Hitched(16)

But I don’t sound as sure of myself as I’d like, and when I turn back to Blake, his smile has gone rueful at the edges.

“You realize what this means, right?” he asks.

“That we can probably get that divorce sooner than we thought?” I whisper, flashing two thumbs up. “As soon as the paperwork is final, and Kyle and Cara leave on their honeymoon safari? We can fake this for a month, right?”

“It means one of us needs to get busy packing our bags, pumpkin,” he says. “Because if there’s one thing happily married people like to do, it’s live together.”

I lift startled eyes to him, because did he just say he’s in this all the way? “Live together? As in under the same roof? You and me? Together?”

“You want to save that alpaca or not?”

“Shit,” I mutter, making Blake’s grin stretch wider.

Of course I want to save Chewpaca.

But shacking up with Blake?

There’s no way I can live with him and not do something I’ll regret. It’s not a question of if I’ll throw myself at his body, vagina first, but when.

And then saving Chewpaca might not be the question.

The question might be saving me.





Seven





Blake





* * *



We walk back to my truck hand-in-hand after chasing an aggressive peacock out of the dog pen while I try to not panic.

Move in together?

This will either be the best or the worst idea I’ve ever had.

I seem to be full of those today. Or at least surrounded by them.

Hope is wearing a smile so stiff it wouldn’t fool a blind man in the dark, but hopefully the creep parked in an ancient Ford station wagon by the pasture on the other side of the road will think we’re acting weird because we’re being watched.

And photographed.

And waved at like we’re all old friends.

And now the slim man, dressed in head-to-toe khaki, with an old school camera hanging around his neck and a neatly trimmed moustache straight out of the Roaring Twenties, is limping across the road and the shelter’s gravel parking lot to meet us. “Hey, y’all. Dean Finister. Kind of an odd spot we’re in, but it’s great to meet you.”

Hope starts to extend her hand, but I circle my fingers lightly around her wrist and draw it to my chest. In testimony to how shell-shocked she is by the day’s events, she doesn’t even try to pull away or order me to quit bossing her around.

“I’m sure you’ll understand if we’re not prepared to make nice with you, Dean,” I say in a firm but civil tone. He’ll get the mean voice if he doesn’t get off Hope’s property once he’s asked. I hate the mean voice, but it’s necessary sometimes. “We value our privacy and don’t appreciate strangers in our business.”

“Especially strangers who are trying to prove we don’t love each other.” Hope wraps her arms around my waist and melts against my side. I hug her closer, because we’re trying to fool this nosy bastard and because it feels good.

Mostly because it feels good.

“Oh, I hear you,” Dean says, expression sobering. “It’s an ugly business sometimes, detective work. But there aren’t many jobs that are a good fit for a former cop with a bum knee.” He pats his right leg. “Took a bullet right under my kneecap in a drug bust.”

Hope makes a soft, dismayed sound. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for your service.”

“Of course. It was my pleasure. Loved being a cop,” he says, grinning again. “But since I can’t protect and serve anymore, I point and shoot,” he continues with a chuckle, lifting his camera into the air. “But this is the one and only time I’ll step onto your property. I’ll keep my distance and keep this as respectful as I possibly can.” His smile stretches even wider, revealing slightly crooked teeth that emphasize the perfectly groomed lines of his moustache. “As soon as I catch you not being in love, I’ll turn over what I’ve got to your cousin and be out of your hair for good. Congratulations, by the way. On your marriage. You’re a handsome couple.” He holds up his hands, making a rectangle shape with his thumbs and pointer fingers and framing us up. “Like one of those pictures that come with the frame, you know? Almost too pretty to be real.”

“But we are real,” I insist, beginning to suspect Dean’s folksy friendliness is a weapon in his arsenal, a way to convince his prey to drop their guard and spill their secrets. “And we don’t want to be your friend, Mr. Finister.”

“At least not right now,” Hope says, pinching my back through my shirt. “Maybe after you’re done investigating us, though? If you’re staying in town? We all do our share of fussing in Happy Cat, but we’re good at forgiving and forgetting and moving on after.”

Dean’s eyes wrinkle at the edges. “Haven’t decided where I’m settling full-time yet, but thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your kindness.” He turns to me, gaze softening. “And I respect your position too, Mr. O’Dell. Back when my Loretta was still alive, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done to keep her safe and happy.”

Hope makes another distressed sound and this time even I feel shitty. Dean may be a master manipulator on a mission to catch us with our fake marriage showing, but there’s nothing worse than losing someone you love.