Least Likely Wedding? Read online

  “Watch. Because next time, I want you to do it exactly like this.”

  Kay drew in a breath, set the mood in her head and only then did she look at Rob.

  He looked up at her. His face was serious, but something was so alive in his eyes she couldn’t look anywhere else.

  He had extraordinary eyelashes. In an utterly masculine face, they were thick and lush and dark, giving the impression his eyes were dark. Unending eyes.

  Kay started down the steps to him. Not because her timing dictated the move, but because she wanted to see those eyes closer. When he stepped up and held a hand to her, her pace quickened. One more step—

  And then she was there, in his arms. He drew her in. She wound her arms around his neck. Their mouths met.

  And Kay Aaronson burst in flames….

  Dear Reader,

  Celebrate those April showers this month by curling up inside with a good book—and we at Silhouette Special Edition are happy to start you off with What’s Cooking? by Sherryl Woods, the next in her series THE ROSE COTTAGE SISTERS. When a playboy photographer is determined to seduce a beautiful food critic fed up with men who won’t commit…things really start to heat up! In Judy Duarte’s Their Unexpected Family, next in our MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS continuity, a very pregnant—not to mention, single—small-town waitress and a globe-trotting reporter find themselves drawn to each other despite their obvious differences. Stella Bagwell concludes THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION with In a Texas Minute. A woman who has finally found the baby of her dreams to adopt lacks the one element that can make it happen—a husband—or does she? She’s suddenly looking at her handsome “best friend” in a new light. Christine Flynn begins her new GOING HOME miniseries—which centers around a small Vermont town—with Trading Secrets, in which a down-but-not-out native repairs to her hometown to get over her heartbreak…and falls smack into the arms of the town’s handsome new doctor. Least Likely Wedding? by Patricia McLinn, the first in her SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW… series, features a lovely filmmaker whose “groom” on celluloid is all too eager to assume the role in real life. And in The Million Dollar Cowboy by Judith Lyons, a woman who’s fallen hard for a cowboy has to convince him to take a chance on love.

  So don’t let those April showers get you down! May is just around the corner—and with it, six fabulous new reads, all from Silhouette Special Edition.

  Happy reading!

  Gail Chasan

  Senior Editor

  LEAST LIKELY WEDDING?

  PATRICIA MCLINN

  Books by Patricia McLinn

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Hoops #587

  A New World #641

  * Prelude to a Wedding #712

  * Wedding Party #718

  * Grady’s Wedding #813

  Not a Family Man #864

  Rodeo Nights #904

  A Stranger in the Family #959

  A Stranger to Love #1098

  The Rancher Meets His Match #1164

  † Lost-and-Found Groom #1344

  † At the Heart’s Command #1350

  † Hidden in a Heartbeat #1355

  ** Almost a Bride #1404

  ** Match Made in Wyoming #1409

  ** My Heart Remembers #1439

  The Runaway Bride #1469

  †† Wedding of the Century #1523

  †† The Unexpected Wedding Guest #1541

  †† Least Likely Wedding? #1679

  Harlequin Historicals

  Widow Woman #417

  PATRICIA MCLINN

  finds great satisfaction in transferring the characters crowded in her head onto paper to be enjoyed by readers. “Writing,” she says, “is the hardest work I’d never give up.” Writing has brought her new experiences, places and friends—especially friends. After degrees from Northwestern University, and newspaper jobs that have taken her from Illinois to North Carolina to Washington, D.C., Patricia now lives in Virginia, in a house that grows piles of paper, books and dog hair at an alarming rate. The paper and books are her own fault, but the dog hair comes from a charismatic collie who helps put things in perspective when neighborhood kids refer to Patricia as “the lady who lives in Riley’s house.” She would love to hear from readers at P.O. Box 7052, Arlington, VA 22207, or you can check out her Web site at www.PatriciaMcLinn.com.

  This book is dedicated to those

  who helped me cover the continent:

  Patience Smith and Cheryl Kushner in New York,

  Mary Louis Schwartz (aka Lulu) in Hollywood,

  Pam Johnson (again!) in Wisconsin.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  “I need a man. Right now.”

  In full knowledge that she was unlikely to get what she needed, Kay Aaronson drove her hands through her cropped hair—yet another mistake, getting it chopped off last winter. At first, she’d tried to grow it out, but exasperation had gotten the better of her. So she’d cut it shorter, into something with a modicum of style which, her mother had relentlessly pointed out, it had lacked after the initial shearing.

  Last winter’s impulsive dive into a chain salon—“A chain? A chain?!” her mother had cried—had been because of a man, too. And because of a man, she would be homeless when she returned to New York in a couple of days. Men—they were nothing but trouble.

  Kay cupped her hands over her face, wishing the world would go away. At least the male half of it.

  “What kind of man would you like, dear?”

  The cultured voice, with its twang of Wisconsin, made Kay drop her hands and open her eyes.

  Trudi Bliss—“call me Miss Trudi, dear”—looked back at her with a faint smile that deepened the lines of her seventy-plus years, and with patient eyes, rather like those of an excellent waiter poised to take Kay’s order for a man.

  One Homo sapiens, male, please. Reasonably attractive, mentally stable, unattached yet capable of attachment, served in a thick sauce of humor. Better make it to go, since she’d be returning to New York as soon as she got this last phase of filming done.

  If she got this last phase of filming done, which brought her back to her current problem. And the reason she truly did need a man.

  Well, not exactly a man—an actor.

  “One to replace the jerk who just walked out,” she told Miss Trudi. “That’s what I need.”

  As if there were spare actors littering the wide, tree-roofed streets of Tobias. In the forty-eight hours since she’d arrived here, Kay had seen plenty of strange sights, but nothing that resembled an actor, except the ones she’d imported from New York.

  She should have listened to that little voice in the back of her head two days ago. The little voice that had a hissy fit when the well-appointed minibus she’d hired at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport had headed northwest into the wilds of Wisconsin.

  Better yet, she shouldn’t have listened to Dora in the first place.

  Why on earth had she accepted the idea of doing this shoot in her grandmother’s hometown? Dora had talked about Tobias so often when Kay was little that she had dreamed about the lake, the woods, the house where her grandmother had grown up. But Dora had never gotten around to bringing her only grandchild here before the rift between Dora and Kay’s father had separated Kay from her grandmother.

  For sixteen years she hadn’t talked to Dora, not until a few months ago.

  �
��Yes, I gathered that a replacement would be required,” Miss Trudi said. “Although I must say, no other member of the company appears distressed by his departure.”

  No other member of the company’s career hung in the balance, Kay thought.

  Well, career was a little strong. Better make it: No other member of the company’s shot at possibly opening the door to beginning what could someday turn out to be a career hung in the balance.

  “No one’s going to miss Brice’s personality,” she agreed. “But without him, we can’t finish. I can just hear me telling Serge, ‘Oops, sorry, I can’t give you B-roll on an 1899 wedding after all. Even though you’re counting on it for pop-diva Donna Ravelle’s next music video. Even though you gambled on an unknown. Even though this is an opportunity of a lifetime. Even though it’s the first step in my plan. Even though I promised…’”

  “Nonsense, Kay. There is no benefit in looking at the most dire outcome. You said you require a man, so you must have a contingency plan that will allow you to proceed. What is most essential in a replacement man?”

  As if this sweet elderly lady who’d been her grandmother’s first art teacher could do anything about replacing the jackass actor who had stomped off the shoot.

  “One who’d fit in Brice’s wardrobe,” she said.

  He had waited until they had sunk so much time and money into the project with him playing the groom that starting over was impossible. And then he’d tried to stick her up for more money.

  She should have folded. Should have forgotten how much she abhorred blackmail and extortion, and said yes. She would have found the money somewhere, even if she’d had to—no, she wouldn’t borrow from her parents. The strings attached to such a loan would tie her up tighter than the Lilliputians had strapped down Gulliver.

  “Anything else?” Miss Trudi asked as she absently reeled in a length of peach chiffon scarf that had fluttered loose.

  What the hell, Kay thought, she might as well dream big.

  “To fit the wardrobe, he’d have to be about Brice’s size and build. Same coloring would be good, though we could dye his hair and there’s always makeup. We’re only going to see him from the back. If he could act, even a little, it would be a big improvement on Brice.”

  “I make no representation about his acting, but I know someone who fits your other requirements, dear.”

  Kay blinked. The woman sounded sane. And certain.

  On the other hand, Miss Trudi was the one who had gotten them to come to Tobias, Wisconsin, in the first place. No, not the one, Kay corrected herself. One of the two.

  Dora had been absolutely certain that Bliss House would provide the best backdrop for Kay’s film shoot. Dora had explained that Miss Trudi’s family home was being converted to a crafts center to draw visitors to Tobias. Not only did the house provide an ideal background for an 1899 wedding, but including it in a video might give business a boost when the center opened this fall. Hating to risk the new, tenuous bond with her grandmother, Kay had agreed to bring the shoot here.

  It had been a pain to get the cast and crew to Wisconsin, but Bliss House was perfect—as long as they avoided scaffolding, power tools and construction workers.

  With Bliss House as the background, she knew they had great footage. All she needed were a few over-the-groom’s-shoulder shots, and she would have a piece of work that would start her on a new career path. Sure, she’d started on a number of other careers in the past, but this time she had a plan. A few more shots…

  “You find the right man, Miss Trudi,” Kay said, “and I’ll do anything you want.”

  “Anything, my dear?”

  “Anything.”

  Whatever this sweet old lady wanted would be a snap.

  “Oh, Rob, you should do it,” Fran said. “It’ll be good for you.”

  Rob Dalton looked from his younger sister to Miss Trudi. “Good for me? How on earth is being in a music video good for me?”

  He’d been digging post holes for a compost bin behind the garage when Fran had called from the back porch that he had a visitor. When he’d seen Miss Trudi sitting in a wicker chair, he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t like her, but because he resented being yanked from the mind-numbing, energy-draining physical labor.

  Good manners won over self-preservation.

  Fran opened the porch door and handed him a towel. He scrubbed his face, then the back of his neck. It was burned slightly from today’s sun and yesterday’s sailing, despite the farmer’s tan he’d gained in weeks of helping Max Trevetti’s construction crew catch up after a tornado damaged Bliss House. If he’d been in Chicago, with tomorrow a workday, he’d be in for an uncomfortable time with shirt collar and suit. But tomorrow would be just like today. No collar, no suit.

  No answers.

  Fran sat near the door with that look of concern she’d tried to hide all summer. Good thing he was better at hiding things than she was.

  “I mean meeting new people, doing something different—all that will be good for you, Rob,” Fran said.

  Him, in a video. It was nuts.

  “I want to finish the compost bin and—”

  “Rob, I truly appreciate your work around the house.” Fran had moved back to their childhood home when their father had become ill, and had stayed on after he’d died almost two years ago. “But I told you before, it’s not necessary. You should be doing fun things. That’s why you took this summer off.”

  Not exactly.

  “I’m not sure a music video qualifies.” His dry tone won a smile from his sister.

  “There is no actual music at this point, you understand, Rob,” inserted Miss Trudi, as if that might be a drawback. “So there is no need for you to dance in this segment of the production.”

  Dance? Rob closed his eyes. Building a compost bin sounded awfully good right now.

  “The director requires someone to stand in for an actor who departed precipitously in a dispute over pay. The primary need is to have a figure to aid filming close-ups of the young woman who plays the bride.”

  “Miss Trudi, I’m sure there are dozens of guys in town who would be thrilled to—”

  “Oh, but it must be you, Rob. You see, it requires someone of similar physique and appearance to the departed actor.”

  “Still, there must be regulations about this sort of thing. Rules to—”

  “I am quite certain that Kay will manage all that. I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with her in depth as I had hoped. However, I can assure you that she is an amazing young woman to have arranged and carried out this entire enterprise.”

  “Let me think about this.”

  “Time is too short, Rob. I fear that if filming cannot resume immediately, Kay will be forced to take the production elsewhere, and you know we are counting not only on the fee for the Bliss House budget, but to capitalize on the publicity.”

  The fee wasn’t much. But then again, neither was the Bliss House budget, especially for publicity. Miss Trudi was right, they needed this. If that meant he stood in for an actor, what could it hurt?

  “All right.”

  “Excellent. If it’s convenient, may I ride with you to Bliss House?”

  “Sure. I’ll take a shower, and then we can go.”

  “Or you could ride with me, Miss Trudi,” Fran said.

  He frowned at his sister. “You’re going to Bliss House?”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this.”

  “Perfect! Absolutely perfect!”

  The quick-moving woman with the dark, feathery hair who was dressed in black circled him like he was a cow carcass and she was a butcher deciding where to make the first cut. At least she didn’t have a knife handy. But Rob wondered how much damage those polished nails of hers could do.

  “Kay, this is Rob Dalton,” Miss Trudi said. “He’s a member of the Bliss House committee, and he’s agreed to help you complete rolling B.”

  Still circling, the young woman murmured, “B-roll.”
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  “Ah,” Miss Trudi said. “Your camera operator explained that to me earlier. Rob, this is Kay Aaronson, director of this project.”

  “How do you do.” He put out his hand, but she was behind him now.

  He looked over his shoulder. Through Bliss House’s open front door he saw his sister greeting Steve and Annette Corbett. The couple had instigated Bliss House’s renovation last winter. And Steve was the town manager, so it made sense for them to be on hand.

  He had the uncomfortable feeling, though, that sense hadn’t brought them here. Especially when he considered Steve’s big grin and the fact that they’d arrived just in time for Rob to make a fool of himself.

  He wished he were back digging post holes. Better yet, he wished he had a good pen in his hand and a fresh white-papered legal pad in front of him to write out exactly what steps he needed to take—steps to essentially dismantle the career he’d worked so hard to build.

  On the other hand he’d tried sitting on the roof with a good pen and a legal pad this morning and got nowhere. That’s why he’d been digging post holes.

  “Turn around.” Kay Aaronson was waving one long-fingered hand as she squinted at him. “I want to see the back of your head.”

  He complied, and studied the chaos in Bliss House’s renovated front hall and stairwell. Cameras, lights, tool-boxes, mysterious electronic black boxes, enough wires to reach Minnesota, chairs, rolling cloth-covered wardrobe racks, paper coffee cups from empty to brimming, bottled water, reflector stands and crumpled papers. It looked as if another tornado had hit.

  “Uh-huh. Good. Good.”

  “Ms. Aaronson, there are practical considerations before I agree to—”

  “You’re right. We’ll have to style your hair.” She reached up and brushed her fingers into his hair.

  It felt as if a shock jumped between them. But it was a very peculiar shock. Not the concentrated, intense burst from scuffing across carpet in a winter-dry house. Instead, it seemed to spread swelling heat across the base of his neck.