Susan Lute - Oops...We're Married?

Slowly, Eleanor turned to Jake. “I think I really am going to kill you this time,” she stoically advised her foster brother, painfully aware that her hands had formed into white fists on the table.

Dillon leaned closer to the mirror, trying to concentrate on the bow tie he was having trouble knotting. It just didn’t make any sense. Ever since he’d walked…okay run, away from Eleanor Rose, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on a damn thing. Not his preparations for classes. Not his lists. Not anything.

For at least the hundredth time he wondered about her. Her attempt to distance herself hadn’t escaped him. He couldn’t forget her studied indifference when she’d been forced to acknowledge him.

The woman he’d encountered at the Harbor Room only vaguely resembled the teenage girl Dillon remembered. She’d changed. A lot. The angry tomboy Jake had taken under his wing had morphed into a consummate businesswoman. Too aloof and independent for his tastes, she would never make the cut for his list of potential wife candidates. So, what was his problem?

An attraction for a dyed-in-the-wool corporate businesswoman was not in his plans despite the whiskey-colored eyes haunting him. Or the tall, lithe form and long legs, which he was sure could quite easily wrap themselves around his waist, tempting him. Or the fantasy of sun-struck blond hair cascading through his fingers, taunting him.

A shudder sneaked through Dillon as he savagely clamped down on the runaway images assaulting his good sense. What had happened to the tomboy he used to know?

“Dad. I can’t tie this.”

Dillon glanced at the reflection of his six-year-old son in the mirrored closet door. Ryan reminded him so much of Joan, bringing back memories of his first wife that no longer hurt, but still left him feeling empty and alone. Though she’d been gone four years, he still missed her laughter and the comfort of coming home to the safety of her love each day.

Turning off the rush of memories he’d worked hard to come to terms with, Dillon squatted down in front of Ryan, quickly tying the boy’s bow tie. “You look sharp, champ.”

Standing, he turned them both to the mirror. The last of the Stone men, the son a shorter version of his dad, both dressed in black suits, relieved only by white shirts and matching green eyes. One young and too cautious, the other older and sadly wiser.

“Are we going to find a mom tonight?” His son’s small voice cut through Dillon’s unbidden fantasy of distant, whiskey…blond…

“No. Remember, I told you this is just make-believe. We’ll be helping to raise money for—”

“Charity. But I thought as long as you were going to pick a pretend—”

“Pretend,” Dillon agreed firmly, wondering if he’d made a mistake including his son in this event.

“I know,” Ryan said with a child’s aggrieved sigh, then perked up. “Maybe she’ll be my pretend mom, too.”

Dillon’s heart fairly broke at the longing in his little boy’s upturned face. He hated that Ryan couldn’t remember his mother. In many ways the little guy was so much like her. He had her dark hair, her smile, her easy sense of humor. Even though Ryan had no memory of her, Dillon was aware his son wanted a living mom just like his friends had.

“It’s going to be okay, champ. Hey, do you want to help me pick out this pretend wife?” Dillon didn’t stop to think before he spoke, but he wouldn’t have taken the question back for anything once he saw the excited look that lit up Ryan’s face.

“Really?”

“Really.” Dillon hoped Jake wouldn’t mind a small change in the game plan.

“Do you think we’ll find one who really likes us?”

At the wistfulness in his son’s voice, Dillon turned them both to look in the mirror one last time.

“Of course she will like us. How could any lady resist two handsome James Bond types like us?” Dillon asked, grateful for the smile his answer put on the little guy’s face.

“James Bond.”

Dillon watched Ryan square his slight shoulders and once again tug on his tie, before adding in his best imitation James Bond voice, “I’m ready.”

That’s good, because I’m not sure I am, Dillon acknowledged as he led the way out to his pickup truck.

“This is a great idea, having father-and-son bachelors.”

Dillon followed Jake, who led them to the mocked-up booths for the game show. “You’re not supposed to see the lady contestants, so sit here and we’ll get started as soon as everyone has been served.”

“It looks like you have a full house,” Dillon observed, glad that if he had to participate in one of Jake’s schemes, at least it was for something harmless, but important.

“Yeah, we’re packed. We’ll make a huge chunk of change for the shelter tonight. I’ve got to get the ladies settled in their booths. Ryan, sit here next to your dad. You can even ask a question if you want.”

“Wow.”

Dillon watched Ryan wriggle into the offered chair, relieved that Jake had no problem including his son.

“Wow yourself, little buddy.” Ruffling Ryan’s hair, Jake pinned on the boy’s microphone, then turned laughter-filled eyes toward Dillon. “Good luck. I’m betting you’re going to find the perfect woman tonight.”

His friend’s short laugh, before disappearing around the partition that blocked Dillon’s view of the other contestants, filled Dillon with foreboding. Partly because of Jake’s recent insistence that he and Ryan needed a change of location, he’d decided to leave Seattle for the smaller, more comfortable Oregon river city of Portland.

Now, he had a familiar feeling his friend was up to no good. He watched as elegantly dressed dinner guests were shown to the tables within his field of vision. “No good” was his buddy’s speciality.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. It’s time to begin,” Jake’s voice announced. “Let me start out by thanking each of you for coming tonight to help support this very worthy cause. Remember, at the back of the room is a silent auction. All proceeds made tonight will go directly to the East Side Women’s Shelter….”

Maybe his friend was right. There were three eligible women on the other side of the wall that separated him and Ryan from them. One of the ladies could be just what he was looking for…an addition to the list he’d left safely at home.

“For a surprise addition, we have not one bachelor, but two very eligible bachelors, father and son, who will pick a very lucky bachelorette….”

Eleanor stopped squirming in the hard chair Jake had shown her to, suspicion splashing her with a cold panic that was rapidly turning to anger.

He wouldn’t. The one person in the whole world she trusted, wouldn’t do this to her, would he? Yes…he would, a small voice offered its opinion in her mind. Eleanor spit silent curses at her brother. The three-sided cubicle where she sat, unable to lay her hands on him, revealed only an excited audience, beginning their dinner as they eagerly waited for the “dating game” to begin.

“Bachelor senior. Why don’t you start with your first question. We have three lovely ladies for you to choose from. Will it be Bachelorette number one? Bachelorette number two? Or Bachelorette number three?”

“Bachelorette number three. What are your hobbies?”

Eleanor almost groaned aloud when she heard the unforgettable, familiar voice ask his first question amid cheers and catcalls from the audience. She wasn’t prepared for the deep impact of his voice that ignited undisciplined awareness like Fourth of July fireworks.

“Bachelorette number three?” Dillon’s dark, gravelly voice washed her in unexplained waves of startled sensation.

Clearing the lump suddenly lodged in her throat, Eleanor blurted without thinking, “I don’t have any hobbies.”

“I see. How about Bachelorette number two?”

What did he see? Eleanor wondered angrily, feeling both foolish and irritated. Only what she wanted him to see. Which was nothing.

The honey tones used by the other two ladies to answer the law professor’s question made Eleanor sick to her stomach. There was no way she was going to try to sell herself to this man by sugarcoating her responses just for his benefit.

“Bachelorette number three. What are your favorite foods?”

This time Eleanor was prepared. Carefully modulating her voice, she responded, “I’m a vegetarian.” Well, she was.

“And…?”

“And, I like vegetables.”

Dillon looked at Ryan, his eyebrows lifting in question. There was something familiar about that voice, even though it was masked by the microphone and her abrupt responses.

Briefly, whiskey-colored eyes flashed bright in Dillon’s mind and the last puzzle piece fell into place. So, that’s what all Jake’s meddling was about. He had three ladies to choose from. Of course, he wasn’t going to pick Eleanor just because she was Jake’s sister. The guy could be a loose cannon, but this little maneuver absolutely took the cake.

Eleanor stared out at the audience. The dinner was being catered by attendants dressed sharply in white shirts, black bow ties and black dress slacks. The tables were elegantly covered in gold tablecloths. And, without exception, every female eye in the place was focused on the left side of the stage, where she was sure Dillon sat with his little boy.

Heated with disgust, she unbuttoned the top button of the white blouse that seemed bent on choking her and renewed her earlier vow not to stoop to competing for the man’s attention. Purposely, she answered each question Dillon asked her in the most bored, disinterested way she could, discouraging any idea the man might have of picking her, while the other ladies blatantly threw themselves at him. Their sugary, come-park-your-shoes-under-my-bed responses made her stomach queasy.

When Jake stepped into her line of vision, frowning at her, Eleanor felt a small pinpoint of malicious satisfaction. She arched her eyebrows at him, smiled sweetly and wished him at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. It warmed her sense of revenge when his frown deepened.

If she could just get to him, she would really hurt Jake, Eleanor promised, finding herself perched on the edge of her seat, leaning out of the small cubicle that marked her end of the stage.

Pushing her glasses farther up her nose, she briefly glanced toward the other end of the raised platform. Three additional cubicles, undoubtedly perfect matches to hers, stretched across the stage in a half moon, the two middle ones recessed slightly away from the audience. Suddenly, Eleanor found herself traitorously wondering what it would be like to be chosen by Dillon Stone. What would it be like to be the woman he would want to spend the rest of his life with?

Before she could break away from that heart-pounding thought, a solemn face peeked around the front of the bachelor cubicle. Serious eyes studied her without blinking. A sudden smile shattered the illusion of an adult packed secretly into the small boy’s body.

Ryan.

The longing in his watchful eyes assailed Eleanor with an unfamiliar urge to take the small, serious child and fold him close in her arms. Tentatively, she smiled back.

“Bachelorette number three?” Dillon’s annoyed voice broke the fragile connection she’d made with the child.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the question,” she said as she removed her glasses and winked at Ryan, who was still watching her curiously.

“Where is your favorite place to vacation?” Dillon repeated, patience struggling with the irritation lacing his voice.