Page 20 of One Night Bride
He touched his forehead to mine, and I have to say, I didn’t mind him clutching me to his muscled chest. “Yes. That’s my nickname for my bride. Remember, honeypoo?”
My heart hammered in my chest. Maybe from the intensity in his eyes, or the way his breath fanned across my face, making me want to lean in just a tiny bit and kiss those lips again.
“Remington!” came a female cry from the porch.
He whirled around, me in his arms. An older man who looked like a silver fox version of Remington came up behind the blonde-haired woman, his arm around her shoulders. Two more people streamed out the front door and came to stand on the porch, all of them eyeing us with a thousand questions in their expressions. A reddish-brown dog barreled out the door and down the porch steps, jumping up and narrowly missing my pants with his muddy paws.
“Down, boy,” Remington commanded, and the dog sat quickly. The poor thing whined as his tail swished across the ground.
“Mom, Dad, Ruger, Killam. I’d like you to meet my wife.”
I pasted on a broad smile, and letting go of Remington’s neck, gave them jazz hands. It was ridiculous. Literally the worst introduction to someone’s parents ever, especially family that was now my family. At least, would be if we stayed married, which we didn’t plan to, but they didn’t know that.
After a long, stunned silence, they all spoke at once.
“Are you kidding me right now, young man?”
“Holy shit, nicely done, bro.”
“Where’d her shoes go?”
Everyone quieted down as Remington’s dad came down the steps and studied his son’s face. He had a presence about him that told me he was the alpha of the family, which was hard to believe. Remington was all male dominance, but his dad emanated it like a pheromone.
“Is this what you want, son? Truly?” His voice held the same rumble Remington’s did.
His son squeezed me tighter, his answer making butterflies take off in my stomach. “It is, Dad. She is.”
His dad gave a nod and then looked to me, his expression softening. “Welcome to the family, then.”
A dusting of guilt for lying to these good people mixed in with the butterflies and had me feeling all sorts of things. I gave him a genuine smile.
“Thank you. And it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Esme.”
I put my hand out there for him to shake. A much better thing to do with it than freaking jazz hands. He took it, his hand enveloping mine.
“And you can call me Grant. Or Dad, whichever you prefer.”
My heart melted, and as I glanced back to Remington, he looked like he’d swallowed wrong. He took me up the stairs to deposit me on the porch where my bare feet wouldn’t get dirty. His mom rushed me with a hug that almost crushed my bones.
“I can’t believe it! I’m so excited to have a daughter finally!” she said in my ear. When she pulled back, there was a distinct shininess to her eyes that layered on more guilt.
“Mom, would you mind showing Esme around while I head out to the field to check the fence line with the boys?” Remington put his hand on his mom’s back, the other keeping the ecstatic canine from mauling him. “If I don’t pay some attention to Ol’ Red, I think he might get mad at me.”
She twirled to poke him in the chest. “Forget about the dog. I’m mad at you, young man. You have some explaining to do when you get back. Don’t think I’ll forget either.”
Remington gave her an “aw shucks” grin that made me wonder what he looked like as a young boy. He kissed her on the cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
His mom made a noise in her throat, but put an arm around my waist and led me into the house just the same. I caught Remington looking at me with a funny expression when I peeked over my shoulder. Then his brother grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him off to go look at the fence, the dog loping after them.
“You can call me Julie, by the way.” His mom stopped in the kitchen and let me go. “I was just about to get started on dinner. The boys only have a couple more hours of daylight, and once that’s gone, they’ll be piling in here hungry. You like lasagna?”
Despite feeling completely out of my element, I managed a smile. “Who doesn’t like lasagna?”
I knew it was the right thing to say when Julie beamed at me and tossed me an apron. “All right, city girl. Let’s start chopping the tomatoes.”
“Chopping tomatoes?” That didn’t sound like any lasagna I’d ever made.
Julie smirked, and it reminded me so much of Remington I lost my train of thought. “You don’t think we make tomato sauce from a can, do you?”
