The Stand-in Groom (Wrong Way Weddings Book 3) Read online

  And this kind of thinking really made sense. He shifted uncomfortably and gave up on the chair. He paced but could only do a cramped two-step on the green linoleum floor.

  “Man, this is silly,” he groused to himself. What would it hurt to nap for a little while on the other side of the bed? He was pooped, and Stacy wouldn’t even know he’d shared the bed if he woke up first.

  He stretched out on his side, back to her, and checked his watch. Plenty of time for a short nap.

  Damn. She’d been in a smelly van and a fishing shack, but she still reminded him of fresh rainwater in a spring garden. What was it about this woman that made a prosaic guy like him feel poetic? Crazy, but the soft rhythm of her breathing was keeping him awake.

  He wanted to snuggle against her. They’d be a good fit. She was a perfect size for him, maybe six inches shorter and convex where he was concave. Or was it the other way around? He did know for sure he’d like to pin her with one leg and close the distance between them in all the important ways.

  Rolling over, he lay watching her. She couldn’t object to sharing the bed if he kept six inches between them. He forgot about being hungry and wished he could rip away the bedraggled skirt. From what he’d seen of her legs, it was practically criminal to keep them covered.

  He flipped over again so his back was to her, but unfortunately out of sight didn’t mean out of mind. He tried to imagine lying in his bunk on the ore boat, letting the waves of Lake Superior lull him to sleep. Eventually he got drowsy.

  The phone jarred him awake, and he leapt out of bed to catch it on the second ring. Stacy didn’t stir.

  “Who is this?” a petulant voice asked.

  “That’s what I should be asking you.”

  “Jonathan Mercer. Is Stacy Moore there?”

  “I think she’s probably asleep.”

  He made it sound as though he were guessing. No doubt she wouldn’t thank him if he told her fiancé they were sacking out together on the same bed.

  “Well, I guess I shouldn’t wake her. Poor kid is probably exhausted after her ordeal. I’m calling from my Bugatti.”

  Hurray for you, Nick thought, liking her fiancé less and less.

  “I’ve ran into some road construction. Apparently, they’re using a night crew because there’s too much traffic during the day. If Stacy wakes up and you see her, tell her I’m delayed. I’ll get there as soon as humanly possible. She’s had a terrible ordeal.”

  Nick wanted to say it hadn’t been all bad, but nothing suggested Mercer had a sense of humor.

  “Will do,” Nick said, hanging up before the pompous ass could.

  Stacy was still totally out of it. He eased down beside her and thought of turning off the dim overhead light but didn’t bother. He was more tired than before his short catnap. Leaving it on was simple laziness. It had nothing to do with wanting to look at her as she slept.

  When he awoke again, a man was standing in the doorway, and Stacy was snuggled against Nick’s back with her arm across him. It was the granddaddy of awkward situations.

  “Ahem.” The slim man cleared his throat.

  “Jonathan!” Immediately awake, Stacy yelped as if someone had pinched her and scrambled off the other side of the bed. “I was so tired—I didn’t even know Nick was beside me.”

  “How did you get in? Did the old man give you a key?”

  Nick swung his legs to the floor, mad enough to stuff the key, paddle and all, down the skinny owner’s throat—or maybe Jonathan’s. “I bribed him not to tell anyone we were here, and he gives away the key.”

  “Why? Did you have something to hide?”

  Jonathan was wearing pressed tan cotton slacks, a starched white shirt open at his throat with the long sleeves rolled up two turns, and Italian loafers with tassels but no socks.

  “There was a possibility the kidnappers would find us,” Nick said angrily. “Do you think I’d leave Stacy alone and unprotected while they’re still on the loose?”

  If that didn’t defuse the arrogant wimp, nothing would.

  “No, I guess not,” her fiancé said grudgingly. “But you can imagine how this looks to me. I didn’t expect to see Stacy...”

  “Jonathan...sweetheart, you wouldn’t be seeing me at all if it weren’t for Nick,” she said. “He’s the one who got me off the island.”

  She traipsed barefoot over to her fiancé, but neither of them initiated any kissing. At least Nick was spared that—not that it mattered to him.

  “How much did you give him for the key?” Nick asked.

  Common sense told him to drop it, but he was still mad. A better question would have been. Why not just knock?

  “Twenty dollars. Are you ready to go, darling?”

  “There’s nothing to get ready,” she said. “Oh, I promised Nick a ride home. Seemed silly for his family to drive all this way.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Nick chimed in, almost hoping the curly-haired jerk would refuse him a ride.

  “Of course,” Jonathan said stiffly.

  “Stacy hasn’t eaten since— When?” Nick asked. “Noon yesterday.”

  “I think I passed an all-night convenience store about fifty miles back,” her fiancé said.

  “That’ll do, let’s go,” Nick said, hoping he could sleep on the way home—all the way home. He didn’t want to see and hear a mushy reunion.

  5

  Stacy hurried home at noon on Friday to make a tuna sandwich but found she couldn’t force herself to eat. Knowing she had an appointment at the police station zapped her appetite even though she very much wanted the kidnappers caught.

  All week she’d been besieged by curious people. Parents picking up their children at the learning center, shoppers at the supermarket, even neighbors out for a walk pumped her for details about the abduction.

  Her fifteen minutes of fame had lasted from the Saturday evening news through the week to Friday, and she’d had more than enough. She wondered if Nick was going through anything like it.

  Her parents were urging her to move back home until her wedding. Her brothers hovered so protectively, she practically fell over one of them every time she opened her door. The older two, Kirk and Paul, tried to persuade her to stay with one of them.

  When she refused, their wives, Nancy and Emma, tag-teamed her, trying to babysit her when she wasn’t at work. Sam, soon to be a high school senior and busy with girlfriends and a summer job mowing at a golf course, checked on her every night after work. Jason, still in middle school and usually supremely indifferent to everything not involving a ball, was angling for an overnight stay with his big sis.

  Thank heavens for Aunt Lucille. At least she didn’t see any need to put Stacy in a protective bubble.

  With a few minutes to spare, she belatedly made her bed. She was going to miss her little bedroom after the wedding. She’d painted odds and ends of cast-off furniture a cheery yellow and stenciled kids in sunbonnets on the dresser drawers and the single headboard.

  Aunt Lucille had braided a three-foot oval rug for her using yellow, black, and red scrap material. A collection of framed hand-cut silhouettes hung on the wall, and discount-store lace curtains finished off the room.

  Of course, nothing in her apartment was sophisticated enough for Jonathan’s Grosse Pointe home. He bought antiques at places like Sotheby’s and Christie’s auction houses. She smiled at the idea of putting her couch with its flowered chintz slipcover in his formal living room.

  The tea-kettle-shaped clock on her kitchen wall warned she had to get going. When the phone rang, she was tempted to let her voicemail get it. Then, for some irrational reason, she thought it might be Nick. She picked it up even as she acknowledged it was dumb to expect a call from a man she’d known for one day.

  “Darling, I’m glad I caught you. I have to be in court in a few minutes. I just wanted to wish you good luck at the police station,” Jonathan said.

  “I’ll be fine. All I have to do is look at some pictures.”<
br />
  “Of course, you’ll do splendidly. Anyway, there’s not much chance they’ll catch the kidnappers. They’re probably in Canada by now.”

  She thought Harold would stand out like a zit on a beauty contestant’s chin anywhere on the planet, but Jonathan was only trying to minimize her nervousness about looking at mug shots. She did appreciate the support he’d given her this week.

  Of course, he had pouted all the way home from the Cairo Casbah Cabins, but she understood why. He’d wanted to be the hero. He’d even been willing to pay a ransom and deliver it himself, but there’d never been a demand. Then he wound his way through summer road construction only to find...

  “I should leave now,” she said, uncomfortable talking to Jonathan while thinking about Nick. She knew how fortunate she was to have a wonderful man like her fiancé. She loved him. She really did.

  “First, one piece of good news,” Jonathan said. “I’ve been working closely with Lenora at the bridal salon. Her insurance will definitely cover the loss of your gown.”

  “Thank heavens!”

  “All it took was a little legal finesse.”

  “Then I thank you. I should go back to her shop to see if she has something else I could wear.”

  “Oh, darling, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. My mother knows a lovely place...”

  “Lenora doesn’t want to sell me a dress?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that, but you getting kidnapped did upset her.”

  “It upset her?” Well! She’d get married in her learning-center painting smock before she went back there.

  “I’m sorry you had to take off work this afternoon,” Jonathan said. “I know you wanted to save all your vacation time for the days before our wedding. Of course, afterward it won’t matter. Remember, I’m picking you up at eight thirty tomorrow morning for your tennis lesson, then we’ll hit a few balls to practice what you learn.”

  “I remember.”

  Her job wouldn’t matter? They had to talk about that soon.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  She hung up and wondered whether “me, too” meant “I love me, too” instead of “I love you.” Maybe she should stop saying it. Now that she thought about it, she never had said “me, too” until that time at the Cairo Casbah Cabins.

  What else could she have done there? It felt too awkward saying “I love you” in front of Nick.

  She was nearly out the door when her phone rang again. Grabbing it from her bag, she snatched it up. Probably a telemarketer, but it could be...

  “Hi...Mom.”

  It was a courtesy call, her mother politely checking to be sure Stacy had made it safely home for lunch. It must be her turn to play guard dog.

  Their conversation was short. Mission accomplished, Mom could go back to her job as an executive assistant for a PR firm.

  Stacy hurried down to the car from her second-floor apartment so she wouldn’t be tempted to pick up the phone again.

  There was one good thing about the Elm Park police station. No crime need go unreported for lack of a parking space. The long, squat brick building, a relic of the suburban building boom of the 1950s, had an ample number of spots.

  Sharing space with other government offices in the town hall, it was conveniently located a few blocks away from Lenora’s Bridal Salon. Who besides Percy and Harold would kidnap their victim practically in the shadow of the law?

  She knew where to go in the station—two right turns then check in with a uniformed clerk. The institutional tan floor and walls were adorned only by arrows and signs. The place was uncomfortably quiet, as if everyone who passed her had weighty problems. Her throat was dry when she reached her destination. The officer behind the counter probably thought she was clearing it because she was nervous.

  Who, me? Nervous? Carrying on an imaginary conversation with the policeman after he took her name. Why should I be nervous? I’m cradled in the arms of the law. Of course, cradles could rock and dump baby out.

  When it came time to do the identification, Stacy was surprised the police didn’t use big fat books full of hundreds of faces. A shame. She loved movie scenes where the victim pointed at a mug shot and cried out, “That’s the man.”

  What really happened was another officer handed her printouts of five suspects. There were no statistics, no heights, weights, eye colors, or names, just stark head-and-shoulder photos downloaded from a computer.

  “No,” Stacy said, shaking her head and repeating herself for the third time because a weary-looking, droopy-lidded cop wanted her to be sure. “None of these is the Harold who kidnapped us. I’m really sorry.”

  He grunted, obviously short on comforting skills.

  “His partner has red hair,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  On the way out she passed a couple more somber-faced uniformed officers with intimidating weapons. She felt like one of her preschoolers awed by the big guys. Of course, it was silly.

  She’d smashed Miranda’s Elvis cake knowing Billy John might toss her in the lake or worse if anyone saw her. Percy and Harold hadn’t scared her on the island, so she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be spooked now by this kidnapping business.

  She couldn’t help wondering whether Nick had seen the printouts yet.

  Oh, be honest, she thought. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nick—period. She had a full-blown schoolgirl crush on him just because he’d been there for her during the kidnapping. It was the same as being infatuated with a movie star or a rock musician—fun while it lasted, but nothing of substance. After all, she was engaged to a wonderful man.

  Nick saw Stacy go into the police station just as he was ready to pull out of the parking area to go back to work. She must be going to look at the same mug shots he had. It wouldn’t take her long. One quick glance was enough to know none of those suspects was Harold. As for Percy, a glimpse of red hair on the back of his head wasn’t much help to the cops.

  Impulsively, he killed the motor and decided to wait for her. He didn’t see her hotshot fiancé with her, and she might need a friendly word after traipsing to the cop shop for nothing.

  He settled down behind the wheel of the black sports car his grandfather had given him for his high school graduation. Someday he’d have to replace it, but he had more important things on his mind right now, namely a career choice.

  Working for Cole and Zack was a drag.

  He’d grown up thinking his twin half-brothers were the ultimate in cool, but what they did now wasn’t what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He was trying, but he couldn’t get excited about building one more bank, one more apartment building.

  He hoped Stacy would make quick work of not identifying the fulsome five the police computer had spit out. He fiddled with one sideview mirror while he waited, then the other, not that anything was wrong with either. He just loved tinkering, the one trait he definitely got from his grandfather.

  Marsh had retired from running the company he’d started, but he couldn’t stay away from the lab and workrooms where employees of Bailey Baby Products came up with new ideas for toys and baby stuff.

  Since his stint on the ore boat, Nick had been trying to figure out what to do with his life. He’d rather be celibate for six months than admit it, but maybe he did belong in the family business. The management part was a bore, so he wasn’t executive material as his parents had hoped. But working with his hands, inventing new products, sounded better every day.

  One thing was sure. Construction work bored him. Cole and Zack contracted for skilled laborers like plumbers and electricians, and they had some really good carpenters on the payroll. This left him mostly being the gofer.

  He didn’t mind the manual labor, but he did hate the monotony. So far, his greatest challenge had been to design and build a doghouse for a well-heeled client.

  Trouble was, he’d tack on another six months of celibacy before he’d ask his gr
andfather to hire him.

  Marsh was not a go-to-a-ballgame, pat-on-the-back type of grandpa. He was a stubborn, opinionated, crusty tyrant who loved to manipulate people, especially his own family. Nick’s mother was a saint for putting up with him so well, especially since he’d scared away the twins’ father with jail threats when she was a pregnant teen.

  Nick shelved his own problems the instant he caught sight of Stacy. She looked perky and confident in white shorts, a red-and-white striped tank top, and red canvas shoes, but he had a hunch she might welcome a familiar face after the institutional coldness of the town hall.

  He moved fast, calling her name as he approached.

  “Stacy, how are you doing?”

  He should’ve thought of something clever to say, but all his usual lines failed him when he focused on her baby blues.

  “Oh, Nick, are you here to look at mug shots?”

  “I’ve done it. I saw you go in. Knew it wouldn’t take long so I waited. Thought we could compare notes.” He was overexplaining, but she had that effect on him.

  “Well, I looked twice at the bald guy, but even with hair he couldn’t be Harold. His nose was too pointy.”

  “Our boy’s snout is the envy of all clowns. Plum-shaped and bright red.”

  She laughed even though it was a lame joke. She had a great sense of humor except when her fiancé was around. Nick knew polite laughter when he heard it, and that’s all Mercer got on the ride back to Detroit. The self-important ambulance chaser wouldn’t know when to laugh at a comedy club without a prompter.

  Of course, he could be prejudiced, Nick admitted to himself. Stacy deserved a man, not a weasel in wingtips.

  “I’m disappointed, actually,” she said. “I keep hoping they’ll get caught and confess. I don’t care about long jail sentences, but I really want to know why they picked me. Jonathan would have paid a ransom, but how did they know who I was and where I’d be? Did they follow me to Lenora’s? Why did they have to call someone if it wasn’t to demand ransom money?”