Hitched(60)

“I do,” I say with a nod. “And I won’t let her go,” I promise her, gazing into her tear-filled eyes, my chest squeezing tight. “Don’t cry, baby. It’s all going to be okay.”

“It will. Oh, it most certainly will,” Tweedle says, before he pauses and his eyes go wide with a snap of his fingers. “Oh, and Hope, I’ve been trying to call your cousin to warn him about that private investigator he hired, but he’s not answering his phone. Apparently, the man was trying to extort your parents.”

Hope stands up straighter and a cold rush of dread floods into my veins. “Who? Dean?” she asks.

George waddles over and plops down on my foot, now scratching his armpit with the silver square he’s holding, making me think Ryan might want to check the troublemaker for fleas.

“Yes, apparently a man named Dean Finister offered to sabotage your marriage in exchange for an exorbitant fee,” Tweedle says quickly. “When your parents refused, insisting they’d hire their own investigator to look into the matter, things got ugly. Threats were made and he ran over the marble statue of your Great-Uncle Oliver on his way out.” He looks over his shoulder again, to where the St. Claires are slamming into the car and firing up the engine. “I have to go or they’ll leave me, but call me if you need anything. Wishing you both the best!”

“Thank you.” Hopes waves numbly as Tweedle scurries away. Meanwhile, George is now scratching at my boot with the metal square, leaving thin scars on the leather. I bend down, plucking it from his fingers, and frown.

It’s a business card holder.

With the name Dean Finister engraved on the front.

And it’s full of business cards, his and the cards of other people he must have met in his travels.

Hope looks up at me with haunted eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

I pluck out a business card with an elegant-looking farm sketched across the bottom—a card for a guy who deals in alpacas. “That a man so desperate for money he’ll threaten strangers might decide stealing an alpaca is an easier way to make a buck?”

She scans the card, her eyes starting to shine again. “Shit, yes. Of course! Dean’s the only other person who knew Chewy was worth something. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him sooner. I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t feel stupid,” I say. “I didn’t think of him, either. He played it so damned nice from the beginning.”

“To throw us off the scent.” She bites her thumb. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re on it, Hope,” Cassie says, trotting off the porch. “I’m already posting a BOLO to InstaChat. Anyone have a picture of him?”

“I love it when you use words like BOLO,” Ryan says.

Clint steps between them. “This him?” he says, holding out his phone. “Ruthie May sent me pictures from bingo.”

“That’s him!” Cassie replies. “Shoot it to me and I’ll post that Be On The Lookout memo.”

While they rally the town, Hope turns to me. “Are you mad at me?”

I shake my head. “No, of course not. Why would I be mad at you?”

Her lips turn down. “Because I spilled my guts about our first wedding in front of everyone.”

I smile. “I don’t care. And obviously they don’t either.” I nod toward my family on the porch. They’re pretending not to be listening in while they’re working, but I’m sure they’re hanging on every word. “Do you guys?”

A chorus of “nope,” “no way,” and “are you kidding?” fills the air, but Hope’s relieved grin only lasts a second before it fades away.

“And you’re not mad about the terrible things my terrible parents said?”

“I won’t lie, I wanted to punch your dad, but that’s not your fault.” I give her upper arms a squeeze. “I’m just sorry they don’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Because you’re the best and if they don’t see it, they’re as dumb as a box of dildos.”

She laughs even as tears spill down her cheeks. “Thanks. I love you. So much.”

My throat tightens, the joy that swells inside me at finally hearing those words almost more than I can take. “Me too. More than George loves cake.”

“Will you marry me again when this is all over?”

“I will marry the hell out of you, baby,” I promise. “As many times as you’ll let me. Now let’s go find my man of honor.”

“Chewy would be a great man of honor,” she says, not missing a beat. “But I might need him to walk me down the aisle, considering the state my father’s in.”

“Nonsense,” a deep voice pipes up from the porch. We both turn to see my father standing at the railing, a misty look in his eyes as he adds, “I’ll walk you down the aisle, sweetheart. It would be my honor to help welcome you to the family.”

“Your forever family,” my mom adds firmly, making Hope burst into tears.

But they’re happy tears. I know because the same damned thing is happening to my face. I’m a fucking mess, but it’s okay. I’ve got the best family in the world, and if anyone can find a lost alpaca with nothing but a business card to go on, it’s these hard-loving, zero-shit-taking people.