Husband for a Weekend

As much as Tate usually liked dessert, he could honestly say that this time he would just as soon skip it. Because he knew that wasn’t going to happen, he merely nodded and followed Kim quickly out of the dining room, glad he had an excuse to escape the tension there for a least a few minutes.

Chapter Four

Just as Kim had expected, Daryn was sleeping soundly in her portable crib when Kim entered the bedroom with Tate at her heels. Kim had recognized the sound she’d heard through the monitor as just one of those little noises Daryn sometimes made in her sleep. Any other time, she’d have waited a bit to see if she needed to respond, but she’d leaped on the excuse to get away from her family for a few minutes—and so had Tate.

“Well?” she asked quietly as she turned toward him. “Now do you understand why I tend to avoid my family reunions? And you haven’t even met the worst part of the family yet.”

He groaned softly.

“You’re the one who volunteered for this,” she reminded him.

“Yes.”

Was he second-guessing that impulse now? She wouldn’t blame him if he were. She certainly regretted that she’d let herself get swept into the scheme.

Tate glanced at the sleeping baby, speaking in a stage whisper. “She’s okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s a sound sleeper, just makes little noises sometimes.”

He nodded, then glanced at the queen-size bed that took up the majority of the floor. Automatically, she followed his gaze. Between the bed, a nightstand and dresser, a small reading chair, the portable crib, the bags holding their things and all the baby supplies, little space was left in the guest room.

Thinking of the night ahead, she swallowed. It was obvious that she and Tate were going to have to share that bed. There wasn’t room on the floor for him to stretch out, even if she would allow him to make that gesture.

She trusted him, of course. In all the time she’d known Tate through his sister, he’d given her no reason to believe he was anything other than a decent, honorable guy. Commitment phobic, perhaps, but then that was a good thing in this case, since she’d made it clear that she felt the same way. He would anticipate no awkward expectations from her and vice versa. Friends. Pals. Lunch buddies.

Buddies who had somehow allowed themselves to be talked into playing husband and wife for a weekend.

“How long do you

think we can hide in here?”

She smiled wryly in response to Tate’s exaggeratedly stealthy question. “I suppose we’d better go have dessert.”

Making sure Daryn was still sleeping, Kim left the lamp on the dim setting when they left the room. She did not look at the bed again on her way out.

Because it was such a pleasant evening, Betsy insisted they have dessert and coffee on the patio, where she could show off her flower beds to Tate. Kim carried the baby monitor with her, setting it close by as she settled into one of the wrought-iron spring rockers grouped around a matching, round wrought-iron table. Tate sat beside her again. She noted that Julian took the seat next to Tate, though their mother looked a little peeved that Julian had beaten her to the chair.

Apparently, some of Julian’s initial antipathy toward Tate had dissipated during the discussion of classic cars. She couldn’t say Julian was exactly warm toward Tate now, but he seemed a bit more willing to give him a chance—especially after Tate told him his first car had been a restored ’70s muscle car. They talked cars during dessert even though Betsy did her best to interrupt them every few minutes and redirect the conversation. Their mother had never approved of Julian’s passion for classic cars—a love he shared with the nomadic musician father who had drifted sporadically through his life.

With Kim’s father dead, Stuart’s in prison, Julian’s who-knew-where most of the time and their last stepfather completely out of their lives, it was no wonder they all had relationship issues, she thought wryly. As for herself, she had no intention of dragging a series of men through Daryn’s life the way Betsy had done with her and her brothers.

Almost as soon as he’d swallowed the last bite of his cake, Stuart made an excuse to leave, saying he was meeting friends in town. Bob and Julian went back to the garage, leaving Kim and Tate outside with her mother.

“I wish everyone had stayed around to talk a bit longer,” Betsy said with a slight pout. “But this will give us a chance to prepare for tomorrow.”

“Prepare?” Kim eyed her mother warily. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. Just chat.” Her mother smiled blandly at Tate. “My mother and sister are…shall we say, rather difficult. I’m sure they’ll love you, you’re such a charming young man. But you should be on your guard tomorrow, anyway. If I could make just a few tiny suggestions…”

“Tate doesn’t need your suggestions, Mom,” Kim asserted flatly.

“Only a few little things. Like with Daryn, for example.”

Tate raised an eyebrow, holding up a hand toward Kim to signal that he could take this one. “What about Daryn?”

“I haven’t even seen you hold her, dear. Perhaps you could put a little more effort into your parenting.”

Kim gasped in outrage. “You haven’t even held Daryn, yourself, since we arrived! How dare you criticize Tate.”