Laura Altom - Cowboy Seal Daddy

“Too bad you can’t rent a wife and kid, huh?”

“I wish. That’s the only way I’d take vows again.”

“Got nothing but love for you, brother. That sorry SOB can rot in hell.”

A fist bump relayed Wayne’s similar sentiment.

But the SEAL brother who’d broken ranks to cheat with Wayne’s ex wasn’t solely to blame. Like the old saying goes, “It takes two to tango,” and Chelsea had lied and schemed right up to their marriage’s official end.

Dressed, the two men joined the rest of their exhausted team in line for mystery meat and mashed potatoes. It wouldn’t have mattered what was served. Wayne was hungry enough to eat cardboard—a good thing, considering the potatoes’ dried consistency.

After another verbal lashing during their meal, the CO declared them officially dismissed until 0200 the next morning.

Since Logan was in an on-off relationship with a Hooters waitress who had apparently decided to be back on, they’d driven separately to base.

Most of the single guys drove Mustangs or Chargers, but Wayne stayed true to his country roots by maintaining his red 1976 Ford F-150 Ranger truck. Of course, he’d souped up the engine and cab, but the original body was pristine.

He might be a SEAL, but he was also a cowboy through and through. Next to him on the custom red leather seat was his trusty straw cowboy hat. The thing looked like it had been trampled by a herd of mustangs, but he never felt truly dressed without it. As soon as he put in his twenty years until retirement, he’d move back to the family ranch. Wayne knew his dad wanted him there now, but with eighteen months remaining on his current enlistment, even if he opted for early retirement, he couldn’t just tell his CO he was leaving.

Traffic was hell on I-5 and it took forty minutes to reach his apartment complex.

As he pulled into the lot, his neighbor Paisley Carter struggled to roll out of her friend Monica’s low-slung Jaguar convertible. The two of them owned an interior design business located in a trendy part of town. Monica, who was hot as hell, once had a thing with Logan, which made her off-limits to anyone else on their team. Whereas Monica was pure sex in her tight black dress and the red-soled shoes every woman on the planet seemed to go nuts for, Paisley was more the take-home-to-Mom type in weird pink pants and a white blouse big enough to be a painter’s smock.

She was adorable—even more so pregnant.

She was also a good girl who’d fallen prey to a two-timing bastard. The guy who’d knocked her up didn’t seem to be in the picture, which made Wayne want to punch him into the next county for leaving Paisley in such a rough spot—especially with her crap car apparently in the shop again.

He knew firsthand how much it sucked being cheated on. A nice girl like Paisley didn’t deserve that fate.

Like you did?

Squashing that old insecurity like the scorpion he’d found in his boot on their last Middle East mission, Wayne eliminated that line of thought.

After pulling into the first spot he saw, he killed the engine, then hopped out to help Paisley to her feet.

“Give me your hand,” he said, looking past her to wave to Monica. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Great. How’s Logan?”

“Good.”

“I hate to hear that. In fact, I hate—”

“Excuse me,” Paisley said. “Pregnant lady struggling to get out of this motorized skateboard.”

“Sorry.” Wayne skipped taking Paisley’s hand in favor of scooping her into his arms. He knocked the Jag’s door shut with his hip. “Catch you later, Monica.”

“Bye. Tell Logan to suck it. Feel better, Paise!” The brunette gave them a backhanded wave before revving the engine and peeling out of the lot.

Wayne said, “Logan’s an idiot for letting her go.”

“You’re an idiot for lusting after her. You do realize she’s an heiress and more high maintenance than my car—that’s broken down again.”

Horsing around, Wayne feigned a dreamy sigh. “A man can fantasize about Monica. Not that heap of metal you call a car.”

“Be nice.” Paisley landed a light smack to the back of his head, then flung her arms around his neck while he took the stairs two at a time. “How’s Logan doing with their breakup? Monica’s a tad bitter.”

“No kidding?” Wayne laughed. “I never would’ve guessed. So, what’s wrong with your car this time?”

“Needs a new transmission.”

“Ouch.” He set her on her feet in front of her apartment door. They’d been neighbors for a few years. They barbecued a couple weekends each month and whenever he was deployed, she watched the cactus his mother had given him. She made cookies for him and Logan at Christmas and a special meal for them on Veteran’s Day. She would make some lucky guy an incredible...

Wife.

Logan’s locker room joke might not be such a bad idea. Obviously, Wayne would never be in the market to marry again for real. But he was totally on board with a rental spouse.

The trick would be convincing Paisley that taking his money for posing as his temporary wife would be a mutually beneficial arrangement as opposed to charity.

Over too many beers at the complex pool party last Fourth of July, she’d admitted Monica had bought her a car for her birthday, but she’d made her friend take it back. She hadn’t gone into too much detail, but Wayne gathered the gist was that she’d been raised by a single mom who’d had no qualms about taking all the handouts she could get.

She opened her door and now eyed him funny. “Everything all right? You look almost as green as I usually do.”

“Actually, I have something I’d like to run by you. Want to grab a bite to eat? Maybe Italian?”

She blanched.

“Your little one still making you sick?”

She nodded on her way into the living room. “He didn’t get the memo that morning sickness isn’t supposed to last day and night for months.”

“Is there anything you do crave?” Wayne shut the door and followed her into her apartment.

“Gummy bears and beef jerky—oh, and split pea soup. But with my car out of commission, I haven’t been to the store.”

Now Wayne was the one making a face. “You do know that’s a nasty food combo?”

She patted her baby bump. “Try explaining that to this guy. These days, he calls all the shots.”

“Hang tight. I’ll grab everything.”

“Wayne, no. I’m not even hungry. Monica brought me home for a nap.” She stretched out on the sofa with a soft sigh.

“Great. You have a snooze, and by the time I get back, you’ll be ready for a talk.”

“Why?” She rolled onto her side, jamming a hot pink pillow between her knees. What was it with her and loud colors?

“Does it matter?” He didn’t blame her for being suspicious.

“I suppose not.” She’d closed her eyes and, at least for a moment, looked at peace. Then she opened one eye, staring dead at him. “But it is curious. Why would a career military man and confirmed bachelor suddenly want to suck up to little ol’ me?” Both eyes now open, she cocked her head, shooting him the cutest devilish grin. How had he never noticed her pistachio-colored gaze?

“You know,” he said with a forced chuckle. “That is a good question. One I will be happy to answer once I have you all buttered up with gummy bears, beef jerky and split pea soup.”

* * *

BEFORE PAISLEY RECEIVED an adequate answer from Wayne, he was gone. Just as well. Her baby was practicing soccer kicks against her ribs and the pain made a task as simple as talking too big of an effort to enjoy—even with a too-handsome-for-his-own-good SEAL like Wayne.

She’d crushed on him for three years.

Ever since watching him move into the apartment next-door, hauling boxes and furniture bare-chested past her living room window all day long. Sadly, she’d soon enough learned the score for not only him, but his SEAL friends. They were a cocky lot—admittedly for good reason—but the constant string of bikini models and flight attendants made it clear that a plain Jane such as herself was strictly friend material.