All Jacked Up (Rough Riders #8)(10)
“Absolutely, buttercup,” Jack cooed back.
“Have you told any of your brothers yet?” Carson demanded.
“No.”
“AJ?”
“No.”
“Chassie?”
“No.”
“Ramona?”
Keely shook her head.
“Doesn’t seem like you’re all fired up to strap on that old ball and chain if you ain’t tellin’ anyone that matters to you, baby girl.”
“I’m telling you and Mama, Daddy. Doesn’t that count?”
When he squinted, Keely realized he knew she was up to something. The man always busted her.
“Anyway, Jack and I are thrilled you’re throwing us a party,” Keely said with as much false cheer as she could muster. She patted her mother’s hand, making sure she got a good look at her ginormous engagement ring. “I’m putting you one hundred percent in charge of planning the engagement party you’ve always dreamed for me.”
“With games?”
“No!” Dammit. “I mean, why waste all the good games when there are men around? I say let’s save the games for the bridal shower.”
Her mother’s gaze turned shrewd. “Does that mean you’ll wear a dress? A nice dress? Not a jean skirt and boots? Or a miniskirt and boots?”
Hell no. “Well—”
Jack leaned forward, the picture of earnestness. “I promise she’ll look appropriate for the occasion even if I have to dress her myself.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
“My pleasure, Carolyn. Can I help you clear the dishes before Keely and I take off?”
Keely wasn’t sure if her ears were playing tricks on her, or if her father actually muttered, “Suck up.”
While Jack tried to charm her mother in the kitchen, her dad took two shot glasses from the china hutch. He poured Jameson whiskey in each glass and passed one to her.
“Shouldn’t Mama and Jack be here if we’re toasting in celebration of my upcoming marriage?”
“I ain’t celebrating. This whole thing is giving me indigestion and whiskey is better than Tums. Drink up.” His gaze turned crafty when Keely hesitated. “Unless you really have a bun in the oven and that’s why you ain’t drinkin’ my good Irish?”
The cunning coot had played her good. She slammed the shot and poured another and slammed it too.
“Happy now?”
“Ain’t nothin’ about this situation that makes me happy, punkin.”
“Why not?”
The blue eyes she’d inherited pinned her in place. “Because he shoulda talked to me about marryin’ you first.”
For Christsake. That’s why her dad was pissy?
“Might seem old-fashioned, but you are my only daughter.” He knocked back a slug of whiskey. “I’m just sayin’ it woulda been nice to’ve been asked.”
Keely was strangely touched. She moved to where he sat in his favorite chair and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll chew him out for it.”
“It’d make me feel better if you weren’t marryin’ him at all. It’s too damn quick.”
“I’ll remind you that you proposed to Mama the night you met her. So try again.”
He harrumphed, “Smartypants. He ain’t your type.”
Since when wasn’t tall, handsome, well-built, sarcastic and rich not her type? “Meaning what?”
“He ain’t a cowboy, Keely.”
“You’re the first and only cowboy in my life, Daddy. I wouldn’t think you’d want the competition.”
“Suck up, but I’ll take it.” He pressed his leathery cheek to hers. “Now go on, get outta here and stop drinkin’ all my damn whiskey.”
Chapter Four
“An engagement party?” Jack bit off the second she shut the car door.
Keely squirmed. “What was I supposed to say?”
“No would’ve been a good place to start.”
“You’re an opportunist. Think of it as the ultimate occasion to convince people we’re really getting married.”
Jack swallowed his retort and turned up the radio.
Keely lasted about thirty-five seconds before she flipped the music off. “You actually like that noise?”
“Why would I listen to it if I didn’t?”
“You probably think it makes you sound sophisticated if you tell people you listen to jazz.”
“And I’d be better off listening to that goat-yodeling crap you prefer?”
“Yep. At least it’s honest.”
“As honest as the Nashville music executives can manipulate in a slick multimillion dollar recording studio with a marketing team in the wings.”
“Testy much?”
“Your fault,” he pointed out.