Czytaj książkę: «Cowboy Seal Daddy»

Chapter One

“This team sucks! You look more like rubber ducks than SEALs. If it was up to me, I’d strip your Tridents and replace them with flight attendant wings!”

Navy SEAL Wayne Brustanovitch sat alongside the rest of his twelve-man team on the Mark V Special Operations Craft jetting past the Coronado coast at forty-five knots while their pissed-off CO handed them their asses on a platter. It was 0300, and they’d been running beach landing drills for the past eight hours.

It was late March. Cold, wet, tired and hungry, Wayne needed a beer, burger and bed. Hell—at this point, he wasn’t even choosy about the order.

Twelve hours later, they’d finally achieved an insertion time their CO deemed acceptable—at least good enough to earn a meal and hot shower.

“How’s your dad doing?” Logan Crenshaw served as the closest thing Wayne had to a brother. While they dressed before heading for the chow hall, Wayne welcomed the chance to run a predicament by his roommate and friend.

“Bad. Our last call, he said the doctor had basically given him a death sentence.”

“Damn...” Logan whistled. “That’s rough. Sorry, man.”

“Thanks. But that’s not the half of it.” He pulled on boxers, then gray sweats. “He told me that it’s his dying wish to see me married and to hold his grandchild in his arms.”

“Ouch. Way to pour on the parental guilt.”

“No kidding, right?” Wayne added deodorant, then a white T-shirt with Navy written on the front.

“Too bad you can’t rent a wife and kid, huh?”

“I wish. That’s the only way I’d take vows again.”

“Got nothing but love for you, brother. That sorry SOB can rot in hell.”

A fist bump relayed Wayne’s similar sentiment.

But the SEAL brother who’d broken ranks to cheat with Wayne’s ex wasn’t solely to blame. Like the old saying goes, “It takes two to tango,” and Chelsea had lied and schemed right up to their marriage’s official end.

Dressed, the two men joined the rest of their exhausted team in line for mystery meat and mashed potatoes. It wouldn’t have mattered what was served. Wayne was hungry enough to eat cardboard—a good thing, considering the potatoes’ dried consistency.

After another verbal lashing during their meal, the CO declared them officially dismissed until 0200 the next morning.

Since Logan was in an on-off relationship with a Hooters waitress who had apparently decided to be back on, they’d driven separately to base.

Most of the single guys drove Mustangs or Chargers, but Wayne stayed true to his country roots by maintaining his red 1976 Ford F-150 Ranger truck. Of course, he’d souped up the engine and cab, but the original body was pristine.

He might be a SEAL, but he was also a cowboy through and through. Next to him on the custom red leather seat was his trusty straw cowboy hat. The thing looked like it had been trampled by a herd of mustangs, but he never felt truly dressed without it. As soon as he put in his twenty years until retirement, he’d move back to the family ranch. Wayne knew his dad wanted him there now, but with eighteen months remaining on his current enlistment, even if he opted for early retirement, he couldn’t just tell his CO he was leaving.

Traffic was hell on I-5 and it took forty minutes to reach his apartment complex.

As he pulled into the lot, his neighbor Paisley Carter struggled to roll out of her friend Monica’s low-slung Jaguar convertible. The two of them owned an interior design business located in a trendy part of town. Monica, who was hot as hell, once had a thing with Logan, which made her off-limits to anyone else on their team. Whereas Monica was pure sex in her tight black dress and the red-soled shoes every woman on the planet seemed to go nuts for, Paisley was more the take-home-to-Mom type in weird pink pants and a white blouse big enough to be a painter’s smock.

She was adorable—even more so pregnant.

She was also a good girl who’d fallen prey to a two-timing bastard. The guy who’d knocked her up didn’t seem to be in the picture, which made Wayne want to punch him into the next county for leaving Paisley in such a rough spot—especially with her crap car apparently in the shop again.

He knew firsthand how much it sucked being cheated on. A nice girl like Paisley didn’t deserve that fate.

Like you did?

Squashing that old insecurity like the scorpion he’d found in his boot on their last Middle East mission, Wayne eliminated that line of thought.

After pulling into the first spot he saw, he killed the engine, then hopped out to help Paisley to her feet.

“Give me your hand,” he said, looking past her to wave to Monica. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Great. How’s Logan?”

“Good.”

“I hate to hear that. In fact, I hate—”

“Excuse me,” Paisley said. “Pregnant lady struggling to get out of this motorized skateboard.”

“Sorry.” Wayne skipped taking Paisley’s hand in favor of scooping her into his arms. He knocked the Jag’s door shut with his hip. “Catch you later, Monica.”

“Bye. Tell Logan to suck it. Feel better, Paise!” The brunette gave them a backhanded wave before revving the engine and peeling out of the lot.

Wayne said, “Logan’s an idiot for letting her go.”

“You’re an idiot for lusting after her. You do realize she’s an heiress and more high maintenance than my car—that’s broken down again.”

Horsing around, Wayne feigned a dreamy sigh. “A man can fantasize about Monica. Not that heap of metal you call a car.”

“Be nice.” Paisley landed a light smack to the back of his head, then flung her arms around his neck while he took the stairs two at a time. “How’s Logan doing with their breakup? Monica’s a tad bitter.”

“No kidding?” Wayne laughed. “I never would’ve guessed. So, what’s wrong with your car this time?”

“Needs a new transmission.”

“Ouch.” He set her on her feet in front of her apartment door. They’d been neighbors for a few years. They barbecued a couple weekends each month and whenever he was deployed, she watched the cactus his mother had given him. She made cookies for him and Logan at Christmas and a special meal for them on Veteran’s Day. She would make some lucky guy an incredible...

Wife.

Logan’s locker room joke might not be such a bad idea. Obviously, Wayne would never be in the market to marry again for real. But he was totally on board with a rental spouse.

The trick would be convincing Paisley that taking his money for posing as his temporary wife would be a mutually beneficial arrangement as opposed to charity.

Over too many beers at the complex pool party last Fourth of July, she’d admitted Monica had bought her a car for her birthday, but she’d made her friend take it back. She hadn’t gone into too much detail, but Wayne gathered the gist was that she’d been raised by a single mom who’d had no qualms about taking all the handouts she could get.

She opened her door and now eyed him funny. “Everything all right? You look almost as green as I usually do.”

“Actually, I have something I’d like to run by you. Want to grab a bite to eat? Maybe Italian?”

She blanched.

“Your little one still making you sick?”

She nodded on her way into the living room. “He didn’t get the memo that morning sickness isn’t supposed to last day and night for months.”

“Is there anything you do crave?” Wayne shut the door and followed her into her apartment.

“Gummy bears and beef jerky—oh, and split pea soup. But with my car out of commission, I haven’t been to the store.”

Now Wayne was the one making a face. “You do know that’s a nasty food combo?”

She patted her baby bump. “Try explaining that to this guy. These days, he calls all the shots.”

“Hang tight. I’ll grab everything.”

“Wayne, no. I’m not even hungry. Monica brought me home for a nap.” She stretched out on the sofa with a soft sigh.

“Great. You have a snooze, and by the time I get back, you’ll be ready for a talk.”

“Why?” She rolled onto her side, jamming a hot pink pillow between her knees. What was it with her and loud colors?

“Does it matter?” He didn’t blame her for being suspicious.

“I suppose not.” She’d closed her eyes and, at least for a moment, looked at peace. Then she opened one eye, staring dead at him. “But it is curious. Why would a career military man and confirmed bachelor suddenly want to suck up to little ol’ me?” Both eyes now open, she cocked her head, shooting him the cutest devilish grin. How had he never noticed her pistachio-colored gaze?

“You know,” he said with a forced chuckle. “That is a good question. One I will be happy to answer once I have you all buttered up with gummy bears, beef jerky and split pea soup.”

* * *

BEFORE PAISLEY RECEIVED an adequate answer from Wayne, he was gone. Just as well. Her baby was practicing soccer kicks against her ribs and the pain made a task as simple as talking too big of an effort to enjoy—even with a too-handsome-for-his-own-good SEAL like Wayne.

She’d crushed on him for three years.

Ever since watching him move into the apartment next-door, hauling boxes and furniture bare-chested past her living room window all day long. Sadly, she’d soon enough learned the score for not only him, but his SEAL friends. They were a cocky lot—admittedly for good reason—but the constant string of bikini models and flight attendants made it clear that a plain Jane such as herself was strictly friend material.

Probably a good thing.

If Paisley had managed to catch hard-bodied Wayne, she wouldn’t know what to do with him. Guys like him no doubt possessed skills she’d never dreamed of in certain explicit areas...

Hands to superheated cheeks, she grinned.

Yes, it was a good thing Wayne had already left.

She was also thankful for the fact that she’d firmly sworn off all males over the age of three months. Dr. Dirtbag had burned her badly enough to leave scars.

Paisley had met him at the corner Starbucks.

David was cute in a glasses-wearing, nerdy way. As an ER doctor, he’d always been dressed in scrubs and brimming with thrilling stories of the latest lives he’d saved. It had never occurred to her that he could have been lying—stupid given her family history. But she supposed if you wanted to believe something badly enough, you did. She’d never thought to question why she only saw him early weekday mornings. He was a doctor. Of course, his schedule would be tricky. Any amount of time he’d carved for them had been precious. Their routine had been lovely. She’d prepare him breakfast, they’d make love, shower, then go about their days.

Never once had she thought to question why in over three months of dating, she’d never seen him at night. Or why his car was crappier than hers. Or why his scrubs were faded and frayed from too many washings.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Her pregnancy had been an accident.

When she told him he was going to be a father, she’d expected happy tears and an engagement ring. She’d daydreamed of finally living out her lifelong vision of belonging to a real family.

What had she gotten?

Ugly accusations.

You got pregnant on purpose, didn’t you? Just like your mom did with all her men, you set out to trap me.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Nothing could have cut deeper than to be compared to her mother from whom she’d worked all these years to distance herself.

Ever since her release from prison, her mother had been calling. The calls now came frequently enough that Paisley dreaded looking at her phone.

She regretted having told David her deepest secrets. It wasn’t a mistake she’d ever make again.

Even worse? He wasn’t even a doctor, but a phlebotomist.

Paisley was too ashamed to tell Monica—or anyone else. Monica would probably post some directive to her fifty-thousand Twitter followers to toilet paper Dr. Dirtbag’s house.

A knock on the door jolted her from her sleepy state.

“Come in!” she shouted, praying Wayne would enter and not a random robber.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” Wayne said. Crinkling paper told her he’d set grocery bags on her kitchen counter.

“You shouldn’t buy out half the store when you were only going for three items.”

“Touché. But I’m hungry, too. Hope you don’t mind if I use your grill? Mine died.”

“How does a grill die?” Feeling like an upside-down turtle, she struggled to flop over to face him. The apartment’s kitchen and living room shared the same space. Another dream was of one day owning her own home, but with Southern California real estate prices, that could be a while. She couldn’t wait to decorate to her heart’s content with no lease restrictions. Until then, she was stuck with beige walls, carpet and tile. She was at least fortunate to have bought a Christopher Guy sofa and matching armchairs from a client who had deemed them so last season.

“I left the grill out. It apparently collapsed from exposure.” She watched him rummage around in one of the shopping bags, and then he presented her with a pack of gummy worms. “Hope these are okay? I used to love ’em when I was a kid.”

She took one look at the slimy confection and bolted for the restroom. Thankfully, she made it in time, but as she rinsed her mouth and washed her face with a cool washcloth, Paisley found herself reluctant to face Wayne.

“Everything okay in there?” he asked from behind the closed door.

“Sort of.”

“Can I help?”

Just thinking about the worms brought a fresh onslaught of nausea. She dashed for the commode.

The door burst open at the worst imaginable time.

“Damn, girl...” Wayne knelt beside her, holding back her coppery hair, rubbing her shoulders, making soothing sounds the way she’d fantasized David would. “How long have you been like this?” He left her to refresh her cool rag, then pressed it to her flushed forehead.

“Forever. I don’t mean to sound like a diva, but could I ask you a teensy favor?”

“Anything.”

“As soon as humanly possible, could you get those w-worms out of my apartment?”

“Absolutely, but I thought you were craving gummy stuff?”

“Cute bears—that’s all. No sharks, either.”

“Got it. My bad.” He flushed the commode, then took off running for the kitchen.

By the time he returned from disposing of the offensive edible creatures, she’d cleaned herself and once again collapsed on the sofa.

“This is probably going to make me sound like an idiot—” he sat in the armchair opposite her “—but is every pregnant woman this sick?”

“I don’t think so. My ob-gyn says this far into my third trimester I should be feeling better—but then she said that about my second trimester, too, so...” She shrugged.

“Well, look...” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Considering what’s going on with you, I’m going to make your soup and my steak, then table my question for another time.”

“What question?” She’d forgotten his big mystery. “Whatever it is, you might as well ask. At least it’ll take my mind off those disgusting worms.”

“Sorry about that.” He winced. “I’ll grab bears next time I’m out.”

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“Babe, hate to break it to you, but you’re in no condition to do squat. So actually, my proposition could be mutually beneficial.”

“But you haven’t proposed anything. Spit it out. We’ve been friends for years. We’ve discussed work, politics and religion. Surely, this mystery question can’t be too bad?”

“Not at all. In fact, once you think about it, it’s really no big deal.” His crooked grin had her tummy doing happy flips. The man was criminally handsome. “How would you feel about me renting you to be my temporary wife?”

“What?” Paisley took a moment for the question to sink in, then bolted for the bathroom.