Page 72 of A Surprise Wedding for the Cowboy

A single eyebrow rose as the man surveyed Tate. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like I went to that gala with a woman who is not my wife, and I did not.”

“You’re both smiling.”

“You have never been caught off guard? Dahlia Casselman met me in the foyer and zeroed straight in. Our families have been friends and business associates for decades so, yes, I smiled when I greeted her. I had no idea the paper had sent reporters to cover the event and to scrounge for dirt. Our tete-a-tete lasted all of one minute before I’d disengaged from her and proceeded into the venue, where I spoke with her father and many other business associates.”

Jack’s arms crossed over his chest as he studied Tate.

“I then retired to my apartment as soon as it seemed polite to do so, a very empty place without my wife, whom I missed deeply. If you think I went to Chicago to hook up with an old flame, you are dead wrong. With all due respect, sir.”

“How do I know you’re speaking the truth?”

“I guess you don’t. You’ll have to take the evidence at face value, and by that I mean the evidence that I love your daughter and would never ever do anything to destroy the faith she’s placed in me.”

“Because you need a nanny.”

Tate managed a chuckle he did not feel. “It started that way, but it quickly became more.” He held up a hand. “I’m talking about feelings, emotions, love. You’ve raised an incredible daughter, Jack. I hope you know that. I hope you and Arlys are very proud of her and who she’s become.”

Jack’s gaze slid past Tate and his mouth pursed.

Tate turned.

Stephanie stood in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her, her face unreadable.

Tate closed the distance in three short strides, wrapped his arms around her, and gave her a twirl as he kissed her. “I missed you, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair.

She wasn’t kissing him back. Wasn’t hugging him, either, but then he’d pinned her arms between them. He set her down and looked into her eyes. “Stephanie?”

Her gaze flicked to her father, and Tate’s heart sank. The man had poisoned her against him. She’d believe her husband over her father, wouldn’t she? Although, she’d known her father for twenty-eight years, and her husband for a mere three months.

“Can we talk?” The words blurted out of his mouth.

Stephanie looked at her father. “Heard anything yet?”

Jack shook his head.

“You know how to reach me.” She pivoted for the door and marched out.

A muffled, sardonic “good luck” reached Tate’s ears as he hurried after his wife. Jack was predisposed to mistrust Tate, but Stephanie wasn’t. Still, if he couldn’t set Jack’s mind at rest, how could he reach Stephanie? He couldn’t lose her over something this silly. He couldn’t.

She was no stranger to jealousy. No stranger to seeing the man she loved — or thought she loved — rejecting her for someone else. And, wow, she had a quick stride.

He hurried to catch up. “Stephanie!”

His wife pivoted in the middle of the corridor. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“What you told my father.”

Tate’s mind cast back for clues in the past five or ten minutes. What, exactly had he said? How much had she overheard? “That Dahlia glommed onto my arm the second I walked in the door, that photographers were taking shots all over the place, and that I got away from her the second I could, which wasn’t very long?”

She gave an abrupt nod.

“Stephanie, it’s you I love. My heart belongs to you and no one else. It never has, and it never will.” Tate tugged her hands from their defensive position and squeezed them. He looked deeply into her eyes. “Please believe me, sweetheart. I’m yours, whether you want me or not, but I pray to God you want me.”

“It was…” She paused. “It was hard seeing that photo.”

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