Husband for a Weekend
“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 re
signedly 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.