The Wedding Planner's Baby (Sisters of Wishing Bridge Farm) Read online

  Which sucked because, while it might’ve been a fling for her, it had felt like something more to him.

  It had felt like something real. Hyper-real. As in, everything about her was emblazoned in his mind in high definition. Her throaty laugh as she’d explained why she travelled everywhere with a stuffed alligator. Or how she believed that all the best things happened at night, under the stars. The way her breath felt against his skin. How her spiked hair tickled his chest. How her—

  “We met briefly in Europe,” he said, as much to cut off his own wayward thoughts as anything else. Oh, and there’s a small chance I’m turning into a girl. “I guess she was worried I’d miss my flight.”

  And try and see her again.

  He tightened his jaw. He might not have been able to convince her he was worth a second chance, but he could definitely obey her wish to get out of her life once and for all.

  “Perhaps.” Miss Dottie shrugged. “Though, one can never quite tell what Bec Watson’s thinking. Once she tried to sell me an invisible pony because she wanted to raise money for children in Africa and didn’t have anything else to sell.”

  Lincoln couldn’t help but smile. That was the girl he’d met in Italy. Whimsical, passionate, and not averse to hustling when it suited her. Also not averse to deciding he wasn’t good enough for her.

  “Sorry I got held up, folks.” Stan appeared in the reception area, his arms full. “Miss D., Tawny wanted me to give you this pineapple and asked if you could return the stuffed cat to Tilda. Oh, and tell her it was perfect for the photo-shoot.”

  “I’ll do that.” The old woman didn’t seem remotely confused as she took the two items then ran through Lincoln’s credit card before giving him a small pat on the hand. “And come back and stay with us anytime.”

  “Sure,” Lincoln said, knowing his chances of returning were zero.

  “Okay, so let’s get going.” Stan nodded for Lincoln to follow him outside to the taxi. “We just need to make one stop at the pharmacy, and then we can be on our way.”

  Lincoln opened his mouth and then shut it again. He’d only been in the small town for twenty-four hours, but had quickly discovered they seemed to work on a completely different clock than the rest of the world. Besides, he had plenty of time before his flight.

  He settled into the taxi and checked his messages while Stan kept up a steady commentary, pointing out various people and historic buildings as they drove through the picturesque streets ablaze with fall colors. Dazzling gold, deep red, and burnt orange all interspersed with green. It didn’t quite marry up with Bec’s description of the place, which had taken on Dantean proportions in his mind.

  “So, you never said what you were in town for. Business or pleasure?” Stan suddenly asked, and Lincoln dragged his gaze away from the scenery.

  “Business,” he said in a tight voice.

  “Does that mean you’re getting married?” Stan asked as he turned left at the light.

  “Excuse me?” Lincoln stiffened. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you were at Wishing Bridge Farm yesterday. They’ve had a lot of visitors since Emmy started that business of hers. And of course, now that Bec’s helping, they’ve been even busier.”

  “Oh, right. No, I wasn’t there about a wedding. It was something else I had to discuss with Bec.”

  “Ah.” Stan nodded as he swung the taxi onto the highway in the direction of the airport. “So, it was about the baby then.”

  “No. It was—wait. What?” Lincoln’s breath caught in his throat as the cell phone in his hand dropped to the seat with a soft thud. “Did you just say baby? What baby?”

  “Bec’s baby.” Stan craned his neck so he was peering at Lincoln through the rear-view mirror. “The only people going to the farm besides engaged couples are the contractors trying to get the cottage repaired before the wee one arrives.”

  Bec was having a baby?

  As in a baby baby?

  Lincoln’s chest pounded as the world stopped. He wiped his brow and tried to process the idea. But it was futile.

  Bec was the girl who went dancing in bare feet and skinny-dipping at midnight. She was the one with the spontaneous laugh who liked playing truth and dare with complete strangers. Plus, she was only twenty-two. Babies didn’t make sense.

  He swallowed hard. “Are you sure you don’t mean one of her older sisters?”

  “Nope. Definitely Bec,” Stan confirmed in a mild voice. “Though, if you didn’t know about it, then I’m guessing that wasn’t the reason you were visiting the farm, either.”

  “No, it wasn’t. D-do you know how pregnant she is?”

  “According to Trudy, who owns the bakery down on Abbot Street, she’s about ten weeks,” Stan said and Lincoln’s mouth went dry as he did the math. He’d met Bec two and a half months ago. His heart hammered as he leaned forward.

  “Can you please turn around?”

  “Turn around? But if we do, you’ll miss your flight.”

  “I don’t care. There’s something I have to do first.”

  “What’s that?” Stan asked.

  Find out what the hell’s going on.

  …

  “So, let me get this straight. Yesterday the father of your unborn child flew all the way from England, and you didn’t tell him the news?” Bec’s best friend Coop looked up from the bottles he’d been stacking into crates. “And stop touching that. It’s an expensive machine, and I don’t want you to break it.”

  “Please. If anyone’s going to break it, it would be you,” Bec retorted as she walked away from the capping machine and sat on the bench near where he was working. “And I told you, I’m waiting—”

  “Until your three months are up, yes, yes. But Bec, this isn’t the kind of thing you should do over the phone.”

  “It’s also not the kind of thing I feel like discussing. Hell, Coop, if I wanted a lecture I would’ve stayed at the farm with Pepper.”

  “Is she giving you a hard time?” Coop busied himself with the bottles and didn’t quite return her gaze. Not that she was surprised. For whatever reason, Pepper had formed a deep dislike of Coop as a teenager and had never relented. Bec had often wondered if her sister had taken offense at Coop’s flirty nature.

  Which was silly. Coop couldn’t help flirting any more than he could help breathing. And underneath it was the stuff that mattered—the kind of friend who’d always been there for her when she’d felt alone and unanchored.

  “She keeps giving me the ‘I know better than you’ face. It’s annoying. She wanted to accept the bribe his family offered me.”

  This time Coop did look up, his eyes thoughtful. “It might not be such a dumb idea. Babies cost money, you know.”

  “You want me to take blood money?”

  “It’s naked photo money, which makes it blood-free,” Coop said before catching the sharp frown she was giving him. Good. “Okay, no money.”

  “Thank you. Anyway, the reason I’m here is to be distracted. So, distract me,” Bec instructed as she picked up one of the bottles and inspected it. “What’s happening in the world of microbrewing? Did you get your loan?”

  A shadow crossed his face. After his parents had sold most of the farm and gone on a cruise around the world, Coop had decided to set up a small microbrewery. And while his beer tasted like something from heaven (well, it had until Bec got pregnant and discovered even sniffing alcohol now made her sick), and his natural charisma made him a great salesman, he’d been finding his expansion plans harder than he’d imagined.

  “Not yet. More meetings. You know, this whole American dream thing is hard work,” he said with a woeful face. Bec nodded, but it was hard to take him seriously. She’d seen her friend sail through life getting anyone and anything he wanted. There was no way it wouldn’t happen for this as well.

  “You’re not the golden child of Sunshine for nothing. If anyone can pull it off, you can,” Bec said warmly as she patted his hand. Despite the fact Ben C
ooper was older than her, they’d been friends ever since he’d taught her how to skateboard when she was ten, and they’d shared everything from who they were kissing to what was the best hangover cure. Over the years, people had tried to suggest they’d be perfect together as a couple, but Bec and Coop knew better.

  Mainly because they’d tried to kiss once, and it had been one of the worst experiences of her life.

  How could someone who knew her so well kiss so badly?

  Then again, perhaps that was how the universe worked.

  After all, if there were any justice, then she and Coop would be together and kissing would be a dream. But no. The only guy who has ever kissed me so well my toes literally curled is Lincoln Mathews.

  Which went to show the universe knew nothing.

  Because if it did, then there was no way it would’ve let her entire body turn into a quivering mess just because Lincoln looked at her. And when his mouth had brushed her cheek, her stomach wouldn’t have been reduced to liquid. As for when his lips had found hers for the first time, causing a Vesuvius-size explosion in her chest, well, that was just unfair.

  Come back.

  She pinched herself. Lincoln in my brain is a bad idea.

  And pregnant women couldn’t afford to have bad ideas.

  “Are you okay?” Coop leaned forward and studied her, his green eyes filled with concern.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking about deadly spiders and ugly pimples.”

  “Really? Because judging by the way your pupils are dilated, you were thinking about something else entirely. Or, should I say, someone else?”

  “Not if you want to live.” Bec folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Imagine how embarrassing it would be to get beaten up by a pregnant woman.”

  “Good point.” Coop grinned. “Though, for the record, are you going to be playing this pregnant card for the next six and a half months?”

  “More than likely,” Bec assured him. “But, considering you’re going to be the godfather, you can hardly refuse.”

  “Yes, about that.” Coop’s face went red. “This whole godfather thing, I’m really not sure it’s such a good idea. Especially if Pepper’s going to be the godmother.”

  “Yes, how ridiculous for me to want my best friend in the entire world and my sister to be the guiding lights for my unborn child. So selfish.”

  Coop opened his mouth and then shut it again. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

  “Not so much. Now, if you’ve finished doing the bottles, I do believe you promised me lunch,” Bec said as she held up her cell phone and took a photo of Coop as he rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t appreciate it, but she didn’t care. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to post it on social media. It was purely for her collection of memories. And for her baby, so they could see where they came from. That they belonged.

  “Sure,” Coop said, before frowning at the sound of tires rolling up outside. He strolled to the window of the barn that now served as his factory. “What’s Stan doing here, and who’s that guy?”

  “Perhaps he’s an investor?” Bec started to say as she got down from the table and joined him by the window. Then the blood drained from her face.

  It was Lincoln.

  “No, definitely not an investor—” Cooper said, before turning and noticing her face. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve gone pale. Do you… Oh, boy. It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Bec put her cell phone away and clutched at Coop’s arm, trying not to notice the tight grimace around Lincoln’s full mouth or the flintiness of his eyes as he strode toward the barn, his fists clenched.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Coop asked in a firm voice. “Because just say the word and I’m here. Or, if you don’t want to see him, I can explain about the fifteen—actually, fourteen—day thing.”

  “Can you invent a way to change the past?”

  “That I can’t do,” Coop shook his head.

  “Well then, I suppose I have to face him. Do you mind if we have some space?”

  “I’ll go into the main house, but you call me if you need me. I mean it, Bec. You’re not alone.”

  “Thanks,” she managed to say, her eyes never leaving Lincoln’s face as he strode toward her. Today his green-blue eyes were more of a grayish color. A really, really annoyed grayish color.

  He knows.

  “I suppose you’d better come in,” she said by way of greeting.

  Lincoln blinked, as if somehow confused by her reaction. “Aren’t you even going to ask why I’m here?”

  “I might not be smart enough to figure out your secret identity, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know you’ve heard about the baby. Who told you? Miss Dottie?”

  “Actually, it was Stan,” he said, and Bec groaned. Of course it was Stan. If she’d been at the top of her game instead of having a pregnancy brain, she would’ve reminded him not to say anything. The irony wasn’t lost on her that being pregnant was the thing that had stopped her from hiding the fact she was pregnant. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he realized I was the father of your baby.”

  “You’re right. That’s no consolation. And how do you even know it’s yours?” she said, willing herself not to look at his throat and the hint of his golden-brown chest visible over the top of his navy shirt. Because if she looked, she would lose all reason. And right now, I need my wits. “Considering your mother tried to buy some photographs from me, I’m surprised you’re even here. Shouldn’t you be demanding a DNA test or something?”

  “I figured if it wasn’t mine, then you would’ve told me yesterday. After all, the first day we met you showed our server the color of your panties.”

  “If you think you’re going to win me over by reminding me of Italy, then you’re mistaken,” Bec said. “Besides, you shouldn’t use that story out of context. I only showed her the color because it matched their marina sauce.”

  “Okay,” Lincoln agreed as he began to pace, his presence filling the space and making her hyperaware of just how unprepared she still was for this conversation. He turned and paced in the other direction before finally stopping. “Were you even going to tell me?”

  “Of course I was.” Bec finally let go of the door and headed back into Coop’s barn, keeping her eyes firmly on his bottling machine.

  “When? After the birth? After their twentieth birthday? You saw me yesterday and didn’t mention a thing, but apparently you had time to tell Stan. The taxi driver.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Bec said, wishing she were somewhere else. Anywhere would do. Lincoln folded his arms, and she let out a sigh. Apparently, he wasn’t going anywhere, either. Which meant she was going to have to tell him about the accident that led to the whole town of Sunshine knowing about her pregnancy. “A few weeks ago I had a small fall and had to go to hospital. That’s how Stan knew.”

  Color drained from his face. “What happened? Are you okay? The baby?”

  Bec winced. See, this was exactly why she didn’t want to do this face-to-face, because being viewed as an object of pity was the worst.

  “I’m fine. We’re fine. I climbed a ladder and the ladder won.”

  Lincoln’s face was a mask, his strange eyes stony. “Bec, this isn’t a joke. You’re pregnant and you had an accident. I had a right to know.”

  “I was going to call you in two weeks,” she said, some of her nerves turning to annoyance. “Besides, Lord Ashford, I’m not the only one who forgot to mention something.”

  “Okay, I deserved that. But can we please put what happened behind us so we can talk about the fact we’re having a baby?”

  “I’m having a baby,” she corrected as she dropped into the closest chair.

  “We’re having a baby,” he repeated as he sat down next to her. Up close, she could see the strain around his mouth, and she almost would’ve felt sorry for him if it weren’t for the fact he was a jerk. A lying one at that. “It’s going to take some getting used to.
”

  Her stomach dropped.

  This was what she’d been afraid of.

  That he’d see her as a problem to be fixed. Something to be bought out. After all, she’d seen how his family dealt with naked photographs. What would they do with a pregnancy? Her mouth went dry.

  “There’s nothing for you to get used to.” She sucked in her breath and tried to channel her inner Pepper. Her sister was a cold, hard lawyer who wouldn’t take no for answer and wouldn’t notice the father of her child looked even better with one-day stubble than he’d looked yesterday. “You’re not going to be raising this baby, I am.”

  “You can’t possibly be serious. This is a baby. One I’m financially responsible for.”

  There was never a good time to hear the man you’d fallen for now saw you as a financial responsibility. But could she just say it was particularly bad when she was ten weeks pregnant and full of hormones?

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Do you even know the first thing about babies?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “No, but I’m a fast learner.”

  “So am I,” he said, and she recognized the mulish tug of his mouth. They might have only spent a week together, but she’d come to know the expression as he’d gone through the day making decisions about food, art, and architecture. At the time, it was cute but now, not so much. “We can learn together.”

  “Lincoln, there is no us. Look, I promise I’ll send you a weekly email so you know what’s happening.”

  “An email?” His eyes flashed, letting her know just what he thought of that idea. She sucked in a breath. Telling him about the baby was always going to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected it to be so confusing.

  He was meant to rant and rave and wave a check in the air. He wasn’t meant to be hurt, and angry, and wanting to be part of the baby’s life. And he wasn’t meant to be acting like she was heartless or cruel.

  She was doing her best to hold it together. She didn’t need his judgment on top of it all.

  “Okay, a Skype, if that’s better,” she said.

  “You seem to be missing the point entirely.”