Just a Little White Lie(27)

He glanced at the clock on the stove. Wanda Sue had left—thank God. And Lucy’d had half an hour to pout. What was she doing in there, anyway? Sulking? Or was she hurting?

God, he hoped she wasn’t hurting.

But walking in on him and Wanda Sue— Not good. Why in the world had Wanda Sue introduced herself as his fiancée? Talk about wishful thinking. He’d never encouraged her, had made it crystal clear a wedding wasn’t in the picture for them.

Two to one, his dad was behind it somehow.

He couldn’t quite get a handle on Lucy’s reaction, though. With Donald, she’d had every right to go ballistic. But with him? Did she have feelings for him? A small flicker of happiness flared inside him, but he quickly extinguished it. No. Not good. This whole engagement thing with her was pretense. He knew that; she knew that. Her still-closed bedroom door gave no indication she intended to come out anytime soon. Well, then, he was going in.

He’d taken two steps down the hall when the doorbell rang. Jake’s first reaction was relief. A reprieve had been granted. Then he grimaced. More company? What was this? Grand Central Station? Maybe he should just throw a big old barbecue and invite the whole town. He could hire a billboard. Jake Parker’s Back in Town.

A quick peek out the living room window, though, told him this was a welcome visitor. The tall, thin, dreadlocked man shifted restlessly, an expensive-looking leather suitcase at his sneakered feet. Lucy’s.

He wouldn’t have to watch her run around in his old T-shirts anymore. So why wasn’t he singing the Hallelujah Chorus?

“Hey, Luce, your suitcase is here!”

That got her attention.

The bedroom door creaked open, and her head popped out. “Really?”

“No. I’m lyin’.”

The high-society millionairess actually stuck her tongue out at him.

He chortled and headed to the door, dropping a five-dollar tip in the guy’s hand. He dragged the suitcase down the hallway—what did she carry in here? Bricks?—and hefted it onto the bed.

Lucy stood silently beside him. Tear tracks streaked her face, ate at his gut. He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed and pulled away. “Maybe I overreacted—a bit. But Jake, if we’re going to do this, try to sell this pretend engagement and have anyone buy it, you can’t be kissing old girlfriends.”

“I understand.”

She tipped her head. “Do you?”

Frustration licked at him. He took a steadying breath. “Yes. I do. I also understand that must have felt like tumblin’ into an old nightmare. Again, I’m sorry. There won’t be a next time.”

For what seemed an eternity, she simply stood, spine stiff, her gaze traveling over his face. “I need to unpack.”

“I need food, Luce.”

“So go get some. I’m not stopping you.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. You just said it. We’re engaged. Remember? If I show up without you—anywhere in town—I’m gonna have a thousand questions to answer. We’ll do this right. You’re going with me, and we can satisfy the town’s curiosity and buy food all in one fell swoop.”

She glared at him. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Neither do I. But we’re in too deep now to call it off.” He nodded toward her suitcase. “You want to change first?”

Disbelief showed on her face. Good. About time she realized he was more than her easygoing rescuer.

“Didn’t you hear a thing I said?”

He held a hand up to his ear, turned it toward her. “Huh?”

Her already-fierce eyes sharpened. “I’ll make this simple. No. I do not want to change. Why would I? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are. I kept my part of the bargain. You were stranded. I gave you a ride. You were, essentially, homeless. I gave you a place to stay. In exchange, you promised to play my fiancée. You said you had a week. I want it. Every last day of it.”

“Of all the—”

“Bus leaves in five minutes. You can go in that outfit or something from your trousseau. Makes absolutely no difference to me.” He walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him. Relief flooded him. Lucy was staying.

Flopping onto the couch, he laced his hands behind his head and watched the second hand sweep the face of his grandmother’s starburst wall clock. One minute. Two. Three. It hit five, and he hoisted himself up.

He walked to Lucy’s door and rapped on it. “You ready?”

No answer.

“Lucy?”

“I need another minute.”

He opened the door and was instantly sorry. Lucy stood beside the bed, a sundress in Caribbean blue hugging her tempting body. She looked fresh and crisp and delicious, her face freshly made up.