GINA WILKINS - Husband for a Weekend

Betsy moved toward the house without waiting for a response. “Come inside. Everyone’s eager to meet you, Trey.”

“His name is Tate, Mom. He really prefers that.”

“Tate Price,” he murmured.

Betsy winked at him and linked her arm through his. “Of course.”

Tate grinned over his shoulder at Kim when Betsy tugged him toward the house. “I’ll come back later for the bags, honey,” he said, his eyes gleaming a little too brightly.

Kim gave him a saccharine sweet smile in return. “That will be just fine, sweetie .”

Feeling as though she were caught in a current she couldn’t quite escape—a familiar sensation when her mother was around—Kim fell into step resignedly behind her mother and her “husband.”

As much as he disapproved what he’d heard of Betsy’s maternal behavior—or lack of it—Tate couldn’t help but be amused by her. Was she really as oblivious to reality as she acted? She was either one of the most natural actors he’d ever encountered, or she was a little delusional. Maybe both.

A seemingly compulsive flirt, she held his hand and twinkled up at him as she towed him into her house, leaving Kim to follow behind with the baby. He looked rather helplessly over his shoulder at her, but Kim merely wrinkled her nose and shrugged as if to remind him that she’d tried to warn him.

“Everyone, look who’s here! Come say hello to Kim and Tate and precious little Daryn,” Betsy called out as they entered the crisply air-conditioned interior of her home.

Tate wasn’t one to pay much attention to interior decor, but he got an impression of tidy, rather generic furnishings and framed prints in a neutral color scheme with touches of gold and green. And flowers. Lots of flowers, cheerily arranged in glass and ceramic vases displayed on nearly every surface. He might not know a lot about furniture, but he could name every bloom on display.

A young man with limp brown hair and a vaguely disgruntled frown looked up from the tablet computer he’d been fiddling with on the living room couch. “Tate? I thought you said his name was Trey.”

“It’s Tate the Third, obviously,” Betsy replied without a pause. “He’s decided he prefers Tate. Stand up and greet your sister and brother-in-law, Stuart. Where are Bob and Julian?”

“Bob wanted to show Julian something under the hood of his car,” Stuart replied vaguely, remaining seated. “Hey, Kim.”

She greeted him politely, and only a little more warmly. “Hi, Stuart. How’s it going?”

“It’s all good. Nice to meet you, Tate,” he muttered in response to his mother’s meaningfully cleared throat.

“Good to meet you, too, Stuart.” Tate had forgotten to ask Kim if her stepfather and her brothers had been told the truth about her marital status; judging by Betsy’s words to her younger son, Stuart, at least, was still in the dark.

The teen nodded, then redirected his attention to his computer.

Betsy sighed in exasperation, and turned to Tate with a little moue of apology. “Stuart’s not much of a talker, I’m afraid. But I’m sure he’s delighted to welcome you to the family.”

Tate shared a baffled look with Kim. “Um. Okay.”

Sounds from the doorway announced the arrival of the final two members of the family. Tate summed up the newcomers in a sweeping glance. Bob Shaw was a meek-looking man in his late forties with thinning, sandy hair, a ruddy face, a potbelly and a warm smile. Julian was of medium height and weight, somewhere in his mid-twenties, dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans.

Of Betsy’s three offspring, Julian Cavanaugh bore the strongest resemblance to their mother. Dark blond hair spilled over his forehead, dipping into eyes the same clear blue as Betsy’s. Kim and Stuart must have inherited their brown eyes from their fathers. Tate couldn’t say whether Julian’s smile, as well as his coloring, resembled his mother’s. The way the guy was scowling now, it was hard to picture him smiling at all.

Betsy slipped a hand beneath her husband’s elbow. “We’re all here now. Isn’t this lovely? Bob, Julian, this is Kimmie’s husband, Tate Price the Third. And look how much our little Daryn has grown since the last photographs I showed you. Isn’t she adorable?”

Bob kissed Kim’s cheek, tickled Daryn, then stuck out a hand to Tate. “It’s nice to finally meet you—Trey, is it?”

“Tate,” he corrected. “I’ve decided I prefer to be called that.”

Betsy giggled softly in response to his quote of her, and he winked at her.

Bob nodded knowingly. “Thanks for coming with Kim to the reunion, Tate. It means a lot to Betsy.”

Apparently, Bob was in on the secret. “My pleasure.”

Julian eyed Tate with open suspicion. “Took you long enough to get around to meeting us. This is the first time Kim’s been home since you got married.”

So Betsy had lied to both of her sons. As amused as he was by the woman, Tate could understand why Kim had wanted to put some space between herself and her wacky mom. It had to be both frustrating and exhausting to try to keep up with Betsy’s whims and schemes.

Kim didn’t make it necessary for Tate to come up with a response to Julian’s accusation. “That’s not Tate’s fault. I’ve been very busy. Between my work and the baby, I’ve had very little free time. This long weekend is the closest I’ve come to a vacation since the last time I saw you.”

“That was at the reception for Mom and Bob,” Stuart mumbled without looking up from his computer. “It was the day after my fifteenth birthday. We were going to have a cake for me at the reception but no one remembered to order one.”

He didn’t sound particularly resentful, Tate decided. More matter-of-fact, as though he were accustomed to being overlooked. Tate wondered if Stuart, too, would separate himself from his family as soon as he felt comfortable being on his own. It sounded as though Julian came around somewhat more often than Kim now that he’d gotten out of the service, but from what he’d observed thus far, Tate certainly didn’t fault Kim for her different choice.

If Betsy even heard Stuart’s comment, she gave no sign. Instead, she patted Bob’s arm and said, “Sweetie, why don’t you help Tate bring in their bags and show him to their room? The boys and I will catch up with Kim and Daryn until you get back.”

Tate looked at Kim with a slightly lifted eyebrow, but she nodded for him to go ahead. As he followed Bob from the room, it occurred to him that he and Kim would be sharing a room for the night. Of course her family would assume they shared a bed—besides, he doubted there would be an unfilled bedroom with the whole family here.

Bob seemed to follow the direction of his thoughts. “There are three bedrooms upstairs,” he explained, motioning toward the staircase on their way out. “Ours and Stuart’s and the guest room. Julian has an apartment not far from here, so he’ll be sleeping there tonight. Betsy said you were bringing a portable crib for the baby?”

Remembering seeing the folded crib in the large trunk, Tate nodded. Daryn would bunk in the same room with them like a teeny-tiny chaperone, but it could still be awkward. He’d just have to do his best to put Kim at ease, even if it meant sleeping on the floor himself.

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he said, opening the back of the car. “I’ll probably have to make a couple of trips. It’s amazing how many supplies one little baby requires for only a weekend.”

Bob chuckled. “I remember.”

In response to Tate’s questioning look, he explained, “I’ve got two kids of my own, both college-age now. They live with their mother, my ex-wife, in Texas, but I see them quite often.”