The Wedding Planner's Baby (Sisters of Wishing Bridge Farm) Page 6

  It was a minefield, and it wasn’t helping that every time he spoke, her skin turned to fire. She dropped her glasses into her lap so she could fan the heat from her face.

  Please, let this be just a passing pregnancy stage.

  She gulped as Lincoln walked toward her carrying two covered trays of food. Her reprieve was over, and Bec hastily put the glasses back on and tried not to notice how the sun bounced off his golden hair, making him look like he’d just stepped out of some mythical adventure. If only he would rip his shirt off, and—

  “Something in your eye?” Lincoln inquired as he sat down on the grass and stretched his long legs out onto the old blanket she’d pulled from the trunk of the car.

  “Nope,” she assured him with a wince. Choosing the food truck had been an error. She’d only agreed to lunch because she didn’t want him to assume she couldn’t take care of herself, and she’d decided the park would be less dangerous than the intimate surroundings of a restaurant. It was a rookie mistake, because without the safety of a table between them, she was exposed to even more of his body. “My eyes are just fine.”

  “I’ve always thought so,” Lincoln replied without missing a beat, and Bec picked up the wedding binder, hoping it would cover her agitation. He seemed to catch her unease, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I retract that statement on account of it not being about the wedding. There, happy?”

  Hardly. Hot, bothered, and wondering if he was still as tanned on his chest as he was on his arms, maybe. But not happy. “So, what did Edward recommend?” she asked, deciding a change of subject was in order.

  “He recommended I not give you tequila at two in the morning. Apparently, it can make you take your clothes off.”

  “About the food.” Bec gritted her teeth. Mistake number two was letting Lincoln speak to someone who’d known her in high school. Besides, her clothes had already been off before she’d had the tequila, and it wasn’t because she was an exhibitionist, but rather because she was losing at strip poker. None of which she felt like sharing with Lincoln—whose mouth was twisted into a smile.

  “He recommended a few things, and they all sounded good so I got a bit of everything, including three desserts. Plus, I wasn’t sure how you were feeling. I’ve heard some crazy stories about morning sickness, but of course I didn’t want to cross the professional line and ask you.”

  “Oh,” Bec said, not wanting to show she was touched he’d chosen so much food. She settled on biting into a small feta and pepper quiche then letting out a contented sigh as the hot pastry and herbed eggs hit her taste buds. She grudgingly nodded in his direction. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And like you said, it means we can get more work done. Though, if Edward’s burgers are anything to go by, I think he’s the clear choice,” Lincoln said as he bit into his own meal. “You’re sure the smell isn’t bothering you?”

  “I’m fine,” Bec said a bit sharply, before catching the genuine concern in his voice. Some of the tension left her shoulders. “Really. I feel sick first thing in the morning, but by eleven it’s subsided. According to the book Coop is reading, I’m definitely one of the lucky ones.”

  “Coop?” Lincoln narrowed his eyes. “Your friend who runs the brewery is reading pregnancy books?”

  “That’s right,” Bec said as she finished the small quiche and reached for a tub of chocolate mousse. “Pepper bought a whole stack of them, and since Coop knows I’ll never get around to reading them, he’s taken it on himself.” Then she inwardly groaned. So much for rule number one: prove I’ll be a responsible mother. The kind of mother who reads pregnancy books. She coughed. “Not that I haven’t read a lot, because obviously, I have. Big, big fan of them.”

  “I see.” Lincoln rubbed his mouth with a paper napkin. His eyes were thoughtful, as if he was mentally storing the information away so he could write it down in a book. Then he glanced up at her, this time his eyes more green than blue. “Bec, you seem to think I’m judging you, or trying to trick you. But I’m not.”

  “Oh.” Her skin prickled, leaving her flustered. So, he can read minds. It was also obvious that, unless she wanted to drive them both crazy, she was going to have to admit the truth about how unprepared she was, and since she always preferred the direct approach, it might as well be now. “Look, I haven’t read any of the books yet, but I will.”

  “And so will I.” Lincoln pushed the food aside and leaned forward, his gaze meeting hers. “I want to know what food you can eat, and whether it’s safe for you to sit on the ground, and a hundred other questions.”

  “What kind of questions?” she asked, while wondering what it would be like to reach forward and run her fingers across his chin. Soft with a hint of stubble, maybe. Her stomach tingled, and she turned away, praying her face hadn’t gone red.

  “Stupid things.”

  “More stupid than if I can sit on the ground?” she asked, not bothering to admit she’d wondered the same thing and it wasn’t until she’d done a quick Internet search that she’d decided it was okay. Not to mention googling whether she could still do yoga or go swimming.

  “Plenty more stupid than that,” he assured her. “Like when to book a hospital, what if you get a cold, and will using a seat belt hurt the baby’s development?”

  “You win. The seat belt question is ridiculous,” she said before noticing the gleam in his eyes. He was teasing her, and she let out a soft groan. She’d forgotten how easy it was to slide into a bubble where it was just the two of them.

  “At least it got you smiling,” he said, as if knowing he’d been caught out.

  “That was part of your cunning plan? To annoy me and then make me smile?” She eased back onto the rug and looked up to the sky. It was a patchwork of blues, with wispy clouds drifting past.

  “That depends. Did it work?” He leaned back, his gaze following hers.

  “Perhaps just a little,” she admitted as she continued to stare at the sky, the sun warming her skin.

  “Good. And now, tell me, do you think that cloud looks like a rabbit, or an old woman with a cold?”

  “What?” She wrinkled her nose and turned to him. “You’ve paid an arm and leg to book a wedding with me, and you’re asking me about cloud animals?”

  “Ah, but this is our lunch break, and I called a truce. And since we accidently stepped into baby territory a minute ago, I’m just trying to steer the conversation in a safe direction. Of course, not everyone has the imagination to see cloud animals, but somehow I don’t think you fall into that group,” he said, such an earnest expression in his eyes that, for the second time in as many minutes, her mouth was tugged into a smile.

  “No one’s ever accused me of not having a good imagination. Which is why it’s clearly an antelope. Bunny, indeed.” She lay back fully on the picnic rug, the effects of sunshine and lunch suddenly making her feel dozy.

  Or is it because I’m back with the guy I met in Italy?

  The artist who sees magic and likes painting me while I’m sleeping?

  “Not even a giant killer bunny?” He craned his neck, as if trying to inspect it more closely. It made him look so ludicrous that she burst out laughing.

  “Nope,” she assured him as she lifted her hand and pointed. “See, look at those hind legs. And there’s the tail. I’m surprised you’re not drawing it.” She glanced at the notebook he always carried with him. In Italy he’d had a larger one that he opened up whenever he saw something that interested him.

  “Oh.” He jerked into a sitting position and reached for the book, in the process breaking whatever spell had been over them. Her cheeks heated as she sat up in time to watch him shove the notebook in the pocket of his jacket. Where I can’t get it. “Perhaps I’ll draw it later. From memory.”

  “Of course.” She tried not to flinch at the abrupt change. Then she looked up at the sky and found the clouds had drifted away, as if the moment never happened. Perhaps it hadn’t? And why doesn’t he want me t
o look in the notebook?

  Her mouth tightened. The only reason she could think of was that he was trying to gather evidence she wouldn’t be able to take care of their baby.

  Panic curled up in her belly.

  “Are you okay?” he said, and Bec cursed as she pushed her glasses farther up her nose. It was a mistake to have relaxed around him, and it was one she couldn’t afford to make again. She reached for her binder and flipped through it.

  “I’m fine, but we need to get back to work. We need to discuss music. What does Julia like?”

  “Who?” His eyes went blank. Bec was tempted to tell him if he was going to make up names based off a movie poster, he should at least have the decency to remember them. Or, I could just give him some more rope.

  “Your bride, Julia. What kind of music does she like? In fact, you should tell me more about her. So I can feel like I know her.”

  “Oh.” Lincoln fidgeted his hands, and if she weren’t so annoyed, she’d be amused. He might have hidden his true identity from her, but he was a lousy liar. “Right. Well, let’s see, the first thing you need to know about Julia is she absolutely loves Richard and is always happy to do what he wants. For instance, if he were concerned about her health—in any way—she’d be more than happy to book a doctor’s appointment to put his mind at rest.”

  “Really?” Bec’s mouth twitched. “Well, from what I can tell, Richard sounds like he has control issues and is just the sort of guy who finds himself with chocolate mousse in his face.”

  Lincoln was silent as his gaze went to the empty dessert container before returning to her. Then he let out a long groan and held up his hands.

  “I take it you know.”

  “Please. Of course, I know. My radar might be slightly off with this whole baby thing, but it’s not that far off.”

  “I shouldn’t have lied.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw and started a tidal wave of sensations in her belly. None of which improved her mood. If he thought he could distract her by making himself look sexy as hell—or distract her with cloud animals—then he was in for another think. She averted her gaze. “But I swear I’ll have a real couple for you,” he finished.

  Damn, even his voice is hot.

  “You’d better,” she said, carefully focusing on the hem of Pepper’s skirt. She’d only borrowed it because she wasn’t sure patched up jeans would make her look professional enough, but silky fabric had somehow slithered up her legs. She tugged it down as heat rose farther up her chest. “Because you might not take this seriously, but I do. My sisters and I need this business to do well or we might lose the whole farm. That’s why Pepper said yes to this stupid idea.”

  “Bec, look at me,” he commanded, and despite her resolution to keep her eyes off of him, she met his gaze. Small flecks of brown dotted his sea-green eyes, and his mouth was firm. “I’m sorry I mislead you about Richard and Julia, but I promise there’ll be a real bride and groom walking down the aisle in one month.”

  “Okay,” she said as disappointment slammed into her chest. On the plus side, at least it managed to shove aside the swirling sensation deep in her belly. And really, she should be grateful to him for reminding her just why she needed to keep things strictly professional. “And now, since Julia doesn’t know what music she likes, I’m going to choose it for her.”

  “Bec—” He opened his mouth as if to protest, then shut it again and gave a little shrug. “Sure. Wedding music it is.”

  “Thank you,” she said. The fact he was being docile didn’t fool her for a minute. Especially when she caught him jotting something down in the notebook that never left his side. Now she just had to make sure she didn’t fool herself.

  Chapter Five

  “And then he had the cheek to lie about the couple. I mean who chooses the names Julia and Richard?” Bec demanded the following afternoon as she held the ladder Coop was standing on.

  “I don’t understand.” Coop stopped what he was doing and looked down. “You already knew he was lying. I mean it’s a fake wedding—of course he doesn’t have a bride and groom yet. But at least he promised he’d get them before the big day. What’s the problem?”

  “What’s the problem?” Bec craned her neck to see him better. “The problem is he’s very annoying. This whole thing’s annoying.” Especially the part where I let down my guard. Where I forgot what was really going on. At least she hadn’t made the same mistake again, and when they’d gone out this morning to look at bakeries and florists, she’d carefully only discussed what was necessary with him. “And if yesterday was bad, today was even worse. You should’ve seen the look he gave me just because I wanted to eat some of your mom’s relish when we were tasting wedding cakes.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “No, it’s what my unborn child is demanding,” Bec said, not entirely sure if it was a pregnancy craving or if she’d discovered the best kept secret in food pairing ever. “Oh, and he keeps using this book to write things down when he thinks I’m not looking. I’m sure he’s trying to prove I’m a bad mother.”

  Coop let out a long sigh as he continued to work. “There could be a hundred reasons for the book. Perhaps he wants to be a rock star and he’s writing lyrics.”

  “A rock star? He’s lord of some fancy estate. Of course he doesn’t want to be a rock star.” Bec folded her arms. She and Coop rarely fought, mainly because he tended to go along with everything she said (even climbing up the ladder, despite the fact he wasn’t a fan of heights). And I’m not being unreasonable. After all, Lincoln’s family had already tried to bribe her once. There was no saying what they might do next.

  “Okay. I was only using it as an example,” Coop protested. “No need to bite my head off.”

  “Sorry.” She held her hands up in apology. “I’m just on edge, but you’re right. I shouldn’t take it out on you. And that bunting’s crooked.”

  “You know for a free-spirited wild-child you’re pretty exacting,” Coop retorted as he gave the vintage bunting a decorative tweak and then climbed down the ladder.

  “So, now you’re judging me for being good at my job?” Bec bristled, not sure why she was so mad.

  Coop reached the ground and faced her. “I’m not judging you at all. I’m worried about you. Bec, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she said, not quite willing to admit the more time she spent with Lincoln, the harder it was to focus on anything that wasn’t him. It had been like that in Italy, too, but at least there she could sate herself with touching him—with her hands…her lips…

  Come back.

  “Really? So, why do you have drool coming out of your mouth?” Coop asked as he followed her over to the other boxes they’d carried down to the wishing bridge to decorate it for the vintage Hayride Fiesta happening the following morning.

  Pepper had laughed at Bec’s idea of running smaller events at the farm in between the wedding seasons, but Emmy had said they should try it, and Bec had been thrilled when she’d received a booking almost instantly. It might not be a wedding, but it was still money. Plus, it had given her an excuse to avoid seeing Lincoln tomorrow.

  “Drool?” She frowned before she caught his grin. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased, and she returned his smile. “Okay, fine. So this whole wedding thing isn’t working out. Every time Lincoln speaks all I want to do is kiss him. It’s getting to be a problem, and I’ve got no idea what to do.”

  “Well, why don’t you just kiss him, then?”

  “What?” Bec snapped her head toward him to check if he was joking or not. Judging by the set of his eyes, apparently not. “Coop, are you crazy? You know why I can’t kiss him. For a start, he’s the father of my child and things are already complicated enough. Not to mention he’s a sneaky, no-good liar. Better advice would be to never see him again. What do you think my chances are of getting Pepper to finish organizing the wedding?”

  “About six-million to none,” Coop answered, as a dark shadow crossed his f
ace. He shook it away. “And I’m serious. Why do we always have to make things so hard on ourselves? What’s wrong with having what we want?”

  “Because sometimes what we want is bad for us. Like the time I thought I wanted to eat a whole tub of chocolate and coconut ice cream and was sick for three days,” Bec reminded him. And, if I get involved with Lincoln, it will take a hell of a lot longer than three days to recover. “Besides, you need to be a responsible best friend, especially while I’m full of baby hormones. I’m like a walking time bomb. You need to keep me in check, not tell me to do something crazy.”

  Coop shook his head. “It’s not the hormones.”

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “If it were the hormones you’d want to kiss everyone.”

  Bec was silent. The idea he might be right was concerning, and she felt like the straws she’d been clutching were being pulled away from her.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Really?” Coop cocked an eyebrow as a small smile tugged at his mouth. “So, when you look at my stunningly attractive face, tell me, are you overcome with a desire to rip off my clothes and run your hands up my chest?”

  Bec opened her mouth and then shut it again. Coop was classically gorgeous, which probably explained why he’d never failed to get any girl he wanted. But looking at him didn’t do anything to her. Her breath didn’t catch in her throat. Her pulse didn’t spike, and she didn’t remotely want to run her fingers along his exposed arms. Except perhaps to pinch him.

  Which means he’s right.

  Shoot.

  “So, this isn’t just a pregnancy thing?” Heat filled her chest as she let out a soft groan.

  “I don’t think so.” Coop shook his head. “And you might find if you kiss him, it will get it out of your system. The tension will be gone, and you’ll finally be able to get on with your life. That the irritating obsession will be over, once and for all.”