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The Wedding Plan
Abby Gaines


Merry Wyatt would do almost anything to fulfill her father's dying wish. But marrying Lucas Calder is not an option. Sure, they have occasionally pretended to be in a relationship when it was convenient, but a real marriage? That's definitely out of the question.However, a fake marriage might work. Lucas may not be too keen, but Merry knows he won't let her down.When her father makes an unexpected recovery, Merry's simple plan goes into a tailspin. And family expectations aren't the only problem. A spark has ignited and playing house with Lucas is becoming a little too real.







Quick marriage + quick divorce = happily ever after?

Merry Wyatt would do almost anything to fulfill her father’s dying wish. But marrying Lucas Calder is not an option. Sure, they have occasionally pretended to be in a relationship when it was convenient, but a real marriage? That’s definitely out of the question.

However, a fake marriage might work. Lucas may not be too keen, but Merry knows he won’t let her down.

When her father makes an unexpected recovery, Merry’s simple plan goes into a tailspin. And family expectations aren’t the only problem. A spark has ignited and playing house with Lucas is becoming a little too real.


Please kiss me

Merry lifted her face, closed her eyes. An act of faith. Faith that Lucas was the guy she’d known, from boy to man. Bossy, infuriating, even arrogant. But not a man who would let her down.

She felt the whisper of a breath, then firm lips pressed to hers.

Thank you.

Lucas smelled of soap and spice and salt air. For that fraction of a second, she was warm, despite the brisk northerly wind coming down off the hills behind.

Then he pulled back. Merry’s focus cleared from the odd haze in front of her eyes—must be sea spray—and she saw her father beaming from ear to ear.

That’s why we’re doing it. We’re giving Dad peace of mind. It was all worthwhile.


Dear Reader,

Marriage is never straightforward, even when two people love each other and are committed “till death do us part.” If you’re married, you’ll already have figured out that while love is a wonderful thing, a lasting marriage also requires patience, forgiveness, generosity, kindness...and much more!

I love marriage-of-convenience stories, where a couple ties the knot for reasons that don’t include love, often under the delusion that it will be simple. As a writer and a reader, I love that moment where they realize marriage isn’t a toy you can pick up and put down, and ignore when not in use.

Like a real marriage, a marriage of convenience tests the participants in ways they’d never imagined, forcing them to draw on all those qualities I mentioned earlier...and it’s when those other things are being practiced that love has a chance to grow.

In The Wedding Plan, Merry Wyatt hatches a scheme to make her dying father happy—a noble goal. Unfortunately, it involves marrying Lucas Calder, the man who rejected her (and the brother of Garrett Calder from That New York Minute). The situation soon grows way more complicated than Merry or Lucas anticipated. I hope you enjoy the story of how these two independent people learn what real love is all about.

To share your thoughts about The Wedding Plan, or any of my books, please email abby@abbygaines.com. To read an After-the-End scene, visit the For Readers page at www.abbygaines.com (http://www.abbygaines.com).

Sincerely,

Abby Gaines




The Wedding Plan

Abby Gaines







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abby Gaines writes contemporary romances for the Harlequin Superromance line, and Regency romances for the Love Inspired Historical line. Those might sound like two completely different genres, but Abby likes to say she writes “stories that leave you smiling”—wherever and whenever they are set. Her Harlequin Superromance novel The Groom Came Back won the 2010 Readers Crown Award, and her novella One in a Million won the 2011 Readers Crown. The Wedding Plan is Abby Gaines’s twentieth book for Harlequin Books.

Abby loves cooking, reading, skiing and traveling...though not all at once! She lives with her husband and children—and a Labradoodle and a cat—in a house with enough stairs to keep her semi-fit and a sun-filled office whose sea view provides inspiration for her writing. Visit her at www.abbygaines.com. (http://www.abbygaines.com)


For Irene Francis,

who still loves Russian literature and still hates conversational lulls,

who is always true to herself and to those she loves.


Contents

Chapter One (#uc568414b-2144-5aa5-bbeb-fe67e79dd453)

Chapter Two (#u9ab8ccf3-0ab8-5418-b647-87dc39c30d2b)

Chapter Three (#u4db33ba6-62f4-597d-94c5-1ab9ad57d781)

Chapter Four (#u7503ef12-0161-5ae7-961d-a776e7624128)

Chapter Five (#u62c9df81-075a-5465-b26b-bcf8bb0e9e18)

Chapter Six (#u4d359311-2235-58f1-be0a-d0fe62810a94)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

LUCAS CALDER HAD SPENT the past eight years flying his chopper in places where no one spoke a language he recognized. But the hand signals and facial expressions of Afghani kids had been easier to understand than the scene he was witnessing now.

His father, Admiral Dwight Calder—famously rigid, gimlet-eyed and about as warm as a midnight watch on an aircraft carrier in the Arctic—blew a raspberry on the tummy of his baby daughter, Lucas’s half sister, who was lying on her changing table.

Incomprehensible. And right now, damn inconvenient.

Lucas glanced at his watch: 3:00 p.m. Ten at night in the Gulf. He should be sitting at the tiny desk in his cabin, processing the next day’s minesweeping flight plan, imprinting it on his memory.

“Who’s a smelly girl?” Dwight teased. Mia shrieked with delight, apparently undisturbed by the stench emanating from her diaper.

“Dad, can we talk?” Lucas tried again to drag his father’s attention to more serious matters. Such as Lucas’s down-the-toilet military career.

“Of course we can.” Dwight untaped the diaper.

Lucas took a hasty step backward. “Man, she stinks.”

“Don’t talk about your sister like that.” Dwight wielded a wet wipe with surprising efficiency. It went without saying that he hadn’t done any diaper changing when Lucas and his older brother, Garrett, were babies. Their father’s metamorphosis to doting dad was very new. For Mia’s sake, Lucas was pleased.

He just wished it was possible to have a conversation with his father that wasn’t about feeding or potty time.

As Dwight tossed the diaper in the trash, Mia wriggled, a flurry of pudgy arms and legs. Lucas surged forward to block the side of the changing table.

Dwight held her in place with a hand on her chest. “I wouldn’t let her fall,” he growled.

Lucas hadn’t come back to New London, Connecticut, to argue with his dad. He stepped away.

“Pass me a new diaper,” his father ordered. The return to something approaching military style was so welcome that Lucas obeyed.

When Mia was dressed again, Dwight picked her up. “Would you like to hold her?” he asked Lucas.

“Uh, no. I’m good, thanks.”

Mia nestled against Dwight’s shoulder, eyelids at half-mast.

“She’ll nod off soon,” he predicted. “Let’s talk downstairs in my study.”

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, the glass-paned front door opened. Stephanie, Lucas’s stepmom, came in and set her purse on the hall console. She gave a squeal of pleasure. “Lucas! When did you get here? Come give me a hug, you adorable boy.”

He squeezed her tightly. “I don’t need to ask how you are. You look great.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Liar. Do you know how hard it is for a woman in her mid-forties to lose baby weight? But I love you for saying it.” She pulled away to address Dwight. “Darling, you know very well Mia should be in bed.”

“She kept calling to me over the baby monitor,” he protested.

Lucas noted with some discomfort that his father sounded sheepish. Great. The country had benefited for decades from Admiral Calder’s unrelenting sense of mission, but the one time Lucas needed his dad operating at full aggression… What had happened to Admiral Cold-ass, as he’d been irreverently known to his crew?

Stephanie took the baby from Dwight. “I’ll put her to bed. Sorry, sweetie,” she crooned to Mia, “but Mean Mommy’s back.”

Mia babbled something that may or may not have been an attempt at words. Her parents cooed as if she’d just recited Shakespeare.

Lucas couldn’t help noticing that Dwight caressed his wife’s bottom as she passed. Things really had changed.

Was his dad even capable of focusing on Lucas’s problem?

Lucas reminded himself that Dwight had been a navy man far longer than he’d been a family man. If he could just recall his “pre-enlightened” state, he would understand why Lucas needed his help.

“It’s good to have you home,” Dwight said as he settled into the burgundy leather chair behind his oak desk. The desk had once graced the captain’s stateroom on a nineteenth-century sailing ship. “How’s the hand?”

“Fine,” Lucas said. “Great. Fully recovered.” Sixteen months ago, his minesweeping chopper had been shot down in the Persian Gulf. Lucas had been medevaced to the U.S.A. for treatment—on the day Mia was born, as it turned out. Getting over the concussion, broken ribs and ankle and punctured lung had proved easy. Or so he’d thought at the time.

The surgery on his shattered hand had been more complex, the rehabilitation endless. Partly because Lucas had insisted on doing it all in one long stretch, relocating to Baltimore to be closer to the rehab center.

“Shame about your eyes.” Someone must have reported the details of Lucas’s latest physical to Dwight. Shouldn’t happen, of course, but Admiral Calder had so many friends in high places, there was always someone keen to fill him in about his son. Even though Dwight would have been too honorable to ask.

“The only problem was my depth perception,” Lucas said. “Everything else was fine.” He’d had no idea that, after working so hard to restore his hand, he would fail his back-to-duty physical because of his eyesight. The doctor had attributed the change in his vision to the deep concussion he’d sustained in the crash.

The skeptical pursing of Dwight’s lips said his father wasn’t fooled by the words the only problem.

It was an insurmountable problem.

Nothing is insurmountable.

“You’ve heard they’re discharging me, as of December 31,” Lucas guessed. “I’m on leave until then.”

Dwight nodded. “I understand you turned down a desk job.”

“I want to fly.” They’d told him that couldn’t happen. He should have known better than to issue an ultimatum to the U.S. Navy. But no way did he want to sit at a desk while, out there, men risked their lives to protect others.

Thanks to his ultimatum—send me back or discharge me—he’d be out at the end of the year. A man without a mission. He couldn’t get his head around the idea.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to.

“You failed the physical, you can’t fly,” Dwight said.

Usually, Lucas considered having his father so high up in the navy to be a disadvantage. Today, he hoped that for the first time in his life, it would help.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” he said. “I need to see a different doctor, get a retest and a second opinion. I figured you’d know someone.”

Someone who would understand his need to get back out there.

“We don’t do retests,” Dwight said. “Besides, if you failed it once, you’ll fail again.”

“There are exercises I can do to improve my depth perception,” Lucas replied. He hoped what he’d read on the internet was true, not some urban myth. “If I’d known I had a problem, I would have done them already. As it is, I want to spend a month strengthening my vision, then sit the test again.”

Another pilot had been assigned to Lucas’s chopper on a temporary basis, on the assumption that he’d be back. Now that he was out, his C.O. wanted to appoint the other guy permanently. At Lucas’s request, he’d agreed to hold off for a few more weeks. Seemed he had more faith in Lucas’s ability to swing a retest than his dad did.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of you going back after what you went through,” Dwight said. “You’re lucky to be alive. You’ve done your duty to your country, and then some.”

“It’s not about duty,” Lucas said. “It’s about…” No one in my unit is better than I am at undersea mine detection and destruction. No one is better at protecting our ships and their crews. They need me. He wasn’t about to argue with his father about the numbers of lives and ships that were at stake every day over there. “This is who I am, Dad.”

“Maybe this is a time to reevaluate who you are.” Dwight’s emphasis recognized the irony of a man like himself talking such postmodern jargon. “The navy isn’t everything—I almost lost what really mattered before I figured that out.”

He and Stephanie had split up briefly before Mia’s birth. Lucas wasn’t sure what happened during their time apart, but Stephanie had said his father had come through it a changed man. His dad hadn’t seemed much different when he’d visited Lucas in Baltimore, but here at home…

Change wasn’t always a good thing.

“I’m a bit young for a midlife crisis, Dad,” Lucas said evenly. “I know who I am, and I know what matters. Will you help me or not?”

His father picked up a fat, cigar-shaped gold pen and flipped it between his fingers. “What does Merry think you should do?”

“We haven’t talked lately, and I haven’t seen her since I got into town. I came straight to you.”

Merry Wyatt was the daughter of John Wyatt, retired navy lieutenant and Dwight’s best friend. John and Dwight had served in Vietnam together, on a submarine, back when they were practically kids. John had saved Dwight’s life. Which Lucas assumed was why his unsentimental father had always shared John’s desire to see Lucas and Merry’s childhood friendship evolve into a romantic attachment.

He and Merry had humored their dads by dating once a year for the past, what, nine years? Yeah, nine, starting right after Merry graduated from high school. That first date had been a disaster, but some of the others had been…interesting. Over the years, each of them had used their on-again, off-again “romance” to their own advantage. Such as the year Lucas had claimed a back-home girlfriend as an excuse to refuse the attentions of his captain’s daughter without offending the captain.

Their last date, six months ago in Baltimore, was responsible for the recent radio silence he and Merry had been observing.

“You should ask her what she thinks,” his dad urged. “Merry’s a sensible girl.”

Sensible wasn’t the word Lucas would use. But if talking to Merry would help bring Dwight around…

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll go see her now.”

Sooner or later, they would have to meet up again. Might as well be now.

Merry was the forgiving type…wasn’t she?

She’s a romantic. An idealist. Idealists are quick to forgive.

Dwight beamed in approval of the plan. Since his father wasn’t the beaming type, Lucas found it creepy. Still, he took advantage of that approbation to push his luck. “Dad, you didn’t say if you’ll help me get a retest.”

An appeal against medical disqualification would require Dwight to pull strings. Something he had an aversion to.

Dwight steepled his fingers on his desk. “I’ll think about it. How long are you staying?”

“Until you’ve thought about it,” Lucas said.

* * *

LUCAS SLID OPEN THE double-wide, yellow-painted iron door of Wyatt Yachts’ waterfront workshop. The track needed oiling; Lucas despised the effort the movement took.

A year of rehab on his right hand and it still felt as if muscle and sinew could turn to water at any moment. Part of his rehabilitation had been schooling his expression to not show pain.

He stepped into the workshop. The familiar smells of wood, mineral oil and polyurethane overlaid with salt hit him. High above his head, light filtered through salt-crusted windows, set below the roof trusses. The scale of the building dwarfed the overturned wooden hull in the middle of the floor, and dwarfed the man who was buffing it with sandpaper even more. Not for John Wyatt the electric sander, not once he got beyond the first stages. Wyatt Yachts created handcrafted wooden yachts, and it had a waiting list a mile long—even with Merry running the admin side so that John would be free to do what he loved most.

The older man must have heard the clank and rattle of the sliding door, but he didn’t look around. He wouldn’t, until he’d finished the line he was sanding. Back in high school, Lucas used to work here over the summer, so he knew John’s methods. The place hadn’t changed a bit.

Lucas veered right, toward the end of the workshop that had been closed off to make an office and kitchen. A large window allowed people in the office to look out, and vice versa.

No sign of Merry.

Relief mingled with irritation. Now that he’d decided to clear the air, and to ask for her help, he didn’t want to delay. Of course, he might have ensured a better response if he’d called her in the past six months. Or emailed. Or texted. He should probably have told her he was coming, at least.

He’d hoped it might all blow over if they didn’t speak for a while.

At last John straightened, one hand pressed to the small of his back. “Lucas, when did you get in?” He came over and clasped Lucas’s hand in both of his. “How’re you doing? Your dad tells me you’ll be out by year-end. Must be disappointed.”

That was more like it. John knew how Lucas felt.

“I am,” he said, returning the handshake. “But how are you?” John had always had a spare build, but today he looked almost skinny, and his grip was bony.

John rubbed his back again. “My kidneys are giving me trouble. I’m on the blasted dialysis twice a day now. At least the hospital has set me up so I can do it here, or at home.” It was a cheerful grumble, the way a guy might complain when someone drinks the last of the two-percent, forcing him to pour skim milk over his cereal.

Or when he’s being pursued by an enemy aircraft, faster than him and with more firepower, and he doesn’t want his buddies to know he’s terrified.

Lucas had seen a flash of terror in John’s eyes.

“Your blood pressure still bad?” he asked. It was the older man’s hypertension that had damaged his kidneys in the first place. “You seen the doctor lately?”

“The doctor can’t do a thing to knock my BP down.” John chuckled, as if it was all a joke. “Though Merry has me on egg-white omelets.” His heavy sigh suggested his only daughter had devised a particularly cruel form of torture.

“Tell it to Amnesty International,” Merry said from behind Lucas.

When he turned around, she was crossing the workshop. She must have squeezed through the sliding door he hadn’t managed to open very far. She wore skinny jeans and a pale green T-shirt that crossed over in front, creating a deep V. With her shoulder-length, light brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looked more or less the way he remembered her at twelve years old.

She’d been eyeing her dad with loving exasperation, but when she turned to Lucas, the loving disappeared.

To be replaced with an entirely adult glitter in her gray eyes. A woman-scorned kind of glitter.

I should have called.

“Lucas, I didn’t realize you were coming home.” Which was more or less the same as you should have called, uttered in a cool, distant voice that didn’t suit her at all.

“Surprise,” he said, forcing a smile. He stepped closer.

John would think it odd if he didn’t at least kiss her cheek. No need to broadcast their rift to her dad, and therefore to his own father.

Lucas pressed his lips to Merry’s cheek.

And was startled by a rush of sensation, of memory that he’d thought he’d put behind him, provoked by the scent of her skin. It was sweet, like the wild strawberries they used to pick at the start of summer. If he moved an inch or two to his right, to her lips…and if she opened her mouth…he knew she would taste of wild strawberries, too.

No, no, no. Not going there.

Merry took a step backward, away from his lips. Her face was stony.

With disconcerting slowness, Lucas’s brain resumed normal service. That concussion must have done even more damage than the doctors knew.

John chuckled as he looked from Merry to Lucas. “Have you two had another tiff?” he said indulgently. “Why don’t you go to dinner tonight, clear the air?”

Merry transferred her full attention to him, and her face softened. “Sorry to disappoint you, Dad,” she said. “But Lucas isn’t back in town to see me.”

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. She seemed mighty sure about that. “Actually, Merry, I do want to see you,” he said.

Her father chuffed with satisfaction. “You two have your ups and downs, but you always come back to each other. One day, you’ll sort yourselves out for good.”

Not the most helpful observation, after Baltimore.

“I’m busy,” Merry said. “I have a ton of supplier payments lined up this afternoon.”

“How about I come back when you’re done, and we go for a drink?” Lucas suggested. Not as big a commitment as dinner, but still in a public place. No room for misinterpretation.

She lifted her chin. “I have a date tonight.”

Lucas felt a niggle of irritation. He wanted to apologize, for goodness’ sake.

“Not with that Patrick again,” her dad said disapprovingly. “I thought you broke up.”

“He’s been away the past week or so,” she said. “That’s all.”

Who was Patrick?

Behind Merry, a collie dog rounded the sliding door and padded across the concrete floor.

“You have a visitor,” Lucas said.

“That’s Boo. My new dog.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, boy, come to Mommy.”

Her voice went all gooey, much the way Dwight’s had when he talked to Mia. Even if it was only about the dog, Lucas figured any sign of softening had to be good.

“You dog-napped Lassie,” he said too heartily. “Way to go, Merry.”

Pointing out the resemblance was a nod to Merry’s favorite movie, a reminder of how well Lucas knew her. But it wasn’t without risk. Merry had insisted they see Lassie on their very first date; Lucas had never been so bored in his life. She’d decried his bluntly voiced opinion as a sign of a lack of emotional depth. He’d accused her of being out of touch with reality.

And there ended Date Number One.

The dog lurched from side to side like a drunken sailor.

“Why is he walking funny?” Lucas asked.

“Shh, he’ll hear you,” she said. “Boo can’t go.”

“Can’t go where?” Lucas asked. Her irises were flecked with gold…he’d never noticed that before.

“Can’t go. He’s constipated. Big-time, long-term. I’ve tried everything.”

“She sure has,” her dad said. “Not even the animal hypnotist could convince that thing to poop.”

The dog’s rolling gait suddenly looked less drunken sailor and more accident-waiting-to-happen.

“Have you tried feeding him whatever my baby sister’s eating?” Lucas asked. “That’ll fix it.”

“Patrick thinks it’s psychological,” Merry said. “Boo’s owner, Ruby, died of a heart attack late last year.”

Boo perked up at his owner’s name, his head swiveling between Merry and Lucas.

As if Lucas cared what her boyfriend thought.

“Patrick is Boo’s vet,” Merry explained. “Boo was boarding with him while Ruby was away on a cruise. After she died, her family didn’t want him, so Patrick offered him to me. He’s the sweetest thing.”

“Boo or Patrick?” Lucas asked.

“Boo—well, both. Though I wouldn’t say Boo’s entirely accepted me as his owner.”

The collie’s long nose nudged Lucas’s knee, as if to say she’s right.

Lucas ignored the dog’s purported emotional distress and homed on the most alarming aspect. “Are you saying this animal hasn’t gone in six months?”

“Of course not.” She tsked. “He’d be dead. But he doesn’t go very often, and it’s not comfortable when he—”

Lucas held up a hand. “I get the picture.” Baby diapers and a constipated collie. Such were the challenges of life in New London.

“How long are you here for, Lucas?” John asked. “What are your plans for life after the navy?”

He glanced at Merry. Since she didn’t look surprised, she must have heard the news, too. “Actually, I have some ideas for how I might be able to get back to the Gulf.”

“Maybe your eye trouble is a message that you should stay home,” Merry said. Unlike the women he dated—the ones he dated for real—she’d never been impressed by his military career.

Sometimes it rankled.

“A message from who?” Lucas demanded. “Al Qaeda? Because that sounds like a damn good reason to go out there again.”

“My hero,” she murmured.

It wasn’t a compliment.

She’d started calling him that back when they were kids, playing war games. Sometimes just the two of them, or sometimes he’d invite her to join him and his buddies. Lucas would set up a scenario that involved rescuing Merry from dire peril, but invariably she’d screw it up. He’d explain to her that the Viet Cong had covered her in honey and staked her to a fire ant mound, but don’t worry, he would trek through the jungle to save her. Simple, right?

Wrong. You could bet that when he turned up at the “anthill,” she would clasp her hands and say, “My hero,” in gratifying tones. Then she’d inform him she’d freed herself by using a magnifying glass and the sun to set fire to the ropes that bound her, and had destroyed the ants by, say, playing music at a deadly pitch only ants could hear. In other words, she didn’t need a hero.

Back then, Lucas never had high hopes for a girl in his platoon. Merry had managed to fall short of even his modest expectations.

He couldn’t think why he’d kept asking her to play.

“You can’t blame Merry for worrying about your safety,” John said happily. He tweaked his daughter’s ponytail. “Looks like your dog wants to go, Merry-Berry.”

Boo was circling around, sniffing the ground.

“I just took him, and he didn’t do anything—but I guess I’ll try again,” she grumbled.

Lucas seized the opportunity. “I’ll come with you.”

She glanced at her father, then pressed her lips together.

“Take your time,” John said archly, as if he imagined they were headed outside for some nookie. He started back toward his work, but after a couple of steps, halted abruptly. Lucas couldn’t see his expression, but recognized the clenching of hands at the older man’s sides, and the way John deliberately loosened the fingers, one by one.

Pain.

Lucas took a step toward him.

Merry pushed past Lucas. “Dad, are you okay?”

Boo whined.

“Fine, Merry-Berry.” John’s smile was obviously forced. “Just some stomach cramping.” He paused, as if counting silently. Then his smile grew more natural; the spasm must have passed. He made a shooing motion. “Off you go.”

She hesitated.

A guy didn’t want a bunch of people nosing around when he was in pain. Lucas jerked his head, indicating Merry should follow him.

Her reluctance was evident, but she came anyway. Which could be a positive sign. On the other hand, her demeanor didn’t exactly scream forgiveness.

I should have called.


CHAPTER TWO

ACT COOL, MERRY INSTRUCTED herself as she and Lucas walked with Boo toward the shingle cove that butted up against the wharf area, which in turn butted up against the marina. She sneaked a sidelong glance at Lucas, to find his handsome face angled down, his hands shoved in his pockets. Pretend that night never happened.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

Ugh.

“What for?” She injected surprise into her tone. Then she muttered, “Don’t answer that.” Because she really didn’t want him to elaborate.

“It seemed a good idea at the time,” he said.

Did he mean having sex or not having sex?

Boo headed for the rock pools, his usual silent, stoic, constipated self. He liked to sniff at the baby crabs, but didn’t have the enthusiasm for an actual attack.

“It was one crazy moment,” she said. “You were understandably upset, and I happened to be there....” I happened to launch myself at you, taking advantage of your vulnerability.

“You agree,” he said, “that we were right to stop?”

“Absolutely.” She did now, after what he’d done.

“It would have been for all the wrong reasons.”

“Wrong,” she agreed, wishing he would shut up.

She’d gone to visit him in Baltimore because their fathers had been nagging, asking when she and Lucas would see each other again. The visit had been as much about getting their dads off their backs as about their fluctuating friendship.

She’d arrived a few hours after Lucas had learned that two men from his unit had been killed during a minesweeping operation. An operation Lucas would have been involved in, if he’d still been in the Gulf. He’d been a mess—he’d seemed to think he could have saved his friends.

Fueled by a couple of whiskeys that he shouldn’t have drunk while on pain meds, he’d poured out guilt and self-recrimination with a depth of feeling Merry hadn’t known he was capable of. Naturally, she’d wanted to comfort him. When he slung an arm across her shoulders, she’d snuggled into him on the couch. And was reminded of Date Number Eight, in December last year. Lucas’s brother’s wedding. When for the first time ever, they’d given in to the sexual chemistry that had arced between them on and off for years, and had kissed.

That’s all. Kissed.

But it had been H-O-T.

So hot, they’d both pulled back. Yeah, there was chemistry, but they wanted different things out of life, and getting involved would be too…involved.

But in Baltimore, with Lucas all vulnerable and upset beside her, Merry had forgotten the complications and remembered the heat. In the next minute, she’d been on his lap, her mouth pressed to his.

He hadn’t objected in the slightest. In record time, he’d had her out of her clothes.

And then…

Then he’d looked down at her naked body, which, admittedly, was nothing great. She didn’t have legs up to here, or high, bouncing breasts—she was short, and had hardly any breasts at all. Lucas had paused and looked down at her for a long time, and then he’d said, “Let’s not do this.”

Merry had dressed in mortified silence. She’d left while he was in the bathroom. They hadn’t spoken since.

Boo trotted up, carrying a stick of driftwood. Merry busied herself, patting his head, cooing at him. When the sting in her eyes had gone, she straightened and threw the stick. Boo watched its trajectory, but didn’t bother to pursue it.

“So, are we okay?” Lucas was eyeing her with concern. As if she was a problem he needed to fix.

“Of course,” she said. “I’d hate to be held to one stupid moment, and so would you. Sex is one thing, but relationshipwise, I want what my parents had. You’re the last person in the world for that.”

He looked taken aback at being “the last person in the world.” But it was true. Lucas was pragmatic, protective and, in his own way, caring. But she knew from the debates—purely theoretical—they’d had over the years that he didn’t believe in the kind of soul-mate love her parents had had. He would never love a woman the way Merry wanted to be loved. Her mom had died twenty-three years ago, when Merry was three years old, and her dad still grieved.

Lucas’s mom had died when he was twelve, and Dwight had remarried in less than six months. Merry could easily imagine Lucas doing the same.

“If anything, I’m the one who should apologize,” she said. “Frankly, Lucas, given how upset you were, my behavior was predatory.”

His shout of laughter startled her.

“Merry Wyatt, sexual predator,” he mused, and she felt a sliver of relief at the release of tension.

“At the very least, I was exploitative.” She scuffed her sneaker in the sand.

“Don’t talk dumb,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I started it.”

He hadn’t, but she didn’t argue.

If only he’d turned her down before she was naked. Then she could have accepted the “too complicated” excuse without a qualm. As it was, for weeks she’d wondered, Was it something specific? My breasts, or my legs? Or did I just not turn you on?

They’d reached the stick she’d thrown for Boo. Lucas bent to pick it up with his left hand. He was right-handed.

“How’s your injury?” she asked to change the subject.

“Never better.” He let his hand swing freely at his side. Which, judging by the tightening of his jaw, caused him pain.

Stupid hero complex.

What kind of guy would want to go back to the place where he’d suffered such horrible injuries? A guy like Lucas, who couldn’t help jumping in and saving the world.

Boo nudged Merry’s thigh. She noogied his head, the way he loved. He rewarded her with a rasp of his tongue on her wrist.

“Your dad doesn’t seem too well,” Lucas said. His turn to change the subject, it seemed.

“He gets tired more easily,” she agreed. “Anyone would find five years of dialysis wearing.”

“You should get him to a doctor.”

Oh, honestly. Did he think no one was monitoring the dialysis? “Dad has regular checkups.” Before Lucas could ask, she said, “I’m not sure when the next one is.”

“Merry, your dad’s in pain. Severe pain. I know the signs.”

A chill swept her, borne on the fall breeze. “No, he’s—It’s just the doctors can’t manage his kidney condition when his blood pressure’s so high.” A sudden prickle behind her eyes made it hard to continue. “But they can’t seem to get his blood pressure down. His doctor thinks it’s emotional stress.”

“What emotional stress would he have?”

“Dad’s not the kind to talk about his worries,” she admitted. “But the past six months, I’ve caught him several times just sitting in a kind of trance.”

All she had to do was speak, and he’d snap out of his private thoughts, but still, those moments worried her. She wasn’t used to him not telling her everything. But she didn’t want to discuss this with Lucas. Didn’t want him to see how scared she was. Dad’s got through everything else. He’ll get through this, too.

“We’ve had a really mild fall,” she commented.

“So, what’s with this guy you’re dating?” Lucas asked. “This Patrick?” He whistled to Boo, who was nosing a pile of rotting seaweed. With one last sniff, the collie abandoned his find.

“He’s great,” she enthused. She wanted to say, He can’t get enough of my body. He thinks small boobs are gorgeous. He’s crazy about me. But that might sound a tad defensive. “He’s very romantic.” Despite it being true, Lucas didn’t look impressed. But then, he wouldn’t. “He’s a vet,” she added, babbling now.

“I already got that,” he said.

So he did.

“I think it might be serious,” she said.

His head snapped around. “Really?”

“Um, yes.” Patrick certainly talked as if it was. “Yes,” she said with more certainty. “It might be.”

“But your dad doesn’t like him, right?”

“That’s the one drawback,” she agreed.

“What’s wrong with the guy?” Lucas asked.

“He’s…” For one moment she wished Patrick was a different kind of guy. “Um, you know that Shakespeare quotation, �Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war?’”

“One of my favorites,” Lucas deadpanned.

Entirely possible, given his penchant for rushing to the rescue. Merry sighed. “Patrick’s the founder of the Dogs of Peace.”

“The what?”

“It’s a peace protest group.”

Lucas snorted a laugh.

Merry was all in favor of the laying down of arms and everyone loving their fellow man, et cetera. Truly. But it would be a lot handier if Patrick could devote himself to a different cause. Saving trees, for example. Trees needed protestors, too.

Her father might not have much respect for tree huggers, but he didn’t despise them.

“Patrick thinks the military is evil.” She ignored Lucas’s exaggerated gasp. “He believes he has a right to say so, and he likes to exercise that right. Often. Turns out Dad doesn’t appreciate free speech, not all the time.”

“Where did you meet this flake?” Lucas asked.

In the interest of winning the war, rather than every tiny battle, Merry bit down on the urge to extol Patrick’s wonderful, manly qualities. “He was protesting outside the submarine base in Groton.”

“With…the Dogs of Peace.” Lucas said the name as if it were a rat’s carcass that Boo had dragged in.

“Right,” Merry said. “Patrick’s a veterinarian. Dogs of Peace, get it?”

“Oh, brother,” Lucas muttered. “How long have you been seeing him?”

“Several months.” Since soon after that night in Baltimore, but that was sheer coincidence.

Lucas’s forehead cleared. “So, if you and Patrick are serious, you really are fine about that night we…”

“Totally.” Ugh, her voice went too high.

“That’s great, Merry, because I want us to stay friends.” His sudden smile was oddly boyish. It tugged at the same part of her that had been attracted to Vulnerable Lucas six months ago.

“I bet you do,” she said. “I probably know more of your faults than any other woman, and I’m still willing to talk to you.” Yes, remember his faults. That’ll help.

He grinned. “That goes both ways. Does Patrick know how bad you are at letting a guy look after you?”

She used to enjoy infuriating him during their childhood games. He would turn up to rescue her, claiming to have boarded the submarine where she was being held hostage. She would claim to have overpowered her captor, escaped the sub, then grabbed on to a passing dolphin that delivered her to shore. A scenario no dumber than his, which involved him sneaking into a submerged submarine.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like being looked after, it was more that she’d never liked Lucas’s reasons for wanting to protect her and everyone else in his path. It was nothing personal…and that was the problem.

“Patrick doesn’t need to save the world to feel good about himself,” she said. Wonderful though he was with animals, there wasn’t much chance of Patrick overdoing the rescuer instinct.

Lucas opened his mouth as if to argue. Then he paused, and said, “Since we’re okay, can I ask you a favor? I just came from my parents’ place.”

“Did you see Mia?” Merry asked. “Isn’t she adorable?”

He blinked. “Yeah, sure. Dad wants me to talk to you about whether I should be trying to get back to the Gulf.” Lucas sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe his father was relying on any opinion other than his own.

They’d reached the end of the beach; they turned and started back.

“Your dad’s a changed man,” she said. “I like him a lot better these days.”

Lucas didn’t look excited. “Could you tell him you think I should get a retest on the physical?”

“What if I don’t think that? What if I think it’s time you accepted reality and figured out what matters?”

He rolled his eyes. “You sound like Dad. But it’s not like you’re big on reality yourself, with your romantic ideals.” He must have sensed her imminent objection, because he hurried on. “And it’s not like I haven’t helped you in the past. You used the fact we were �dating’ to make your father feel better about you turning down a full ride to Berkeley.”

Lucas had been hopping mad with her about that. But she’d wanted to stay with her father. They were each other’s only family, and family was important. But Dad wouldn’t have wanted to “hold her back,” so Lucas had grudgingly let her claim a closeness they didn’t have. While her dad had been disappointed she wasn’t going on to further study, he’d been happy that she and Lucas were together.

“I’ve already done my share of helping you out,” she said. “I was your decoy for six months when that captain’s daughter was after you. We didn’t �break up’ until you were assigned to the ship you wanted.”

“I know, but—”

“And what about when you were worried Dwight might use his influence to keep you out of a war zone? I gushed for three months about how thrilled I was that you were fighting tyranny on foreign shores. I did a great job.”

Their strategy had been simple, but effective. Since Lucas and his dad had a weird don’t ask, don’t tell policy on any number of subjects, Dwight would never discuss Lucas’s love life with him. Instead, Merry informed her own father of their latest status, knowing that he would pass it to Dwight over their weekly game of pool, or while they tended meat on the grill.

“In hindsight,” Lucas said, “I don’t think Dad would have intervened. So that one doesn’t count.”

“It counts,” she retorted. “Then there was that ex-girlfriend’s wedding I had to attend as your date.” Lucas had wanted to make it clear to the groom he wasn’t pining for the bride.

“You’ve been a trouper,” he said insincerely. “One more time, Merry, that’s all I’m asking. Then you and Patrick can ride off into the sunset spouting poetry or whatever it is you romantic types like to do.”

She smacked his arm before she remembered that touching him wasn’t a good idea. Too much room for confusion.

Boo yipped, as if questioning her intent; his Lassie face had lengthened in anxiety.

“Fine,” Merry said.

He stopped. “You’ll do it? You’ll ask my dad to request a retest?”

“Yes, I’ll do it,” she said. “What are friends for?” He was right; they did help each other out when they could. And if he went back to the Gulf, she wouldn’t see him for another year, by which time there was a faint chance they would both have forgotten Baltimore.

Not.

“Thanks, Merry,” he said.

For one horrendous moment, she thought he might kiss her.

Then he said, “I’ll ask your dad to put in a good word, too. I need all the help I can get.” Mission accomplished, he strode toward the workshop, distancing himself from her with every step.

He wrenched the iron door along its track, pausing halfway, then finishing the job with renewed vigor. He disappeared inside.

Ten seconds later, Merry heard a shout. And despite all the denials she’d issued to Lucas, in that instant, she knew.

She sprinted after him.

Her dad was lying on the floor of the workshop, next to the hull of the half-formed yacht. Lucas had one hand on his pulse, the other wrapped around his cell phone.


CHAPTER THREE

“WHEN WILL THEY TELL ME what’s going on?” Merry gripped the edge of her plastic chair in the ICU waiting room that the hospital had assigned to “Family of John Wyatt.”

“As soon as they know something.” Lucas was doing a good job of acting as if she hadn’t asked that question twenty times already. She wondered if the U.S. Naval Academy ran classes in Maintaining a Rocklike Calm in a Crisis. Lucas would have aced it.

“I called my dad,” he said. “He and Stephanie are waiting for a sitter for Mia, then they’ll be right here.”

“They don’t need to come.” Her father and Lucas’s had been there for each other at all the most important events of their lives. She wanted this to be a little glitch, not a defining moment.

She and Lucas lapsed into silence again. When a nurse stuck her head around the door, they both jumped.

“A doctor will be out to see you in about ten minutes, Ms. Wyatt.” Her gaze drifted sideways to Lucas. Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Thank you for your patience.” She left the room with a lingering glance over her shoulder. Not at Merry.

“If you’re looking for a date, you could be in luck,” Merry said.

“Not interested.” Lucas stretched back in his chair.

“I didn’t ask,” she said. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment? Other than me?”

It wasn’t much of a joke. Still, he smiled. “Currently single. There was someone last year, before I was shot down—a nurse on my aircraft carrier. She married another guy. Lucky for you, I wasn’t invited to the wedding, so I didn’t need a date.”

Merry forced herself to keep talking so she wouldn’t fall into a panic about her father. “That seems to be a recurring theme. Girlfriend breaks up with you, then marries someone else six months later. Do you think the adrenaline rush of getting away from you makes them crazy?”

“She proposed to me, and I turned her down. She found a man who wanted the fairy-tale wedding. End of story.”

Lucas stood and crossed to a poster of CPR instructions on the wall. He began reading, though Merry suspected he knew the details inside out from his military training. Her dad had still had a pulse when they’d found him, so CPR hadn’t been necessary. Maybe she should take a refresher course, so that next time…

She shied away from the thought. Yeah, Dad was sick, but the dialysis was working. Whatever this episode was, he’d get past it. They’d get past it. “Why didn’t you want to marry her? What was wrong with her?” Easier to analyze Lucas’s patchy dating history than her father’s health.

Lucas leaned against the wall, obscuring useful advice about clearing the airway before commencing CPR. “Nothing. She checked all the boxes.”

“Loves the navy, built like a Victoria’s Secret model…” Merry counted points off on her fingers.

He grinned. “Pretty much.”

So Merry’s small breasts had turned him off. The only kind of Victoria’s Secret model she could be was for one of those bras that transformed nonexistent boobs into almost-cleavage. “She sounds perfect.”

“She was turning thirty,” Lucas said.

Merry gasped. “An old hag!”

His mouth quirked. “Her biological clock was ticking. When I said I wasn’t ready for marriage, she asked me to be a sperm donor.”

“And you didn’t want to?”

“If I was going to procreate, I’d want to raise the kid myself.” He sat down again, this time several seats away from Merry.

Of course he’d want to do it himself. He would never shirk a responsibility. But there was more to parenting than that, or there should be.

“Being a dad is a big deal,” she limited herself to saying. John Wyatt was the only parent she knew. He’d not only been a wonderful father, he’d kept alive the mother she didn’t remember. If she lost him…

“Snap out of it, Merry,” Lucas said. “Don’t assume the worst.”

“Quit ordering me around.” Her reflexive reaction.

“You never could do as you were told.” He shook his head with mock disappointment.

“You never could explain why I had to be the petty officer third class, while you always got to be the captain.”

He blinked at the reference to that childhood resentment. But she felt suddenly like a child. Vulnerable to loss.

“It was for your own good,” he said. “I couldn’t promote you until you learned not to be insubordinate. You were even worse when you were the enemy—you could never accept that prisoner of war meant you were the loser.”

“You could never understand that I might have cooperated if you didn’t insist on being in command,” she retorted.

Though today had proved that a tendency to take charge wasn’t always a bad thing. While Merry had been paralyzed with shock, Lucas had found a blanket in the office, put it over her father, continued monitoring his pulse. He’d stayed so calm as they’d waited for the ambulance.

“You were great today,” she blurted.

“I didn’t do anything.” He folded his arms across his chest.

The door to the waiting room opened. A woman wearing scrubs came in. “Ms. Wyatt?”

Merry stood on legs that were suddenly leaden. “That’s me.”

“I’m Dr. Randall. Your father is stable in ICU.”

“Stable.” Merry clutched the word.

“I’m afraid that’s a temporary state,” the doctor said. “We’re still running tests, but we believe your father has dialysis-associated peritonitis.”

He’d had that before, though not so badly that he’d collapsed. Infection was a constant risk for peritoneal dialysis patients, usually resulting from a lapse in hygiene during the process. Merry made sure everything occurred in a sterile fashion during his lunchtime session, but she could imagine her dad “not bothering” in the evening.

“I’ll supervise him every time from now on,” she vowed. “I’ll move in with him—I’ll hold a gun to his head until he scrubs every last speck of sawdust from under his fingernails.”

Dr. Randall looked startled. Lucas grinned.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” the doctor said. “If the infection’s as severe as we believe, Mr. Wyatt can’t continue on peritoneal dialysis…and the reason he switched to PD two years ago was because hemodialysis was no longer a possibility for him.”

Lucas’s smile vanished. “How long does he have?”

What did he mean, how long? That was the kind of question you asked about people who…

“We expect his kidney failure to become fatal in the next ten days,” Dr. Randall said.

“Dad’s going to die?” Merry’s knees sagged. Before she could keel over, Lucas’s arm came around her shoulders, held her up. Impersonal, but strong. “In ten days?”

“Given his current condition, I’d say more likely in the next four or five days. I’m sorry, Ms. Wyatt, not to have better news.” The doctor fingered the stethoscope protruding from her trouser pocket. “I know this won’t make you feel better right now, but kidney failure is considered one of the gentler forms of death. Very peaceful. Many medical personnel say it’s the way they’d like to go.”

Merry started to laugh. She knew she was becoming hysterical, but couldn’t stop it.

The doctor took a step backward.

Lucas tightened his hold on Merry’s shoulder. “There must be something we can do.”

“There’s still the possibility of a donor kidney becoming available,” the doctor said. “I know you’re not a match, Ms. Wyatt, but are there any other relatives or friends who might agree to being tested?”

“I will,” Lucas said.

Merry caught her breath. “You’d do that? For Dad?”

“Your dad saved my dad’s life. Time the Calders returned the favor.”

The doctor looked confused. “So…this isn’t your husband?”

“No!” They spoke almost in unison, with Merry just a tad faster.

“What blood type are you?” Dr. Randall asked Lucas. “That’s the first thing to consider before we move ahead to any tests.”

“I’m A positive. What do you need?” As if he could change his blood type to suit.

“I’m sorry.” The doctor told him what Merry already knew. “Mr. Wyatt is type O, so we need an O donor.”

“Maybe my father’s a match.” Lucas offered up one of Dwight’s kidneys without hesitation.

“Your dad already got tested back when Dad had to move off hemodialysis,” Merry said. “And Dwight made such a fuss about Stephanie doing it, she backed down. I think we’ve exhausted our pool of related donors,” she told the doctor. “Has Dad moved up the general transplant list?”

“It’s not a list, as such,” the doctor said. “Patients are assigned points based on several criteria. But, yes, your father has more points than he did yesterday.” She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands, looking exhausted. Merry almost forgave her the comment about a “gentle” death.

After the physician left, Merry realized Lucas’s arm was still around her. She moved away. “Lucas, thank you for offering to get tested. That was—” Her throat clogged.

“A safe bet,” he said with a shrug. “What were the odds I’d end up a match?”

But she knew he’d meant it. Merry found herself scrubbing her eyes the same way the doctor had. “Where am I going to get a kidney?” she said. “Could I buy one on eBay?” She was joking, but only just.

“Too Third World,” he said. “Better to stake out the blood donor clinic, figure out who’s a match, then run them over in the parking lot.”

She managed a watery smile. “Great idea.”

“The challenge is not to kill them,” he mused, “but to get them into the hospital close enough to death for the kidney to be available stat.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

The nurse stuck her head around the door again. “Ms. Wyatt, you can see your father now. Ten minutes, just one of you.” She spoke to Merry, but looked at Lucas.

Merry jumped to her feet. “At last. Thank you.”

Lucas put a hand on her arm, stalling her. “Merry…if the doctor’s right, and your father doesn’t have much time, you probably need to tell some people. Folks who want to say goodbye. I could leave now, go make some calls.”

The room swam for a moment and she grasped the back of the chair she’d just vacated. “His friends,” she murmured. “Old navy buddies. If we ask your father and a couple of others to pass the word along… Dad will tell me who to speak to. I’ll text you.”

“Family?”

She shook her head. “He has cousins in England, but it’s only the younger generation left. We’re not in touch.”

It sounded so lonely. So sad. Yet it hadn’t been, not when there’d been the two of them.

But in a few days, it would be only Merry.

* * *

MERRY’S FATHER’S ROOM was a hive of monitors, wires, tubes. He took up most of the length of the bed, but little of the width. His eyes were open, unblinking, and for a horrified moment she thought he—

“Merry-Berry,” he rasped.

She rushed forward, looking for some part of him she could hold on to without ripping out a tube, or hurting him. There was nothing, no part of him untouched, except for the callused fingers of his right hand.

She sandwiched them between her palms. “Dad, you…” Slow down, don’t upset him. “You gave me a scare.”

His chuckle sounded like air leaking out of a balloon…but at least it was there. Maybe the doctor was wrong.

“When you get out of here, I’m going to monitor every dialysis session, whether you like it or not,” she vowed.

“Yes, dear,” he said with a faint smile. But his eyes said he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of here.

To her horror, a tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye and ran onto the pillow. “Dad, please…”

His fingers twitched between hers. “Merry…the lawyer has a copy of my will.”

“The doctor says you’ve moved up in the transplant points,” Merry said. “You could get a new kidney any minute.”

“It’s pretty straightforward. Everything to you, except for a small bequest to the VVA.” Her dad was a longtime supporter of the Vietnam Veterans of America.

“We’ll get you through this,” she said. “I’m not letting you go, Dad.”

“I’m not worried about you financially,” he persisted. “You’ll do nicely by selling the business. But…Merry-Berry, I think I made a mistake.”

She blinked away tears. “Dad, it’s so hard to avoid infection when you’re on dialysis, anyone could—”

“Not that,” he said. “After your mother died, I should have— Maybe I should have married again.”

Merry straightened, shocked. “No, Dad. You always said you could never love anyone else.”

“Maybe I should have tried. Then I wouldn’t be leaving you alone.” John tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I wish I had met someone else, like Dwight did. But I didn’t even try.”

“I never wanted a stepmother,” Merry said. She thought about Lucas’s brother, Garrett, who until recently had considered Stephanie his enemy. A stepmother she hated would have been far worse than no one at all. “I’ve loved it being just you and me. And I love your stories about Mom, and about how you two met and fell in love.”

Her father’s chin quivered. Barely noticeable, but it was there. Amazing that the memory of her mother still had the power to affect him like that.

“I hate the thought of you being alone,” he said. His fingers fluttered in her grip. “Merry, this has been on my mind for a while.”

If he’d been thinking about it, he’d obviously sensed he was sicker than he’d let on. Was his worry about her future the cause of those “trances” she occasionally found him in? The reason for the stress that had sent his high blood pressure over the edge?

“I’ll be just fine.” Her attempt at reassurance came out thin and unconvincing. Her dad was everything, everyone, to her. She had friends, boyfriends…but no one who put her first in their life. “I—I love you, Dad. So much.” She dug in her pocket for a tissue, blew her nose. “Please, don’t worry about me, just concentrate on getting better.”

A stupid thing to say.

He nodded. But another tear leaked onto his pillow, and then another. And now her tissue was all snotty.

“You’ve been wonderful, the way you’ve looked after me,” he said. “Never interfering or pushy, but making sure I was doing my dialysis, getting regular checkups.”

“I haven’t done anything,” she said. “You wouldn’t let me.”

He smiled, and it felt like a gift. “I was mad when you wouldn’t go away to college, but I’ve been so grateful to have you here with me. A lot of parents, their kids go away to school, they meet some guy or girl on the other side of the country, and that’s it. Gone.”

“I couldn’t leave you, Dad.”

“Instead, I’m leaving you,” he said. “Who’ll look after you, Merry, if you get sick? Who’ll fix your car when that starter motor plays up again?”

“My doctor and my mechanic,” she said, and this time she managed the necessary lightness.

“Who’s going to comfort you when I’m gone?” he asked. “Be at your side, through good times and bad? Not just next week, but for the rest of your life.”

It struck her that during all that time in the waiting room, she hadn’t once thought of calling Patrick.

“There’ll be someone.” She tried to sound confident. “Dad, I don’t want you worrying about me. Think of something that makes you happy.”

“I’ll tell you what would make me happy,” he said with a surge of energy that sent her hopes soaring. “It’d stop me worrying, too.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen,” she said instantly. “Uh, I don’t have to �hang, draw and quarter those idiots who made Fisher Street one-way,’ do I?”

Her father gave a raspy chuckle at one of his favorite threats. “Nothing so drastic, Merry-Berry.” He patted her hand. “I’d like you to get married.”

She laughed, louder than the joke deserved, but if he felt well enough to kid around…

Wait a minute.

He wasn’t smiling.

He was giving her the same look he had when he’d said, “I’d like you to promise me you’ll never get in a car with a boy who’s been drinking.” And, “I’d like you to never smoke marijuana.” No problem with the second, but she couldn’t say she’d obeyed the first a hundred percent. As for this one…

“Dad, no! I can’t just get married out of the blue.”

“What happened to �whatever it is, I’ll make it happen’?” He lifted his tubed-and-wired left hand a few inches off the blanket, agitated.

“I can’t work miracles,” she said. “Patrick and I have only been dating for—”

“Patrick!” John’s face turned red. “I don’t want my daughter ending up with that lemon. You need to marry Lucas.”

Merry’s chair scraped harshly against the linoleum as she jerked backward. “Dad, that’s crazy.”

“Think about it,” he said. “You’ve dated on and off for years, so there’s obviously something strong between you.”

A strong desire to shut their fathers up. “More off than on,” she said. “Dad, we’re not—”

“You both know that Dwight and I always hoped you two… But that’s not a good reason,” he said. “What is a good reason is that you suit each other. It’s obvious to everyone.”

“Dad, Lucas and I aren’t that close.” Damn those stupid exaggerations she’d fed their fathers. “Let alone soul mates, which is what you’ve always said I should look for.”

“How do you know you’re not soul mates?” John said. “You’ve never given each other a serious chance.”

“You and Mom knew instantly,” she reminded him.

“We met when we were in our twenties. Chances are, if I’d known her since I was three years old, like you’ve known Lucas, it might have taken me a little longer to see the treasure right before my eyes.”

“Dad, I’m not Lucas’s treasure, and he’s not mine.”

“I think you are,” he said obstinately. “Lucas told me when he was ten years old that he planned to marry you.”

Her jaw dropped. “No way.”

John managed a grin. “Where do you think Dwight and I got the idea?”

“You can hardly hold Lucas to a ten-year-old’s crush.” She wondered if he remembered. Reminding him could be fun....

An alarm beeped on one of her father’s monitors, and she jumped. “What’s that? Dad, are you okay?”

A nurse, older than the one from the waiting room, bustled in, just in time to stop Merry hitting the panic button. “Time for a top-up, Mr. Wyatt.” With deft movements she removed an empty IV bag from its hanger and replaced it with a full one.

Merry didn’t speak until the monitor was chugging along in what she assumed was a normal fashion. Then she said, “Dad, it’s sweet that you’re worried about me....”

“It’s not sweet,” he growled. “It’s hell.”

That silenced her. Momentarily. “Even if I was willing, Lucas doesn’t want to marry me.”

“Have you even asked him?” her dad demanded.

“Of course not.”

“Merry…” Her father briefly closed his eyes. “We both know I’m not going to make it. It would mean more than I can say to know you’re married to Lucas. A man who’ll look after you.”

“He wants to go back to active duty,” she reminded her father.

“That’s his job. The navy will take care of him. And of you, when he’s away.”

Men like her dad and Dwight—and Lucas—considered arguments about the mortality rates in the services irrelevant.

“I know Lucas cares for you,” John said. “If it’s at all possible, please, could you ask him if—if he cares enough to marry you?”

Not in a million years.

Another monitor started beeping. This time, Merry didn’t panic. But this time it was serious. Two nurses ran in, followed by a doctor. Merry found herself out in the hallway, the door closed in her face.

She leaned her forehead against it and prayed for her father’s survival. For a miracle cure.

What if there is no miracle? Would she let her father die worrying about her, deprived of the peace a man should have in his final moments? When just maybe, she had the power to give him that peace?


CHAPTER FOUR

MERRY PUSHED OPEN THE DOOR to Pete’s Burger Shack. She couldn’t have been thinking clearly, to have suggested this place to Patrick when he’d texted to confirm their date. Of course I wasn’t thinking clearly. The only thought in her head had been how she might ease her dad’s fears.

Pete’s might be a New London institution, but it wasn’t the setting for important occasions. It had been the venue for Merry’s second annual Date With Lucas.

At first glance, she couldn’t see Patrick in the happy-hour crowd. She was about to text to ask if he was here when her cell phone buzzed. A message from Lucas: WHERE ARE U?

She texted back: PETE’S

He probably wanted contact information for the people he should notify about her dad. But since she hadn’t been allowed back into his room, she didn’t have it. Ah, there was Patrick, waving to her from the back corner booth.

She pushed her way through the happy drinkers. Patrick already had a glass of red wine and a bowl of peanuts in front of him; he stood as she arrived.

“Hi, sweetheart.” One hand settled on her hip as he leaned to kiss her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She slid into the seat opposite.

Patrick had the kind of looks any woman would like. His brown hair was slightly long and flopped over his forehead. He was slim but well-proportioned with a ready smile. His two passions—animals and peace—seemed to Merry the ultimate in caring. She felt a rush of affection for him.

Most parents would be thrilled to have their daughter bring him home…so long as those parents weren’t navy personnel and committed militarists.

Merline, Pete’s wife and longtime waitress, came over. “Merry, honey, I’m gonna need to see some ID.” She still made Merry do this every single time. Merry’s second date with Lucas had been her first visit to Pete’s; she must have been eighteen going on nineteen, with him twenty-one. She’d produced a fake ID to buy a drink, and he’d told Merline that Merry was underage. For her own safety, he’d announced sanctimoniously.

Now, she handed over her driver’s license for Merline to hold up to the light, align the photo next to Merry’s face and generally make a production out of inspecting it. At last, she consented to take her order for a glass of chardonnay. She was chuckling as she walked away.

“What was that about?” Patrick asked.

“Old joke, long story.” Merry leaned her head back against the booth and gathered her energy.

“How’s Boo?” Patrick asked. He was convinced Boo’s constipation was the result of emotional trauma and would ease as soon as the dog accepted Merry as his new owner.

“No change,” she said.

Patrick filled the time until her drink arrived with an entertaining account of the conference he’d attended in Denver.

Merline reappeared with the chardonnay and a much larger bowl of nuts, which she set in front of Merry. Her apology for the driver’s license trick.

“Thanks, Merline,” Merry slid the bowl sideways to cover up a beer ring on the table. Every table at Pete’s had multiple such rings, and had for as long as she could remember. Shouldn’t Lucas have taken her someplace fancier on that second date?

As soon as Merline left, Merry leaned forward. “Patrick, something awful happened today. My dad’s in the hospital—he’s really sick.” She managed to tell him the situation without actually using the word dying, but her voice shook all the same.

“Sweetheart, that’s terrible.” He grasped her hands across the table, his eyes filled with tender concern. “You should have called me. I would have come to the hospital with you.”

She didn’t say, I never thought of it. “I know it’s hard for you to leave your patients. Besides, Lucas was there. Lucas Calder. He’s this guy, the son of—”

“—your dad’s best friend. The hero chopper pilot you always talk about,” Patrick said.

Merry blinked. “I don’t always talk about him. I never even mention him.”

“He’s the guy who got shot down last year,” Patrick said.

Okay, she might have mentioned that. Getting shot down was a big deal.

“The guy you played with as a kid, the �bossy jerk with an overactive rescuer gene,’” Patrick continued, clearly quoting her. The words did sound kind of familiar.

Weirdly, she had the impulse to defend Lucas. To say he wasn’t entirely a jerk. Even though he’d behaved like a massive one that night in Baltimore. Not thinking about that.

“The thing is,” she said tightly, “I do need your help now.”

Patrick shut up about Lucas, all concerned about her. “Anything,” he said. “Let me be here for you, Merry. I want to help.” His charming, boyish smile came out. “I love you.”

Phew, this is going to be okay. “Thank you,” she said.

When he blinked, she realized he’d been waiting for a reciprocal declaration. Time for that later.

“Dad’s worried about me being alone after he— In the future,” she said. “He asked me to get married.”

Patrick froze, wineglass halfway to his mouth. “I thought your dad didn’t like me. Now he wants me for a son-in-law?”

Merry noticed he wasn’t cheering at the prospect of matrimony. “Actually,” she admitted, “he asked me to marry Lucas.”

“Why would your father want you to marry a guy you’ve always said is a creep?” Patrick swigged his merlot. “Hasn’t he heard you go on about how Lucas doesn’t know the first thing about relationships?”

She wanted to dispute always and go on, and she was pretty sure she’d never said creep…but now wasn’t the time to split hairs. She managed a shrug. “It’s a family friend thing, that’s all.”

“You always say Lucas doesn’t like New London,” Patrick accused. “How come he’s even here?”

Could he stop with the always? “He came back to see his family.” Merry squeezed Patrick’s fingers. “Of course I’m not going to marry Lucas.” Now would be a good time to say “I love you.” “I’m not going to marry anyone at all, not right now. But if you truly want to help me…would you mind pretending to be engaged?”

Patrick’s fingers jerked; she tightened her grasp.

“Not for long,” she said quickly. “Just until Dad… Just for a few days.”

Patrick took another drink of his wine and swallowed hard before setting down his glass. “How would that help, when it’s Lucas he wants for you?”

“He might have a preference for Lucas, but his main concern is seeing me happy,” she assured him. “If we tell Dad we’re getting married, and I convince him I’m blissfully happy, I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

She just couldn’t ask Lucas, not after Baltimore. If she asked him, and he turned her down again…or worse, if he thought she still wanted him… Ugh. She could make this work with Patrick, even if he wasn’t Dad’s number one choice. Her father was the ultimate romantic, if she convinced him she adored Patrick, he would be satisfied. Maybe she could persuade Patrick to say something nice about the navy.

“But we’d be lying,” Patrick said. “Getting engaged isn’t a game, Merry. You can’t devalue marriage like that.”

“You said you love me,” she snapped. She drew a calming breath. “Sorry, I’m under a bit of stress here. We won’t make a public announcement,” she promised. She might have to tell Dad they’d put a notice in the Day, but that would be a minor lie compared with the “we’re engaged” one. “It’ll be just between us and Dad, for a few days, maybe a week. Or so.”

That was another advantage Patrick had over Lucas. Lucas’s family would have to be lied to; Patrick’s parents in Colorado would know nothing about it.

Patrick was looking at her as if she was some kind of monster. She was starting to feel like a monster.

“Patrick, I know it’s not honest—” she reminded herself she liked his idealism “—but it’s for a good cause. The…the best cause.” Her voice cracked. She pushed the peanuts toward him as if they might serve as an incentive to get engaged to her.

Reflexively, he grabbed a handful of nuts and tipped them into his mouth. Which gave her more time to talk, to persuade him.

“It’s not as if you and I don’t care for each other a lot,” she said. “Maybe we could look at this as a trial run for a real engagement.” When he didn’t argue, she figured she was making progress. “Do you remember, on our very first date, you said you knew for sure I was going to be important in your life? And I said I felt the same? Maybe this is—” She stopped.

Patrick’s color had deepened. His hand was pressed to his throat; his eyes bulged.

“Uh, Patrick…are you choking?”

Stupid question. Of course he was.

Merry jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair. “Help!” she called. “He’s choking.” She dashed around the table. Heimlich maneuver. She’d seen it performed in countless movies.

For a moment it seemed no one had heard her over the happy hour hubbub. Then Merline rushed up. “What can I do?” Now other people turned to look, started to move, but in what seemed like slow motion.

“Just help me shift him....” Merry had her arms around Patrick from behind, but the high seat back made it impossible to get a grip. Dammit, this didn’t happen in the movies. “If we get him off the chair…”

Next moment, the chair was gone, Merry had been shoved aside and Lucas—where did he come from?—had his arms around Patrick, hands positioned beneath his rib cage. Two sharp heaves, and a nut flew from Patrick’s mouth, landing in his wine.

Patrick sucked in great gasps of air, his color quickly returning to normal.

“Are you okay?” Merry asked, as the other drinkers applauded.

He nodded, rubbing his throat. “Yeah.” It came out as a croak. He glanced around. “I thought it was all over. Who…?”

Lucas stepped forward, hand outstretched, as relaxed as if he regularly performed the Heimlich maneuver ten times before breakfast. “You must be Patrick. I’m Lucas Calder.”

Patrick’s handshake looked disappointingly limp, but, heck, the guy had almost died. Lucas saved his life.

“What are you doing here?” Merry asked Lucas.

“You said you were here. I was worried you might be drowning your sorrows alone.” His gaze flicked over Patrick. “I should have known better.”

Patrick was looking him up and down, suspicion blooming on his face. Maybe Lucas didn’t seem quite like the creep Merry had apparently called him. In fact, even in worn jeans and a plain, long-sleeved dark T-shirt, he looked…gorgeous.

If you liked that kind of thing.

Merry realized Patrick was pocketing the wallet and keys he’d left on the table. “Patrick, wait, we haven’t finished our conversation.” I need a fake fiancé.

“I think we have,” he said, his voice still croaky. “If it takes desperation for you to suggest we take our relationship to the next level, Merry, I don’t think we have much going for us. I’ve suspected for a while that only one of us was actually committed to this relationship.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“Hey, buddy,” Lucas said. “What kind of guy dumps a woman when her dad’s in the hospital?”

Patrick flushed. “You’d better ask Merry that question.”

“Don’t go,” Merry pleaded. “We can work this out.”

“You…” Patrick stopped, mouth open, an arrested expression on his face.

“One thing you ought to know, Merry,” Lucas said.

Patrick leaned forward and barfed. All over her.

“The Heimlich maneuver can cause vomiting,” Lucas said helpfully.

* * *

AS THE BUSSER CLEANED UP the floor, Lucas stood aside, then ordered a fresh glass of wine for Merry, plus a beer for himself. Just as the drinks arrived, along with a fresh bowl of nuts, Merry emerged from the bathroom wearing a red-white-and-blue Pete’s Burger Shack polo. Merline’s, going by its generous sizing. The rolled-up black pants weren’t her own, either. Lucas guessed her clothes were in the plastic grocery bag she set under the table.

“I ordered you a chardonnay,” he said. “Thought I’d save you the hassle of having to show Merline your ID again.”

“A ritual for which I have you to thank.” Merry sat down with a little whoosh of breath. She dug into the bowl of peanuts on the table and crammed a handful into her mouth.

“Careful,” Lucas murmured.

“I’m sure you’ll save my life if I choke,” she said around the nuts. She waited until she’d swallowed before continuing. “Besides, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I stopped by the hospital again this afternoon,” Lucas told her, “but they still wouldn’t let me see your dad.”

“Thanks for trying,” Merry said. “And thanks again for what you did at the boatyard. You’re not bad in a crisis.”

“You should see me in a war.” He took a swig from his longneck. “So, how’s he doing?”

“Nothing’s changed from what the doctor said when you were there.” She wrapped her fingers tightly around the stem of her wineglass. “He’s dying.”

From the sudden widening of her eyes, Lucas guessed she hadn’t truly admitted it to herself before. Saying the word—dying—left her opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish.

“Take a drink,” Lucas said.

She glugged too big a mouthful and coughed.

“I’m sorry, Merry,” Lucas said. “Maybe he’ll get a donor kidney.”

“Maybe.” Blinking hard, she took a more moderate sip of her wine.

A waitress, one-third Merline’s age and three times prettier, struck a pose next to their table—hip cocked, shoulders thrown back to accentuate her breasts in her low-cut T-shirt. “You guys, like, need anything else?” She batted her eyelashes at Lucas.

“Gosh, yes, thanks so much,” Merry gushed. “Some privacy would be wonderful.”

The girl scowled, dropped the pose and walked off.

Lucas laughed.

“Okay, that was rude of me,” Merry admitted. “But I’m not in the mood.” She propped her chin on one hand, the picture of moroseness. Was that only about her dad? Or…

“I wouldn’t worry about losing Patrick Peacenik if I were you,” Lucas advised.

She glowered. “Thanks for the tip.”

“If the guy’s not willing to stand by you in a crisis…” He didn’t mean to sound quite so contemptuous. But, hey. There were some things a man should do without question. Lucas’s instincts had proved right—from first sight, he’d been irritated by Patrick with his floppy, pretty-boy hair and his bug eyes. Admittedly, the bug eyes were caused by nearly choking to death.

“I might have made it hard for him to be supportive,” Merry confessed. “I asked him for a pretty big favor.”

“You wanted him to run over a potential kidney donor?”

She smiled reluctantly. “That might have been easier. Dad’s got it into his head that he wants to see me safely married before he…you know.”

“You asked Patrick to marry you?” Lucas said, appalled.

“Hey, he supposedly loved me,” she retorted. “Besides, he didn’t have to actually marry me. Just pretend to be engaged for a few days.”

“Is that all?” Lucas set down his beer. “And he said no?”

“He said marriage is too special to devalue in that way,” she muttered.

Lucas snickered. “Poor Merry. No way could you disagree with that.” He knew exactly how she felt about love and marriage.

“Ordinarily, no.” She sipped her wine. “Actually, Dad wanted me to marry you.”

Lucas snorted. “Those must be some drugs they’re giving him.”

“He’s drugged, but lucid. He’s just very worried about me being left alone.”

“Poor guy.” Lucas tried to imagine John saying such a thing. It was an indication of how keenly the man must be feeling his mortality. Even trapped in a sand hole in the desert, Lucas had never doubted his ability to survive. Never found himself coming up with crazy ideas for the people he’d leave behind.

But John was right to be worried. His closeness to Merry and the lack of any other family meant his death would be extra hard on her.

Looking at her, biting her lower lip, just slightly to the left side, the way she always did when she was anxious. That lower lip of hers was remarkably full.... He shifted his focus to his beer, brought the bottle to his mouth.

“What am I going to do?” Merry said. “I can’t bear to see Dad so distressed.”

She appeared so bleak, so hopeless, Lucas felt a tug of response in that deep part of him that compelled him to action in a crisis. Lucas Calder to the rescue.

“Any reason I can’t be your fake fiancé?” he asked. “It’s just for a few days, right? And I’m your dad’s preferred candidate.”

She swallowed some more wine. “I appreciate the offer, but…”

“Are you saying no because of Baltimore?” he demanded. The memory of that night gave him a mental pause, too, but they were both adults.

“Of course not. Doing it with you—” her cheeks colored at the poor choice of words “—is too complicated. Patrick’s family live in Colorado and would never need to know. Your parents are right here.”

Okay, that was a problem.

Lucas thought about it. His father had an almost fanatical regard for the truth. “Dad would never lie to John, or let someone else get away with lying to him.”

“Exactly.”

“So we wouldn’t tell them it was fake until later.” Lucas warmed to the idea. “Merry, if it wasn’t for your dad saving my father’s life, I wouldn’t exist. If I can help give John some peace in his last days, for the price of an engagement that’ll mean nothing to either you or me, and will soon be forgotten… It’s a no-brainer.”

There weren’t enough good reasons not to do it.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “When you put it like that…Lucas, thank you. I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me to be able to reassure Dad.”

“All in the line of duty.” His mind raced ahead, scoping out the mission, the critical path. He was surprised to feel a faint buzz of adrenaline. Yeah, he wanted to do this—support her, make her dad happy.

“We’ll be doing pretty much what we’d be doing over the next few days anyway,” he said. “I’d want to help you and your dad out while he’s sick. Now I’ll be doing it as your fiancé.” Lucas drummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe calling you honeybun every now and then.” He added casually, “I’d probably have to kiss you once or twice, too.”

His gaze had got hung up on her mouth again. He wrenched it away.

“No honeybun,” she said firmly. “No kissing. No…no hanky-panky at all.”

Her edict naturally made him immediately want hanky-panky—dumb, old-fashioned word—and lots of it. But…

“You’re right,” he said, and meant it. “We should avoid complications. This needs to be easy to unravel afterward. The best missions are the simplest.”

She rolled her eyes at the military analogy.

He sensed the situation wasn’t without risk, though he hadn’t had time to quantify it. But whatever it was, Lucas was an expert at risk management. “We’ll make it work,” he said confidently. “No problem.”


CHAPTER FIVE

MERRY’S FATHER WAS ASLEEP when she arrived in his room at seven the next morning. Now that he was stable, he’d been moved out of ICU, and even with all his tubes and monitors, he looked peaceful. More peaceful than she felt.

She’d had a third glass of wine with Lucas last night—it seemed they’d both felt the need of some liquid courage—and now she was paying for it with the thumping in her temples.

She sat with her eyes closed, waiting for her dad to stir. Lucas had said he’d meet her at the hospital this morning so they could announce their “engagement” together. She had to admit she was pleased not to be doing it alone.

By the time John woke, soon after eight, she felt a little less seedy.

“Merry-Berry,” he said sleepily.

She sprang to her feet. “How are you feeling? Can I get you something?”

“I feel good,” he murmured, sounding surprised.

The words sent a chill through her. Dr. Randall had described kidney failure as a “peaceful death.”

A nurse came into the room then. Merry wondered if one of her father’s monitors had alerted the nursing station that he was awake.

“Good morning, Mr. Wyatt. Think you can manage some breakfast?” The nurse’s tone was brisk, practical.

“I’ll have the pancakes with extra syrup,” John joked.

His courage brought tears to Merry’s eyes.

The nurse’s expression didn’t flicker. “You’ll have oatmeal.”

Merry gave her a look that asked her to lighten up. The woman—the name badge pinned to her pale pink tunic top said Cathy Martin—met it with indifference. She checked her patient’s blood pressure, tutted a little, then left.

“Are all the nurses that unpleasant?” Merry asked, feeling disturbed.

“They’re fine. That particular one seems grumpy.” Her dad sounded tired.

“Hi,” Lucas said from the doorway.

She spun to face him. Embarrassment and nerves—and maybe a slight hangover—made her clumsy, and she knocked her dad’s IV stand. Somehow, that set off an alarm.

“Damn.” Flustered, Merry gazed at the three screens that monitored goodness knows what, trying to figure out what she’d done. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Lucas sauntered over, as unflappable as a guy who’d aced the Rocklike Calm class would be. “If it’s important, someone will be here soon.”

Before he’d finished speaking, Nurse Cathy Martin was back. She bustled to the displays, then hit a button on one of the devices hooked up to Merry’s dad. The beeping stopped. She turned to Merry. “Who set that off?”

“It might have been me,” she admitted.

“Be more careful next time.” The nurse left.

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Merry. “Dad and Stephanie are parking the car. They’ll be here shortly.”

Merry glanced at her watch. Not even eight-thirty. “That’s an early visit.”

“I told them our news,” he said, too quietly for John to hear. “They insisted on coming.”

She stared at him, aghast. So there was no going back. Not that she wanted to…much.

Sure enough, Dwight and Stephanie arrived a minute later. Stephanie, pushing Mia in a stroller, was smiling brightly enough to light up a Christmas tree, and even Dwight looked almost jolly.

“Did you tell him?” Stephanie asked.

John lifted his head. “Tell me what?”

Merry gulped. Drew a breath. Before she could speak, Lucas said, “Merry and I got engaged last night.”

Any doubts Merry might have had evaporated in the burst of elation that came over her father’s face. “Merry, that’s…” He stopped, choked by emotion. His jaw worked. “That’s wonderful.” He stretched his arms out; carefully, she went in for a hug. He kept his left arm around her while he shook Lucas’s hand. “Smart decision, Lucas. You won’t regret it.”

“I know,” Lucas said with such sincerity that she stared. Then she realized he meant he wouldn’t regret faking an engagement for a few days.

Nor will I. Not now that I see how happy it’s made Dad.

Her father chuckled. “To think that all you two needed was a little push from me. Dwight, didn’t we always know they were destined to be together?”

Lucas’s dad was more about logic than destiny, but he nodded.

“We should have pressured them years ago,” John continued.

“We should have,” Dwight agreed. “If you recall, Stephanie wouldn’t let us.”

His wife swatted his arm, and he caught her hand and kissed it.

“So, where’s the ring?” John asked.

“We haven’t had time—” Merry began.

“Right here.” Lucas pulled a dark blue velvet box from his pocket.

What the heck? Merry held her breath as he opened the box. Nestled on the plush white lining was a ring. A square-cut emerald flanked by two diamonds. Where did this come from?

“You going to put it on, honeybun?” Lucas asked.

Hadn’t she said no honeybun?

Lucas placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted. Ugh, she’d been standing there with her mouth open.

“No, she is not going to put it on,” Stephanie said.

Merry turned to her gratefully.

“Not even you could be so unromantic, Lucas,” his stepmom scolded. “You’re going to put it on her.”

Lucas paused. “Of course I am.” Next moment, he had the ring out of the box and was advancing on Merry.

He took her fingers in his. For a long moment, he examined her hand, as if weighing his options. Don’t you dare back out now.

He must have read her thoughts, because he slipped the ring on swiftly, decisively. Slightly too large, it glided over her knuckle.

Stephanie applauded; little Mia clapped her hands in imitation.

John gestured to Merry that he wanted to inspect the ring. She moved closer, relieved to get away from Lucas.

The bad-tempered nurse came in with John’s breakfast. “Very nice,” she said about the ring, though no one had asked her. She plunked the tray down on his table and marched out again.

“I gave your mother an emerald,” John said, his voice heavy with emotion. He closed his other hand over Merry’s. “Nice job, Lucas.”

“Thanks, John.”

“So, when’s the wedding?”

From the jerk of Lucas’s chin, Merry guessed he hadn’t anticipated the question. Lucky for him, she had.

“It’ll take us a couple of months to get organized,” she said.

Her father’s face fell. “I was hoping it would be before…”

He seriously expected her to go from single to engaged to married in just a few days?

“There’s nothing we’d like better, John,” Lucas said. “Unfortunately, blood tests and waiting times and the like mean it can’t be done. We figured we might as well wait a little longer and do it properly.”

Nice work. Merry telegraphed the message with her eyes.

He gave her a smug look that said, What do you expect from a guy with a degree in Rocklike Calm?

“There’s no blood test in Connecticut,” Stephanie said, sounding confused. “No waiting time, either. Don’t you remember, Dwight, you rushed to get our license, thinking it would take forever? And it turned out you could just roll up, pick up a license and get married five minutes later.”

“That’s right,” Dwight said. “Lucas, where did you get your information?”

Oh, heck. Merry held her breath.

“It’s been a while since you and Stephanie tied the knot,” Lucas said. “Things have changed.”

Good, she congratulated him mentally. Good thinking.

To her horror, Dwight pulled out his iPhone.

“Let’s see,” he said. He typed surprisingly fast for an old guy typing with his thumbs on a virtual keyboard.

Dread pooled in Merry’s stomach. Let Lucas be right. Let the rules have changed.

“Ha,” Dwight said with a note of triumph that sent her hopes plummeting. “You’re right, darling.” Darling being Stephanie. “No waiting period in Connecticut and no blood test. You can apply for a license Monday to Friday between eight-thirty and four, and get married five minutes later.”

Lucas looked faintly green.

“Today’s Wednesday,” John said. “Isn’t it?”

Merry nodded.

“Well, then. Nothing to stop you.” Uh-oh, he was looking teary again. “To see my little girl get married…a man could die happy.”

“I—I don’t have a dress,” Merry blurted. As if that mattered.

“You can wear mine,” Stephanie said. “It’s not new, but it’s Vera Wang. Great design doesn’t date.”

Merry whimpered.

“Merry,” Lucas said calmly, “could I see you for a moment?”

In the hallway, he dragged her out of sight of her father’s glass-walled room. “You do realize you need to tell your dad that we’re not getting married?”

“Of course I do!” she hissed.

“Then stop talking about your damn dress, and get back in there and do it.”

Immediately, her hackles rose, the way they had since they were kids. “It’s not that easy. You’re the one who told him the blood test was all that stood in our way.”

“How was I to know there’s no blood test in Connecticut?”

Grouchy Nurse Martin walked by, eyeing them curiously.

Merry waited until she’d passed. “You’re the one who gave me an engagement ring—no wonder he thinks we want to get married.”

“I was trying to look convincing,” Lucas said.

“Where did it come from, anyway?”

“Jeweler friend,” he said. “Let’s get back on topic. Namely, telling your dad there won’t be a wedding.”

She closed her eyes. “How am I supposed to do that when he said he’ll die happy if I get married?”

“He’ll just have to die mildly content,” Lucas said.

Her eyes snapped open.

He swore. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t, or I wouldn’t have offered to get engaged in the first place.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There must be a way to do this. Let’s think.”

Merry thought.

Presumably, he was doing the same.

“We can come back tomorrow and say we got married,” he said in a flash of inspiration. “We’ll tell them we went to city hall.”

“Dad said he wants to see me get married. I couldn’t do that to him.”

“You won’t be doing it to him. You’ll be pretending to. In the end, he’ll just be relieved we’re married.”

“What if he wants to see the marriage certificate?” She could imagine her sentimental father wanting to admire the document.

“We’ll say we lost it.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You think of something, then,” he ordered.

Silence fell again.

Lucas had the next idea, too. “We could pay someone—an actor—to be a fake celebrant.”

It was a tempting possibility. But…

“Dad will want Reverend Carter from our church to do it,” Merry said glumly. “And I can’t just say he’s not available—Reverend Carter’s coming to visit him this afternoon. Plus we’d still have the marriage certificate problem.”

More thinking.

“There’s only one possibility,” Merry said at last.

“Fire away.”

“We really get married,” she said. “Right here, in front of Dad. And then we get a divorce.”

“Are you nuts?” His voice rose, and the security guard stationed by the elevator looked in their direction.

Merry spoke quickly, quietly. “My friend Sarah got divorced last year, and it’s almost as easy as getting married. From what I remember, we can file for a no-fault divorce on grounds of irretrievable breakdown of the marriage as soon as we like. The day after the wedding. Ninety days later, we’re divorced.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Divorce isn’t ideal,” she agreed, as if the only problem with getting married would be how to end it. “It means we both end up, well, divorced. We could look into annulment.”

“No,” he said again.

“You were willing to give Dad a kidney,” she reminded him.

“A lot less complicated,” Lucas said.

He was right. But Merry was desperate. “This is your big chance to rescue me. You love to rescue.”

“You hate being rescued. You refuse to be rescued.”

“Not this time,” she promised. “Do you remember when you were ten years old, telling Dad and Dwight you wanted to marry me?”

He blinked, then shook his head, as if shaking off that moment of weakness. “Yeah, and the next day you peed your pants and I changed my mind.”

The heat in her cheeks told her she was blushing. “So I had the occasional �accident.’ Shoot me. Look, Lucas, Dad wants us to get married, and right now allowing him to die in peace is number one on my list. Are you going to marry me or not?”

“Not.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared her down.

Merry spun on her heel and marched back into her father’s room, Lucas right behind her. She narrowly missed crashing into Nurse Martin, also on her way in again.

Her father gave her an anxious, hopeful look.

Merry beamed. “Great news, Dad. We’re getting married tomorrow.”


CHAPTER SIX

MERRY TUGGED AT THE BODICE of her blue dress, her backup option in case Stephanie’s bridal gown didn’t fit. This was a bridesmaid dress; it had looked fine, though far from lovely, when she’d worn it two years ago as maid of honor for what turned out to be Sarah’s short-term marriage. Now the sleeves looked ridiculously poufy. Every time she moved, the taffeta seemed to rustle accusingly.

At least the pale blue matched her complexion.

Merry rubbed her cheeks briskly with her palms, watching the effect in her bedroom mirror. She looked as if she were headed to an execution, not a wedding.

There was every chance this wedding would be followed by an execution, she thought grimly. Lucas had been so mad when she’d announced they were getting married, he’d been white with fury. She shivered at the mere recollection. But he’d been too nice, too heroic, to wipe the joy from her father’s face. As she’d known he would be.

This is the lowest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

But for the best of reasons.

And Lucas really would be free and clear of her, and their marriage, after ninety days. No lasting scars.

Which was more than she could say for that night in Baltimore, which still left her mortified six months later. Really, Lucas had it easy.

She was having trouble convincing herself of that, so it was a relief when the buzzer to her apartment sounded. She glanced at her watch. Ten-thirty; Stephanie was right on time.

One hour until the wedding.

Merry pressed the buzzer to open the street door. Her apartment was above a bowling alley, the only location where she could afford loft-style, the rent being low due to the constant rumble of bowling balls beneath her feet from 11:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.

Stephanie maneuvered her way inside, hampered by a large, flattish carton with a small wooden chest perched on top. “I brought my sewing kit so we can make any needed adjustments.” She eyed the toast crumbs on Merry’s kitchen counter with misgiving and headed to the coffee table to set down the carton and the chest. “Merry, as your matron of honor, it’s my duty to tell you that the blue dress isn’t good.”

“It’s not that bad. And this isn’t a white satin kind of wedding.” Merry had asked Stephanie to be matron of honor on the basis that the fewer people who knew about this, the better. Though she would have asked her best friend, Sarah, if Sarah hadn’t been on vacation in Mexico. Thankfully, the need for haste meant everyone readily agreed on a small celebration.




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