Hitched(57)

“He was cheap too,” Kyle says. “You could probably afford him.”

“Great.” Blake snags him by the collar and starts dragging him back to the truck. “Then you can call him and pay him, because this is still your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Kyle yelps.

“Because you wanted Chewpaca for all the wrong reasons,” I say. “If you’d wanted him because you loved him and cared that he had a good long life, then we could’ve worked something out. Instead, you hired a PI to make everything worse than Gram’s will made it in the first place.”

“Good luck finding your llama,” Cara calls after us.

“Alpaca,” Blake and I call back together.

Cara laughs. “I know. I was joking. Geez…the way you’re all behaving, you’d think someone had died. I’m sure whoever took the little guy will take care of him, right? Probably just wanted something to love.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. Cara knows Chewy is worth a lot of money. Love had nothing to do with this. It was greed. Plain and simple.

Blake pushes Kyle back to the truck while he grips my hand. “We’re going to find him,” he promises me.

But how?

Kyle doesn’t have him. Cara was a long shot, and she doesn’t have him.

Or one of them is lying.

Or someone else wants Chewpaca.

My eyes water again.

I’m so tired of crying.

But Chewpaca’s missing, and we don’t know why or how.

I don’t know if he’s terrified or if he’s comfortable or if he’s alone or if he’s been stolen to be sold off on the alpaca black market. I don’t know who took him.

Or how.

“The dogs should’ve barked. Even if it was someone they’ve met before,” I say as Blake wraps one arm around me and points Kyle into the truck with his other hand. “Why didn’t the dogs bark? I didn’t leave the house the entire night or morning. Maud brought over the cinnamon rolls. I would’ve heard the dogs bark.”

“We’re going to find him,” Blake says again.

“But what if we don’t?”

“Hope. Look at me.” I blink up at him, fighting to hold it together, but the fear fingers are so tight around my neck now that I can barely breathe.

“We are going to find Chewpaca. All of us. Together,” he insists. “You and me? We’re family. That means you have all of the O’Dells, and the rest of Happy Cat behind you. Trust me. Okay?”

“Okay.” I lean in, hugging him tight.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this man in my life, but I’m so, so grateful that he’s here.





Twenty-Four





Blake





* * *



I don’t have a fucking clue how I’m going to find Chewpaca.

But I made my wife a promise, and I’ll be damned before I let her down.

Unfortunately, after dropping Kyle off at his house to cry into half-empty pizza boxes, we arrive at the sanctuary to find my family isn’t the only crew assembled.

I make eye contact with Clint, who’s corralled the O’Dell contingency on the porch, separate from the pant-suit-wearing trio standing rigidly in the shade beside the farmhouse. Before I can get more than a grimace and a shrug from my brother, however, we’re spotted by the suits.

“Finally. Hope, this sham comes to an end right now.” An older woman who looks like Hope iced-over, dolled up, and aged thirty years marches over to us in low heels and a pale gray suit, two men on her heels. She motions to the taller, prune-faced guy with a moustache behind her—ah, must be Hope’s father, he of the judgmental, ’stache—and then the shorter, red-cheeked Santa Claus look-alike. “Hope, this is our attorney, Mr. Tweedleton. He’ll be drawing up the annulment paperwork.”

“Charmed,” Tweedleton says with a dimple-popping grin.

“Mom, you’re home early.” Hope’s eyes go wide as she glances between her mother and the impish lawyer. “Wh-what? No. Chewpaca is missing, and we have to—”

“Get an annulment,” her mother repeats with exaggerated patience, making my fists curl. What the hell? “It’s a process by which a marriage can be declared invalid if—”

“I know what it is,” Hope says, cutting her off. “But I’m not getting one. I told you in the message I left you the other day that Blake and I—”

“Are attempting to perpetrate fraud,” her prune-faced father cuts in, his voice as brittle as glass crunching beneath heavy shoes. “In order to profit from your grandmother’s will.”

“Hold on a minute—” I start, but Hope interrupts me.

“That’s not true. Our marriage is legal. Ask Judge Maplethorpe. Or look at the records in the courthouse, everything’s in order.”

“Marriage fraud is a very serious charge, young lady,” her father continues as if she hasn’t spoken a word, his thick brows forming a disapproving V above his cold blue eyes. “One that could end with a prison sentence.”

“That’s only if you’re paying someone to marry you for citizenship,” Hope says with a tight laugh. I start to speak again, but she cuts me an I’ve got this look. “And I would never do that. Obviously. I’m already a U.S. citizen.”