riding in the car. She’ll probably fall asleep soon.”

“She sure likes that monkey.”

“Mr. Jingles,” Kim informed him with a faint laugh. “A gift from her father.”

Tate kept his eyes on the road and his tone casual. “Yeah? I thought you said he wasn’t a part of your lives.”

“Oh, he’s not. He visited me in the hospital when Daryn was born, left the monkey and a generous check, wished us both the best and walked out of our lives. Last I heard, he was living in Alaska where he’s pursuing his dream to be a bush pilot.”

It was the most he’d heard her say about her child’s father. Perhaps she was simply acknowledging Tate’s inevitable curiosity about the man whose role he was filling this weekend. Maybe she didn’t want those questions to become the elephant in the car with them, so to speak.

“You don’t sound bitter,” he commented.

She shrugged. “Chris is a nice, fun guy, but he’d make a terrible husband and father, as he is the first to admit. We were together for a while, but I never expected it to last forever. Granted, Daryn was a surprise, but both Chris and I would have been miserable if we’d tried to stay together for her sake. Especially him, since he didn’t really want a child. As for me, I consider myself blessed to have her, and I’ll always think fondly of Chris because of her.”

It didn’t sound as though she received any support now from Daryn’s father, but judging from the months Tate had known Kim that didn’t surprise him. He’d always thought of her as very independent and self-sufficient. He admired that about her. Just as he appreciated her calm, quiet demeanor that didn’t quite mask a delightfully dry sense of humor. And her ease with keeping their luncheon conversations flowing and interesting. Not to mention that she was certainly pleasant to look at with her wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair, brown eyes the color of good whiskey, a cute smattering of freckles across an impishly tilted nose and a slightly crooked smile that always made his pulse jump into overdrive when aimed in his direction.

Another happy squeal and frantic clinking came from the backseat, reminding him of the main reason why he’d never done anything about that racing pulse. As loath as he was to compare himself to Kim’s ex, Tate was in no better position to take on the massive responsibility of a child—especially now, when his long-planned business was just taking off.

“Do you mind if I turn on some music? Daryn drifts off to sleep more easily when there’s music playing. She needs her nap.”

Though he couldn’t help wondering if Kim was trying to ward off any further conversation as much as soothe her baby, Tate shook his head. “Feel free. What does she like? Heavy metal? Acid rock? Please tell me it doesn’t involve purple dinosaurs.”

Kim laughed softly. “You’re a little dated on kids’ TV, not to mention rock genres, but there are no purple dinosaurs involved. I usually tune in to a pop or country radio station, but we’re not picky.”

“I’m a country fan, myself.”

“I knew that,” she reminded him, reaching for the radio buttons.

Of course she did. Just as he knew her favorite television programs because of their weekly chats over lunch. He hoped whatever happened this weekend didn’t affect those easy conversations he’d always enjoyed so much. He supposed he hadn’t thought that far ahead beyond this impulsive outing. As hard as it would be for him to state exactly why he had agreed in the first place, he knew he had to make certain that he and Kim remained friends afterward. She meant too much to him—on a platonic basis, of course—for him to risk not having her in his life, at least on a once-a-week basis.

After a brief stop halfway into the trip for a walk break, a diaper change for Daryn and ice-cream cones for Tate and Kim, they were back on the road toward Springfield. Kim had offered to drive the rest of the way, but Tate confided he was a restless passenger and would just as soon drive, if she didn’t mind. Since she would rather ride and sightsee than negotiate the turns and traffic on the road clogged with tourists headed for Branson, Missouri, Kim was happy to agree.

Daryn fussed a little at being strapped back into her car seat so soon, but she fell asleep again within a few minutes on the road, to Kim’s relief. For the most part, Daryn was an easygoing baby who rarely cried, but she’d thrown a few memorable fits in her time. Kim was glad this wasn’t going to be one of those times.

A little more than an hour’s drive lay ahead of them when they crossed the Arkansas/Missouri state line. Kim pointed that out to Tate, telling him she would guide him to her mother’s house after they reached Springfield. She’d never been to this house, but she had been given detailed directions. Her mother had moved into a new place since Kim had last been persuaded to come for a visit.

“You know, it just occurred to me,” Tate said with a sudden frown. “What has your mother been calling me? You said she’s told everyone you’ve been married for more than a year. Did she give your imaginary husband a name?”

“She said she called him—er, you—Trey. You know, as if you were Somebody the Third. She thought that sounded impressive, I guess.”

“Hmm. That’s rather a coincidence. Actually, I am the third Tate in my family. My mom’s dad and his dad were both named Tate, though obviously there’s no ‘the third’ in my name.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you prefer answering to Tate. As to your last name, she said she never mentioned it and no one asked.”

“Rather odd, isn’t it?”

“Not in my family,” she replied with a faint sigh. “As competitive as they all are, they wouldn’t want to hear too many details about this perfect life Mom has concocted for me.”

She saw him slant a look her way, and she could only imagine the thoughts going through his head. He and Lynette came from such a normal, stable family. Tate was in for a shock when he met Kim’s relatives. It was just as well she wasn’t bringing him home as a mate, even a potential one, she told herself. He’d be running in panic before the weekend was over rather than tie himself to anyone from the dysfunctional clan he was about to meet.

She checked the directions again as Tate turned onto the street where her mother lived. “Second house on the left,” she said, checking the numbers. “Yes, this is it.”

A car and a pickup truck were parked in the driveway of the buff-brick house, so Tate pulled up to the curb. “Nice place,” he commented, studying the modestly middle-class house on the tidy street lined with similar homes. “Somewhat more … um, normal than I was expecting.”

“It is quite average-looking, isn’t it?” She eyed the cheery flowers in the beds on either side of the small front porch. “Apparently, Mom is a suburban housewife these days.”

“As opposed to …?”

“Her first husband, my father, was in the military, so she was an army wife living on base for a few years. They split when I was just two and he died in a motorcycle accident not long afterward. Her second husband, the father of my first half brother, Julian Cavenaugh, sang in a traveling bluegrass band based in Branson. We lived in a mobile home park and Mom threw pots and made macramé wall hangings to occupy herself while he was on the road. They divorced when I was eight, when the singer decided he made better music as a single act. Her third husband had a lot of money, so she was a society maven in St. Louis during that phase, when my younger half brother, Stuart O’Hara, was born. That marriage ended when I was thirteen, when Stuart’s dad was caught in a tax fraud scheme and lost everything, including my mother.”

Tate didn’t say anything, so Kim finished her convoluted history quickly while reaching for her bag. “Her fourth husband was a cattle rancher in a little town about fifty miles from Springfield. Mom embraced country life, learning to bake and knit and raise chickens. I lived there until I was eighteen and left for college. I never went back—she and Stan split up before my first semester ended. She was involved with several men after that, but didn’t marry again until three years ago. This latest one, Bob Shaw, is a tax accountant, a couple of years younger than Mom. She turned fifty earlier this year, though she wouldn’t admit it under threat of torture. I’ve only seen Bob once. He seemed nice enough, if a little bland.”

“Are you close to your brothers?”

“Not really. Stuart was just a little boy when I moved out, and I haven’t seen him all that often since. Julian entered the military the day after he graduated from high school, married soon after that and was deployed overseas for the most part until he got out of the service and moved back to Missouri a few months ago, sans the wife. Apparently, she found new companionship while he was serving in the Middle East.”

“Nice.”

“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.

If Betsy even heard Stuart’s comment, she gave no sign. Instead, she patted Bob’s arm and said, “Sweetie, why don’t you help Tate bring in their bags and show him to their room? The boys and I will catch up with Kim and Daryn until you get back.”

Tate looked at Kim with a slightly lifted eyebrow, but she nodded for him to go ahead. As he followed Bob from the room, it occurred to him that he and Kim would be sharing a room for the night. Of course her family would assume they shared a bed—besides, he doubted there would be an unfilled bedroom with the whole family here.

Bob seemed to follow the direction of his thoughts. “There are three bedrooms upstairs,” he explained, motioning toward the staircase on their way out. “Ours and Stuart’s and the guest room. Julian has an apartment not far from here, so he’ll be sleeping there tonight. Betsy said you were bringing a portable crib for the baby?”

Remembering seeing the folded crib in the large trunk, Tate nodded. Daryn would bunk in the same room with them like a teeny-tiny chaperone, but it could still be awkward. He’d just have to do his best to put Kim at ease, even if it meant sleeping on the floor himself.

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he said, opening the back of the car. “I’ll probably have to make a couple of trips. It’s amazing how many supplies one little baby requires for only a weekend.”

Bob chuckled. “I remember.”

In response to Tate’s questioning look, he explained, “I’ve got two kids of my own, both college-age now. They live with their mother, my ex-wife, in Texas, but I see them quite often.”

“They won’t be here this weekend, then?”

“No, they haven’t exactly bonded with Betsy’s family.” He sighed lightly and gave a little shake of his head. “Can’t really blame them for that.”

Giving Tate a rueful little shrug, he reached into the car and pulled out the travel crib and a heavy bag. “My in-laws are … complicated. It’s no wonder my poor Betsy has to resort to rather extreme measures when dealing with them.”

“Like inventing a husband for her daughter, you mean?”

“Well, yes. I must say, you’re being a good sport about all of this.”

Tate shrugged. “Just helping out a friend.”

“Is that all you and Kim are? Friends? Because when you smiled at her, I thought maybe …”

Scooting around the older man, Tate grabbed a couple of bags and hefted them out of the car. “We should get these things inside. Kim might need something for the baby.”

Bob took the hint immediately. Hefting his own load a bit higher, he turned toward the house. “I’ll help you get the rest on the next trip.”

Rather relieved, Tate followed with his own armload. The one thing he did not want to do before spending a night in the same bedroom with Kim was to overanalyze his feelings about her.

“Well?” Betsy demanded of her sons almost the minute Bob and Tate left the room. “What do you think of your brother-in-law? Didn’t I tell you he was a great guy?”

Kim sighed and gave her mother a chiding look over Daryn’s head. She saw no need to keep lying to her half brothers about this fake marriage—not that there was really any need for Betsy to lie to anyone about it, but especially not her own sons. At least she seemed to have told Bob the truth.

Still reluctant to humiliate her mother publicly, Kim vowed to draw her aside at the first possible opportunity and request that they find a way to let Julian and Stuart in on the secret. Maybe they could just call it a big joke on the rest of the family.

“He seemed okay.” Stuart answered his mother’s question with a shrug, again without looking up from his screen. “Better than I expected, I guess.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Before Kim could ask for clarification, Julian spoke up. “Seems kind of cocky to me. Just because he’s an architect or whatever doesn’t mean he’s any better than the rest of us.”

“Tate isn’t an architect, he’s a landscape designer. A very talented one,” Kim correctly mildly, though she felt her defenses rise in response to the criticism.

Stuart shot a look at their mother. “You told me, too, that he was an architect.”

Was the game already over? Whatever else they might be, her brothers weren’t dumb, and they’d already been taken aback by the apparent name change. Kim figured there was no way her mother was going to be able to cover all the fabrications she’d told them.

Betsy gave a sad sigh, and for a moment Kim thought her mother was actually going to come clean.

She should have known better.

“That was my mistake.” Looking somewhat mournfully toward Kim, Betsy explained, “When Kim mentioned that Trey—I mean, Tate—was a landscape designer, I thought she meant an architect. I can be so scatterbrained sometimes.”

When everyone merely nodded in response to that comment, she added, “I would have been corrected much sooner if my daughter ever found time to call—or better yet, to actually visit her mother occasionally.”

Both her brothers looked at her somewhat reproachfully, and Kim scowled. All of a sudden, it was all her fault? How did Betsy keep getting away with these antics?

“Look,” she said firmly, “there’s something you need to—”

“So you married a gardener, not an architect?” Julian nodded in satisfaction, as if that explained something that had puzzled him. “That makes more sense.”

Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Well, it just seemed odd that you’d be married to a successful architect and still be working all the time, rather than staying home with your daughter. I figured Mom had exaggerated some about your husband’s financial success, but now I get it.”

“You get what?” Kim asked, studying him through narrowed eyes.

Looking back down at his computer, Stuart mumbled, “He’s saying you’re probably supporting the guy while he plays around at being a ‘landscape designer.’”

Kim gasped in response to Stuart’s cynical translation. Before she could make an indignant response, Julian spoke again. “I figured something had to be keeping him around. You make pretty decent money as an occupational therapist, don’t you?”

Kim had to clamp down on her tongue with her teeth to stop herself from saying things that were entirely inappropriate for her daughter’s tender ears. She reminded herself that twenty-four-year-old Julian had recently been through an ugly divorce and was probably still bitter about it. Following their mother’s repeated examples, he’d rushed into an impetuous, infatuation-based marriage, and it had been no surprise to anyone when the union ended in flames. Grandma Dyess had not offered her ring to the couple.

Still, Julian’s resentment and disillusion was no excuse for him to attack her—and especially not Tate, who’d done nothing at all to deserve this level of cynicism.

She made herself speak with icy dignity. “I work because I love my job, and I’m good at it. As for Tate, he has a degree in urban horticulture and landscape design, and the business he and his partner established in Little Rock is doing very well. They’re in growing demand, and they’ve already made quite a reputation for themselves in both residential and commercial circles. I’m very proud of what they have accomplished in a relatively short time.”

“Why, thanks, honey. I’m proud of you, too.”

Hearing Tate’s amused drawl from behind her, Kim looked around with a strained smile. She hadn’t intended for him to overhear, of course, but she had spoken quite honestly. She was impressed with how hard Tate and Evan had worked to establish their business, and with the success they had enjoyed thus far.

“We’ve brought in everything from the trunk,” he said. “Is there anything else in the car I should grab?”

“No, that’s all, thanks.”

Daryn was beginning to fuss and chew her fist, which made a perfect excuse to escape for a while. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to feed Daryn. Tate, would you mind bringing her bag for me?”

She nodded toward the large, flowered bag sitting on the floor beside the diaper bag. She was capable of carrying both bags and her daughter, but she didn’t want to leave Tate alone to her family’s mercies.

“Of course.”

“Do you need help?” Betsy made the offer rather vaguely, and Kim wasn’t surprised that her mother didn’t argue when assured that her assistance was not required.

The cheery, yellow-and-white kitchen sat at the back of the house, with a big window over the sink overlooking a nice-size backyard planted with more colorful flowers and an inviting patio designed for entertaining. Kim took in the details at a glance, then turned to Tate, who stood behind her, smiling sympathetically.

“Deep breath,” he advised.

She filled her lungs and let the air out slowly, but the exercise did little to relieve her irritation.

“I was thinking my brothers deserved to be told the truth,” she said in a low voice. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Judgmental brats.”

“You looked annoyed when I came in. I heard you defending my business to them. I appreciate what you said, but you know you really don’t have to leap to my defense with your brothers. I’m pretty good at standing up for myself.”

“I know. It still made me mad.” Balancing Daryn on her left hip, she warmed baby food in the microwave and filled a sippy cup with cold milk. Daryn was already reaching eagerly for the cup when Kim sat at the table with the baby on her knee. “They had no excuse for being so snotty about you when you were perfectly nice to them.”

Sitting across the table, Tate shrugged as he watched her spoon strained peas into Daryn’s open mouth. “No big deal, they don’t know me. She puts that away pretty well, doesn’t she?”

Kim wiped a smear of green from her daughter’s chin with a paper towel. “She loves her veggies. And by the way, she is a very healthy weight.”

She didn’t know why she was letting her mother’s little digs get to her. It didn’t bother her so badly when they were aimed at her, but she found herself getting very defensive about her daughter. She would have to work on that.

Tate smiled at her in a way that made her suspect he knew exactly what she was thinking. “She looks perfect to me.”

For only a moment, she was caught up in his warm amber gaze, her hand frozen with the spoon of peas halfway to her daughter’s mouth. Daryn made a sound of impatience and Kim jerked her attention back to the task at hand, chiding herself for getting distracted by Tate’s pretty eyes. This was no time to allow her thoughts to drift into that territory—not that there was ever a proper time for that, she reminded herself sharply.

Her mother swept into the kitchen on a faint cloud of floral perfume. “Honestly, Kim, couldn’t you have offered Tate a cold drink? What can I get for you, Tate?”

He shook his head, the faintest of creases between his brows as if he were holding back a frown. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re sure? I have fresh-squeezed lemonade in the fridge.”

“Maybe I’ll have some later.”

Her hostess duties out of the way, Betsy turned again to Kim. “I should have thought to get a high chair. It would be much easier for you to feed her if you didn’t have to hold her in your lap. I’ll send Bob to buy one right now.”

“That’s not necessary, Mom. This is fine. Besides, we’re only going to be here one night.”

“For this visit, yes, but I was rather hoping you’d come back more often now.”

Refusing to be swayed by Betsy’s plaintive tone, Kim looked from her mother to Tate and back again. “You’ve made that rather difficult for me, haven’t you? I can hardly drag Tate back after this. It’s bad enough that I let you talk me into this crazy scheme this time.”

Her mother glanced quickly toward the doorway, then looked relieved that no one was there to have overheard. “Your husband doesn’t have to accompany every time you visit your family,” she said carefully. “We all understand that he’s quite busy with his business.”

Betsy’s next words reminded Kim why she wasn’t likely to visit even without the awkwardness of the marriage lie. “I’m surprised to see you feeding the baby solid foods and milk from a cup. I nursed my babies for a full year, you know. It’s a much healthier start than jars of commercial baby food and regular milk.”

Because she didn’t want to fight with her mother in front of Tate, Kim drew a deep, steadying breath before replying evenly, “I nursed and pumped for as long as I was able and still work full-time, Mother. I also prepare most of Daryn’s food myself, using fresh fruits and vegetables and a food processor. Daryn’s pediatrician recommended I start her on solid foods and whole milk a month ago when her weight was beginning to drop. She has thrived ever since.”

She did not add that she well remembered her mother bottle-feeding Stuart formula; Betsy had been too busy playing at being a high-society charitable volunteer to spend time nursing the baby who’d been raised by nannies until the acrimonious divorce had caused a drastic change in Betsy’s financial standing. Kim doubted it would do any good to call her on the discrepancy. Her mother was so skilled at deception that she seemed to believe her own tales, and she would argue heatedly if disputed.

“You needn’t worry about your granddaughter, Mrs. Shaw. Kim is an amazing mom. She always puts Daryn’s needs first. She’s totally committed to making sure Daryn has a good life. I’ve always admired that about her.”

Kim felt her cheeks warm in response to the unexpected and very sincere-sounding compliment.

Eyeing Tate appraisingly, her mother said, “Please call me Betsy, dear. After all, we are family.”

Kim rolled her eyes. Tate smiled, but she noted he didn’t look quite as charmed as he had before.

After feeding Daryn, Kim decided to take her out for a walk, saying that the baby needed a daily dose of fresh air and Kim needed the exercise. Suspecting it was primarily an excuse to get away from her family for a bit, Tate offered to walk with her. He needed to stretch his legs, himself, after their car trip, he said.

Though Betsy seemed a little miffed that they were so eager to escape so soon after their arrival, she hadn’t tried to detain them, though she had asked if her sons wanted to join the walk. Both Julian and Stuart had declined, to no one’s surprise.

Tate and Kim spent a very pleasant hour walking the sidewalks of the cozy neighborhood, with Kim pushing Daryn in a stroller. They admired a few especially nice lawns and savored the weather, which was lightly overcast and several degrees cooler than it had been back home. Tate was sorry for the nice outing to end, and he was pretty sure Kim felt the same way—though he couldn’t have said whether it was because she had particularly enjoyed the time with him or was just that reluctant to return to her mother’s house. He suspected the latter.

After returning from the walk, they spent a half hour in the living room, watching a news broadcast while Daryn played with a couple of toys on a blanket spread on the floor. Bob and Betsy were in the kitchen, making final preparations for dinner. Betsy had effusively refused any assistance other than her husband’s, insisting that Kim and Tate should take the time to chat with Julian and Stuart—which would have been difficult, since Julian immediately went back out to the garage to work on Bob’s car and Stuart drifted off to his room with a vague mumble about needing to make some phone calls.

Watching Daryn rocking unsteadily on her hands and knees, Tate winced wryly when the baby plopped down on her tummy with an “oof” sound. Rather than fuss or try again, she lay there happily kicking and slamming Mr. Jingles against the blanket, causing the bells inside him to clatter noisily.

“I take it she’s not crawling yet?”

“Not yet.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the blanket, Kim reached out to pat her daughter’s diapered-and-rompered bottom. “She comes close, but hasn’t quite put the moves all together. I’m sure Mom would say I’m doing something wrong that’s holding Daryn back, even though the pediatrician assures me she’s developing just fine.”

He started to say something, but she stopped him by holding up a hand and shaking her head. “Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “I guess I’m just overly sensitive when it comes to my parenting skills. Probably because I’m always so aware that Daryn’s well-being is all on me.”

“Then she’s in very good hands. I’m sure your mother knows that, despite some of the things she blurts out.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never doubted that you’re a very committed mom. That was one of the first things I learned about you.”

Kim glanced at the doorway, as though aware that this wasn’t exactly a private venue in which to have this conversation, but then she smiled at him. “Thanks, Tate. I needed that.”

He winked at her, pleased that he’d been able to boost her bruised confidence. “Anytime.”

Kim had just tucked Daryn into her travel crib upstairs when everyone was called to dinner. Betsy sat at one end of the dining room table, with Bob at the other end, Julian and Stuart on one side and Kim and Tate on the other. A portable baby monitor sat beside Kim’s plate, though not a peep had issued from it.

Betsy served a simple fare of steaks, grilled corn on the cob, baked potatoes and a side salad. Bob had grilled the meat and corn, though Betsy hinted that she was exhausted from baking potatoes and making the salads and a cake for dessert. Tate made a few more silent observations about Kim’s background as everyone filled their plates.

His own family was by no means perfect. He and his sister did their share of squabbling, though they’d grown closer since moving out on their own. His dad was a workaholic whose time had been stretched thin, but he loved his wife and kids and they’d known he would always be there if they needed him. His mother was a bit of a hypochondriac who tended to fret about her children’s well-being, but she’d relaxed a little during the past few years, finally accepting—for the most part—that they were old enough to take care of themselves.

An average family, with average strengths and weaknesses. He loved them, drew strength from them. Knew they loved him, too.

Before dinner was half finished that evening, he could see that Kim’s family had almost nothing in common with his own. She had very few bonds with her half brothers, perhaps because they had each been raised so differently. She barely knew her latest stepfather, though she seemed to like him well enough, considering this was only the second time she’d met him. As for her relationship with her mother—well, no wonder that was so strained. Frankly, Betsy was a nut.

Tate hadn’t yet decided if there was a streak of malice beneath that beaming, scheming face. Betsy was undoubtedly self-centered, unapologetically deceitful, deliberately tactless—but was she aware that her thoughtlessness caused her daughter pain, or was she simply oblivious to consequences? He’d been amused by her until he’d become aware of her little digs at Kim. He hadn’t found those in the least funny.

“Does anyone need more iced tea?” Betsy asked, filling a somewhat awkward silence that had fallen over the table once the standard compliments for the food had been exchanged. “Bob, sweetie, why don’t you bring the pitcher and top off the glasses?”

Nodding congenially, Bob jumped up to fetch the tea pitcher. Not for the first time, Tate thought that even after three years of marriage, Bob seemed perfectly happy being ordered around by his wife. Tate wondered how much longer that satisfaction would last.

Betsy turned toward Kim with a slight frown. “Did I hear a fuss from Daryn?” she asked, cocking her head toward the baby monitor.

“No, Mom, she’s sound asleep.”

“You’re sure you shouldn’t go check on her? How do you know that thing is working?”

“It’s working.”

Unlike Bob, Kim was visibly losing patience with Betsy. Tate didn’t blame her, but she really should learn to let her mother’s little barbs deflect off her. Betsy didn’t seem to dig at her sons in quite the same way. Was it a mother/daughter dynamic thing—or did Betsy know it was harder to push emotional buttons with Julian and Stuart?

Trying to take the attention off Kim, he spoke to her brothers. “We haven’t had much chance to get to know each other yet. I understand you’re recently out of the service, Julian. What do you do now?”

“Bob got me a job at his accounting firm,” Julian answered without a great deal of enthusiasm. “I’m taking night classes toward getting a CPA.”

Before Tate could respond, Stuart frowned. “Kim hasn’t even told you what Julian does?”

Realizing his mistake, Tate suppressed a wince, but Kim rescued him that time.

“Tate’s simply trying to make conversation, Stuart,” she said evenly. “Besides which, I couldn’t tell him much about either of you because I haven’t heard what you’ve been up to lately.”

Betsy cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you called more often …”

Tate spoke again quickly to her brothers. “Kim has talked about both of you, of course, but I thought we could get to know each other in person now.”

He was going to have to do better than this if he didn’t want to blow the whole marriage charade before the reunion even began tomorrow. “Tell me about yourself, Stuart. What have you been up to this summer?”

Stuart shrugged, but a look from his mother made him answer politely enough—for a teenager. “Just been hanging out. I have a part-time job at a video game store at the mall.”

“Stuart starts college a week from Monday,” Bob added as he refilled Tate’s tea glass.

“Yeah? Where will you be going, Stuart?”

The teen muttered the name of a well-respected liberal arts college in Springfield.

“He’s going to live here at home and commute,” Betsy said. “I wasn’t quite ready to send my baby away. That will come soon enough, won’t it, Bob? We’ll have to get used to an empty nest eventually.”

When Bob merely smiled and nodded, and no one else responded, Tate tried to keep the conversation moving. “I’ve heard that’s a very good school. Have you chosen a major yet?”

Stuart shrugged again. “I’m interested in mathematics and computer sciences.”

“Good choices.”

Stuart chomped down on his ear of corn to discourage further conversation.

“Tell Tate more about your new job, Julian,” Betsy urged, picking delicately at the baked potato and salad in front of her. She’d passed on the steak and corn, saying that she was watching her weight. She’d looked archly at Kim’s plate as she’d made the comment, but for once using a modicum of tact, hadn’t remarked aloud about Kim’s choice to have a reasonable serving of everything.

“I work in accounting, Mom,” Julian replied curtly. “Hardly anything more to tell.”

“What about your real love?” Bob asked Julian with a look that might have been sympathetic. “Restoring old cars?”

Julian slanted a look at his mother that was almost defensive. “It’s a hobby, that’s all.”

“An obsession, you mean,” Stuart mumbled. “At least, that’s what your ex called it.”

Julian scowled. “Yeah, well, she’s a—”

“Julian,” his mother interrupted quickly, with a pointed look at Tate, as if to remind her son they had company among them. “Tate, don’t get the wrong impression. Julian isn’t a mechanic, he’s an up-and-coming financial advisor. He enjoyed tinkering with cars as a teenager, but he doesn’t have nearly as much time for that now, isn’t that right, Julian?”

“No,” Julian said, and if he tried to hide the regret, he wasn’t entirely successful. “I don’t.”

“What types of cars have you restored?” Tate asked, doggedly trying to keep the conversation moving.

“Couple of classic Mustangs. I’m working on a ‘69 Mach 1 now. It’s in pretty bad shape, haven’t had much time to work on it, but it’s got great potential.”

“Sixty-nine, huh? Nice. Which engine?”

For the first time since they’d been introduced, Tate saw a spark of enthusiasm in Julian’s eyes. “Three fifty-one V8.”

“Windsor or Cleveland?”

Beneath the table, Kim lightly tapped his leg, then gave a thumbs-up sign when he glanced down.

The spark in Julian’s blue eyes flared into a flame of passion. “Windsor—not quite as easy to find the parts, but she’s going to purr like a tiger when I’ve got her up and running.”

“Shaker hood scoop?”

“Yes, of course. And I was thinking of—”

“Oh, there’s no need to get all technical about the mechanical aspects,” Betsy interrupted impatiently. “You don’t want to bore our guest, Julian.”

Julian subsided with a slight flush, looking down at his plate.

Tate was finding Betsy less amusing all the time. “Actually, I have a lot of admiration for a skilled mechanic, whether on a professional or recreational level.”

“More challenging than gardening?” Stuart asked in a slightly mocking murmur.

Feeling Kim stiffen beside him, Tate laid his hand quickly on her thigh, silently assuring her that he didn’t need her to jump to his defense. “In its own way,” he agreed equably.

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