How to Rope a Real Man Read online

  “We did it,” he said, and before he could think better of it, he raised his hand for a high-five. ’Cause that was the smooth thing to do with a hot woman—high-five her like she was one of the guys. Doofus.

  Before he could lower his hand, she set her palm on his and curled her fingers down. “You’re the one who made it happen. You saved the day.”

  She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, the same soft expression she’d had the night before when she’d wanted a kiss. He twisted away from her grip. “Like I said, I’m happy to help.”

  Unfazed, one corner of her lip kicked up. “Want to know something else?”

  He was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

  Her coy grin blossomed into a full-blown smile. “Your sister has a thing for Kellan’s brother.”

  “No way. They were totally rude to each other. Plus he’s scary-looking.” And he had a completely opposite worldview from Tara, who thought all women should be surrounded by flowers and beauty.

  “I think she likes the rough ones.”

  Matt pressed his hands to his head with a groan, fighting to deflect the unwanted knowledge from sinking in. “I don’t want to think about that. She’s my sister. Bleh. More brain bleaching needed.”

  “You’ll survive.” Chuckling, Jenna wrapped her arm around him, then ran the pad of her thumb over his lower lip.

  He swallowed hard and thought about the pictures in his wallet. He thought about how he’d coached Brandon’s little league team that one year. He, Brandon, and Lauren had been playing house for two years and his transition into coaching had felt so good and right. A dream come true. The next season, after he and Lauren broke it off, he showed up to watch a game and Lauren asked him to leave. Too confusing for Brandon, she’d said.

  That’s when he knew, once and for all, he was done with single moms. Because Lauren was absolutely right. It wasn’t fair for the kids to have him hanging around after he and their mom split. But standing here with Jenna, her soft, small hand warming his face, her flirty eyes bidding him nearer, it was so easy to forget everything he stood to lose.

  His dad’s favorite saying came to him. No one ever said doing the right thing was easy. He turned the words over in his mind. What he was doing, leading Jenna on and flirting with her as he’d been, was wrong. It had to stop here and now. Time for him to man up and do the right thing.

  Gathering her in his arms, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “You are . . . incredible.”

  She stiffened, then pushed back and searched his face with mournful eyes. “But that’s not enough, is it?”

  “You’ve got it backward. It’s that I’m not enough.” For one feverish moment, he thought about telling her why. Stupid idea because the last woman he’d told had sworn it didn’t matter to her right up until she broke up with him because she didn’t think their futures meshed—a.k.a., she wanted children and he couldn’t give them to her. End of story.

  It was the one fact about his life that would never change. And there was no use praying about it or wasting time and money seeing any more doctors about it, because there was no cure. Matt’s infertility was in his goddamn DNA.

  “You’re more than enough.” Closing her eyes again, she grazed his jaw with her closed lips. “You’re all I want.”

  He’d heard that before too. “I bet that’s not true. I bet you want more kids.”

  “Of course. But we don’t need to get ahead of ourselves. That doesn’t have anything to do with you kissing me right now.”

  Impossible not to wince. And she must’ve seen it because she dropped her arms and put some space between them. He braced his hands on his hips, grinding his teeth, fighting to get a grip. “I can’t be with you and I’m sorry that I’ve led you to believe otherwise. That was unconscionable of me.”

  Instead of looking offended, though, her expression remained soft, imploring. “Is it because we practice different religions? Because that doesn’t matter to me.”

  In the months since he’d met Jenna, he’d contemplated that difference, even used it as an excuse on occasion when he was trying to convince himself that they were wrong for each other, but an excuse was all it was. Not an insurmountable problem or a deal breaker. Nothing that love couldn’t have conquered had he not been a broken man. “No. That’s not it. I wish that was all it was. It’s just me, and I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded as though digesting his rejection. The world stilled as they studied each other in silence. He hoped he didn’t transmit any of the overwhelming frustration he felt. He hoped he looked strong and committed to his choice.

  Finally, she drew herself up tall. “I won’t pressure you anymore. But please understand I care about you. A lot. And I think you and I would be great together. I want you to know that whatever it is—whatever you’re not telling me—if someday you decide to trust me with it, I won’t let you down and I won’t hurt you. You can take that to the bank.”

  Her words slayed him. All he could do was push his tongue against the roof of his mouth and stay standing. No one ever said doing the right thing was easy.

  She cupped his cheek and it was a wonder that he was holding it together enough not to nuzzle deeper into her touch.

  “Jenna—”

  Her thumb slipped over his lips. “Shhh. You think about what I said, okay?” She brushed a kiss across his jaw. “I’ll see you at the wedding. You’re going to save a dance for me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Nodding wistfully, she turned and walked away.

  In a daze, Matt headed toward the groom’s suite, not releasing the breath he’d been holding until he heard the door to the bridal suite open and close. He stopped moving and wiped the back of his hand over his cheek and lips, where his skin still tingled from her touch.

  He’d wanted Jenna Sorentino from the minute he’d laid eyes on her. From her toes to the wavy tips of her dark blond hair, and every little bit of her in between. Eight months later, the feeling had exploded into a fierce, unrelenting need.

  He’d thought he was being strong, denying himself of Jenna. Self-preserving and strong, like a man should be. But if that was the case, then why was he still standing there shaky and breathless. Why did he feel so damn weak?

  There was no denying it. Amy made a stunning bride.

  Jenna froze in the door of the bridal suite and clamped a hand over her mouth as tears threatened. She’d never seen her sister look so beautiful.

  Amy walked her way, arms outstretched. Rather than hug her, Jenna joined hands with her and held her arms open so she could thoroughly admire the way she looked. The sweep of her hair lent a perfect balance to her figure, lengthening her neck and highlighting her slender, strong arms and shoulders. As it had been when she’d first tried it on, her wedding dress was a head-turning knockout. An off-the-shoulder scoop neck in cream and lace, it hugged in all the right places, accentuating the curviness of her figure.

  Kellan would be scraping his jaw off the ground after he saw her. Too bad Jenna would still be getting ready when he and Amy glimpsed each other in their fineries for the first time. Hopefully the photographer would capture the look on his face because it was going to be priceless.

  She and Jenna had shopped for the dress together in a marathon day trip to Albuquerque with Kellan’s credit card, along with his blessing to buy whatever made Amy happy. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Rachel had been relieved to stay at the farm and watch Tommy. Shopping—especially dress shopping—was as torturous a notion to her as getting a pedicure.

  Though Amy looked stunning, her skin was paler than usual, and Jenna was fairly certain it wasn’t because of the makeup. Maybe she wasn’t as over her stomach ailment as she’d led Kellan to believe. In support of her theory, the glass of champagne someone had poured for her sat untouched on the glass coffee table. Only Lisa, Sloane, and Rachel were taking advantage of the bottle Jenna had paid the staff to stock.

  Rachel, beaming ear to ear, nudged Jenn
a’s arm and gestured to Amy with her champagne flute. “She cleans up well, doesn’t she?”

  “Does she ever,” Jenna said. “And so do you.”

  Rachel’s impossibly straight brown hair had been twisted into a flower-dotted updo much like Amy’s. Marti, Catcher Creek’s premier hairstylist, had skillfully arranged it. However, on Rachel the style looked rather silly. As frivolous as the ruffle lining the bottom of the strapless pink country dress Jenna and Lisa Binderman had chosen for the bridesmaids. And yet her freckled, tanned skin glowed healthy and vibrant against the delicate fabric. She’d even accepted the application of mascara and eye shadow.

  “Rachel looks like a whole new woman,” Amy added. “I almost didn’t recognize her.”

  Rachel huffed. “Why are you saying that like it’s a good thing? I’m pretty damn happy with the old me. Don’t make me get offended or this ridiculous hairdo is coming down.”

  Jenna swiped Amy’s champagne flute from the table, pushed it into Amy’s hand, and stepped between her and Rachel. “Hey, you two. It’s Amy’s special day—no bickering allowed.”

  “Fine, but can you blame me for getting cranky at all the people telling me I look so much better than usual? It’s insulting.” Rachel hitched the dress higher over her bust and squirmed in discomfort, sloshing her champagne over the lip of the glass. “I’m still not convinced my boobs aren’t going to pop out of this thing at any minute.”

  Jenna grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the champagne collecting on the flute’s base. “Your boobs are going to be fine. Even if they do pop out, it’ll only lend a little extra excitement to the night. And need I remind you that the only person whose opinion of your looks matters is yours?”

  “And Vaughn’s.” Rachel’s shoulders rose and fell with her deep sigh. “What if he likes me better like this, dressed up like some damn princess instead of . . .” She shook her head, then guzzled the remainder of her drink. “Instead of the regular me. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  Jenna snagged the bottle and refilled her flute. “Oh, sweetie. He fell in love with a tough-nut, no-nonsense cowgirl. Do you know what I would give to have a man look at me the way I catch Vaughn stealing lovesick puppy glances at you? Do you think he’d rather have himself a high-maintenance princess, even if you do look good as one?”

  Rachel grunted, unconvinced. “At least we get to wear boots.”

  Keeping with the rustic country chic theme, Jenna and Amy had decided to accessorize the bridal party’s formal wear with boots—chocolate brown with elaborate pink stitch work for the ladies and shiny black for the men. Being that the majority of the bridal party lived their daily lives in boots, everyone was more than happy to oblige.

  Only Jake, they’d discovered, had never had the pleasure of stuffing his feet into a pair of leather western boots. In fact, Jenna wasn’t altogether sure Kellan had told his brother there’d be a pair of boots waiting for him along with his tux. Ought to be an interesting conversation in the groom’s suite right about now.

  Amy draped an arm across Rachel’s shoulders and squeezed. “If Vaughn tells you he loves your dress, it’s probably only because of how much skin it shows and how fast he figures he’ll be able to get it off you tonight when you get home.”

  A mischievous smile threatened to spread over Rachel’s lips. “There is that.”

  Crisis averted. Jenna gestured to Amy’s still-full glass. “You’re not drinking your champagne. Still queasy from the tequila? I’m so sorry I made you drink that last night. I thought it would help, but it only made things worse.”

  Amy waved off her apology. “It wasn’t the tequila. Well, it was in a round-about way, I suppose.” She looked around at the other women in the room—Marti the hairstylist, Lisa Binderman, Sloane Delgado, and Tina, Kellan’s mom—as though she had more to say about the tequila incident, but not with so many people around. “Go get your shower over with so Marti can do your hair.”

  Time for some unspoken sisterly communication. Jenna leveled a look square at Amy, eyes narrowed. What aren’t you telling me?

  Amy’s eyes grew wide and flashed to the room full of people, as if to say, Now’s not the time or place.

  “Should I be worried?” Jenna whispered.

  A hint of a smile flashed over her features as she gave her head a brief shake. “It’s all good.”

  Maybe for Amy, but nothing was crueler to Jenna than someone letting on they had a secret to share but not just yet. And now she was contending with both Matt’s and Amy’s unspoken secrets. Torture, plain and simple. Thank goodness death by impatience wasn’t possible or Jenna would’ve succumbed years ago.

  Amy handed her glass of champagne over. “Here. Take this with you into the bathroom and get a move on. Your shower travel kit’s in there already.”

  The shower felt heavenly. Jenna hadn’t realized how grungy she felt until the hot water hit her skin. Stifling a moan of pleasure, she allowed herself to stand under the stream for a solid minute she probably couldn’t afford before beginning the arduous process of soaping, scrubbing, and shaving.

  With Matt’s and Amy’s secrets nagging at her, as well as all the last-minute wedding prep she’d be doing in the next two hours until the ceremony, her mind whizzed with disparate thoughts. If only she had a waterproof pad of paper and pen to jot it all down so it wouldn’t crowd her mind.

  She’d finished shaving her legs and was in the middle of a final rinse when curiosity about whether Rachel had brought Tommy’s tux led her train of thought in an entirely horrible direction that had slipped her mind in all the hubbub of the flower and best-man emergencies.

  The Parrish family would be at the wedding. Every single one of them, save for Carson. And the secret she’d vowed to take to her grave was in imminent danger of exploding into public knowledge tonight—because Tommy was the spitting image of his father.

  She sagged against the white tile wall, the bite of cold making her wince as much as the epiphany.

  She’d known Carson her entire life, and when she looked at Tommy, she saw Carson’s essence through and through. For the longest time, she’d rationalized that maybe the image of Carson in her mind was wrong. Memories were faulty, the victims of time, distance, and experience. Besides that, a lot of people looked radically different as children than they did as adults and it was quite possible that Tommy and Carson looked nothing alike.

  But the older Tommy got, the more obvious the resemblance. In March, Carson’s mother, Patricia, had cornered Jenna and Tommy at the church donut table after the service, remarking about how handsome a young man Tommy was and how familiar he looked, though she couldn’t place how.

  That night, Jenna had stolen away in a panic to the storage cellar beneath the farm’s big house, rifling through Christmas decorations and old quilts until she’d found a bug and rodent-eaten cardboard box filled to the brim with yearbooks. She’d emptied the box until she found Catcher Creek Elementary School’s yearbook from her kindergarten year, then flipped to her class page to take a good look at Carson at Tommy’s age, hoping to quell her fear.

  The photographs of the students in their kindergarten class were faded, but Carson’s picture was clear enough to make her stomach turn. Tommy looked exactly like his father at age five, from the goofy grin, sandy blond hair, and shape of his head to the layout of his features and his lanky body.

  Sitting on the floor of the dusty, stuffy storage cellar, Jenna had allowed herself a good, long pity party, complete with tears, about her past and the unfairness of life. She’d cried until the hollowness of solitude had wrapped around her like creeping ivy. Then she’d continued to sit there, watching particles of dust whip in the air, until self-preservation won out over despair. She and Tommy would leave Catcher Creek, as had been her plan all along, and until that day arrived, they would keep far away from the Parrishes.

  Yet, though she was painstakingly careful not to take Tommy to downtown Catcher Creek except when she couldn’t avoid it and though s
he’d never returned to First Methodist Church since that fateful Sunday in March, Jenna knew with fatalistic certainty that it was only a matter of time before Lou and Patricia Parrish or Carson’s sisters realized who Tommy resembled.

  She hadn’t anticipated Amy’s wedding or what that would mean for her secret. In ninety minutes, give or take, Tommy would be paraded in front of the Parrish family as a ring bearer. They’d have the entire ceremony to watch him and put together the pieces of the puzzle—and there was nothing Jenna could do to stop it.

  She closed her eyes in prayer that she would get through the night with Tommy’s true parentage protected. The alternative was too overwhelming to bear. If the truth came out, she and Tommy would have to pick up and leave town immediately, in a middle-of-the-night, desperate-woman-on-the-run type of move. Away from her support system, she had no idea how she’d take care of Tommy and still get through her last month of college.

  Stumbling out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her middle and drained the champagne. Then she did the only thing she could think of. She found her phone in her purse and called her best friend, Carrie. “Hey.”

  “Hi. Didn’t expect to hear from you this weekend. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your sister’s wedding?”

  Jenna sat on the closed toilet lid. “I am, but I needed a break.”

  “Uh-oh, what happened?”

  Nothing wrong with a little white lie when the truth was too dangerous to share. “Just bummed I don’t have a date for this thing.”

  “What about the hot lawyer?”

  She and Carrie had had many talks about Matt, from PMS-fueled bitch-fests to diabolical strategy sessions. “He’s not ready for a relationship right now. He tried to let me down easy today.”

  Carrie sighed into the phone. “What is it with this guy?”

  Jenna didn’t have the slightest idea, but even if she did, she would never divulge Matt’s private life to her friends. “No clue.”

  “I’m sorry, chica, but I think it’s time for you to give up on this particular fish and go back out in the sea.”