By Proxy(2)
Her feet lost traction and she slipped on a wet patch of marble floor at the same time the double doors whipped open again. Jenny couldn’t stop the forward motion of her body once it started falling, and the short, stout man leapt out of her way just in time. She cried out, slamming into the broad, hard chest of the tall, blond man entering the courthouse. His hands caught her around the waist to keep her from falling and she hung there against his snowy coat like a limp doll, resting her cheek against his chest for a dazed moment. Finally finding her footing, she stepped back from the stranger, staring down at the floor, cheeks blazing crimson. She smoothed out her dress, tossed her hair over her shoulder and readjusted her purse before looking up to meet his eyes.
She gasped, beholding the handsomest man she had ever seen. There was no doubt in her mind:
Finally, here was Sam—the man she was going to marry.
***
Sam Kelley blinked back at her in shock. One minute he’d been rushing to open the doors of the old courthouse, anxious about arriving so late, and the next minute, a cute blonde was barreling into his arms. He took off his gloves and ran his fingers through his cold, wet hair, checking her out.
She had her hands on her hips, long blonde hair framing her face. A simple grey sweater-dress accentuated her small waist. She was taller than the average woman, and he guessed she was in her mid-20s but it was hard to tell with the agitated expression that was souring her otherwise pretty face.
Wait a second. Tall, blonde and 20s.
“You’re Jenny!” he said, beaming at her.
“Sam?” she asked, bright blue eyes trained on him, cheeks flaming red.
He nodded. For no good reason in particular, he had been expecting some thick-waisted, Brunhilde-type, big-boned Scandinavian country gal. Jenny’s cheeks had the fresh color of a country girl, all right, but that’s where the similarities ended. She wasn’t a conventional knockout, but there was certainly something about her.
Cute girl. Huh. Kristian hadn’t mentioned that…
“You’re very late,” she said. She turned sharply and crossed the lobby with hurried steps, stopping at a bench beside the stairs to pick up her coat.
He had no choice but to follow behind her and rushed to keep up. “Yes. I’m late. Sorry about that. But, wow, that was—uh—quite a welcome!”
“I didn’t mean to bump into you. I slipped.” Click, clack, click, clack. Her shoes echoed up the stairs. “I’ve been waiting over an hour.”
Huh. You’re welcome, Miss Snippy. Maybe I should have just let you fall out the door into a snow bank. “Sorry about that…again. There was a mountain pass, and a plow—” He stopped, realizing how adolescent and ridiculous he sounded. His next excuse would be about how the dog ate his homework.
“Mmm,” she murmured, still marching straight ahead. “It’s Mon-tan-a. Mountains and plows are standard.” She overarticulated her words as if speaking to a child.
“I see.” His voice took on a very slight edge. He wasn’t accustomed to this sort of dressing-down. Were snippy blondes standard too?
“You’re Kristian’s cousin, but not from around here?”
“My folks left Montana before I was born. I’m from Chicago.”
“Aha. The big city.” She said this like she had his number and knew him inside out.
Stopping at the end of the corridor before a door that read CLERK, she turned to face him, inhaled and exhaled audibly through her nose, then closed and re-opened her eyes like she was practicing a Buddhist relaxation ritual. He just stared at her. What cutting remark would she throw at him next?
“Let’s start over, okay?” She smiled woodenly and put out her hand. “I’m Jenny Lindstrom. I’m Ingrid’s best friend. Sorry I fell into you.”
A mulligan. Okay. Her manners amused him. He offered his most charming smile as he enveloped her smaller hand in his, looking into her eyes. “Sam. Kristian’s cousin. And you can fall for me anytime.”
She stared at him, stone-faced, then swallowed and looked down at their joined hands for a moment before pulling hers away. An unmistakable flush of pink suffused her cheeks.
Just from shaking hands? Whoa. He tried not to grin. So, Miss Snippy isn’t quite as cool and confident as she seems.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sam,” she finished crisply.
He couldn’t resist needling her again. “Ready to get married, Jenny?”
Her eyes flew open again, and her pink cheeks turned an appealing shade of scarlet. “Proxies!” She blurted out. “We’re just proxies! We’re not actually—”
Sam chuckled and winked at her. He couldn’t remember the last time he met someone so ripe for teasing. It wasn’t as easy to rattle the girls in Chicago. “Oh, well, thank heavens. It would have been pretty forward of you to ask me to marry you. We barely know each other, and you may have fallen for me already, but I’m not that kind of guy…”