Linda Varner - Make-Believe Husband

Gabe shook his head slowly from side to side as though vastly amused by the whole situation. Jessi wished she could feel as lighthearted about everything. Unfortunately, reality had dawned and her rainbow dimmed correspondingly.

What on earth have I done?

“Now the restaurant is just a block south...see those twinkling lights there? They’re expecting you.” Elaina hugged Dillard hard, then stepped up to Jessi and did the same. “Relax, honey,” she whispered before releasing her. “This is only for three weeks, four tops. Think of the money and remember I personally checked for a criminal record. This man is so clean I was half tempted to marry him, myself. Unfortunately I can’t cook.”

Jessi nodded numbly. In seconds, she and Dillard stood alone.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand and a smile.

Swallowing hard, Jessi accepted both, and with fingers lightly laced, they headed down the path to the sidewalk. She felt awkward and uncomfortable, as though she’d worn shoes that didn’t match and was trying to keep everyone from noticing.

Undoubtedly this resulted from the fact that he was so easy on the eyes—something for which she’d not been prepared. It didn’t help that her companion didn’t appear the least bit perturbed about anything. And when he began to whistle the “Wedding March” under his breath, she stopped short and glared at him.

“Oh, Mr. Dillard, must you?” The sacrilege appalled her.

“Second thoughts?”

Jessi, who wanted to know the answer to that question herself, gave it serious consideration before replying. “Actually, I’m way past seconds and almost through thirds.”

“But I assumed you were okay with this.”

“I am...was...am.” She sighed. “I guess I just don’t know how to act around you.”

“If you promise to call me Gabe,” he said, “I’ll share my plan of action.”

So he wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with this, either. Oddly enough, that made Jessi feel a little better.

“Okay...Gabe.”

He glanced back the way they’d come, and, with a grunt of confirmation, turned to lead her to a stone bench on the narrow lawn of the chapel. It lay in shadow, protected from the glow of the streetlight by an oak tree. Gabe motioned for her to sit, then did the same without releasing her hand.

“All you have to do is pretend that you and I have just landed the leads in the biggest, best adventure movie of the year. August Taylor is the producer, the director, the cameraman and the crew. Whenever he’s around, we’re a married couple in charge of an expedition trying to find lost treasure. I’m the hero, also known as the trusty guide. You’re the heroine, also known as the beautiful cook.”

Beautiful?

“The rest of the time, we can be ourselves—a search and rescue guide with big dreams and a...?” Obviously he waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Financially overextended chef with a dependent child.”

“Exactly. We’re co-workers who recognize that opportunities to earn this kind of money don’t come along except once in a lifetime and so we don’t mind signing an inconsequential partnership agreement—”

“The marriage license...?”

Gabe nodded. “—if that’s what it takes to make this happen. Now are you feeling better about the whole thing now?”

“Sort of, but—”

“You have other questions.” It was a statement of fact.

Jessi detected no impatience in his tone.

“Frankly, yes, a few other questions have popped into my head.”

“Ask them. We have fifteen minutes to spare.”

“Okay....” She took a deep breath and selected one of the many queries tumbling about unanswered in her head. “For one thing, I’m still a little confused about my role in all this. Why can’t August Taylor’s wife just make you guys some sandwiches or something when you get hungry? For that matter, why can’t you make your own? Anyone—including my four-year-old—can slap a slice of bologna between a couple of pieces of bread.”

“I’ve wondered about that myself,” Gabe admitted. “I mean, if more people were going to be involved—if a photographer or a bunch of technicians were tagging along—I could see the need for a cook, couldn’t you?”

“Of course, but that isn’t the case.”

“No, it isn’t.” He shrugged, for all appearances as bewildered by their employer’s eccentric demands as Jessi, if not as worried about them. “What was Elaina’s theory about all this? Assuming you discussed it with her...”

“So many times that she was beginning to get a little impatient with me.” Jessi gave him a rueful smile. “You know that old saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth...? Elaina knows that by heart—and by now, so do I.”

Gabe grinned. “So she thinks you should quit worrying about how easy the job sounds?”

“I believe her words were ‘take the money and run.”’

“Great advice since I can’t answer that question, either. Now...any other concerns?” He sat on the edge of the bench, obviously ready to spring to his feet and head to the restaurant.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Jessi said, gently pushing his shoulder with her free hand to indicate that he might as well settle back and get comfortable again. With a soft sigh of resignation, he did just that. “I can’t get a handle on August Taylor. Why do you think a man like him would have this burning need to hunt for lost treasure that may not even exist? I mean, he’s already established himself as an archeologist and a writer. This just seems so...so undignified, not to mention a tad far-fetched.”

Absently, Gabe stroked Jessi’s hand, which he still held. She wondered if he’d forgotten it.

“You know that this expedition is the result of a book Taylor wrote on ghost towns, Native American myths and western folklore, don’t you?”

Jessi nodded, well aware, thanks to one of Elaina’s many briefings, that the archeologist-turned-journalist had already done enough research on the topics to produce a lavishly illustrated coffee-table book. “Yes, and I’ve wondered why the shift in focus. I mean, the chances of your really finding long lost treasure are probably slim to none.”

“If not less,” Gabe wryly agreed. “My own personal theory is that this impulsive quest has more to do with the poor reviews of the book and the stories in the latest tabloids than with any real desire to find gold or whatever.” Now he dropped her hand, but only so he could use his hands to place his next words, like a headline, in the sky. ‘“Is August Taylor All Washed Up?’”

“I read that. At the time I thought it was cruel.”

At once, Gabe arched an eyebrow at her as if questioning her reading tastes.

Jessi ignored him. “And now that I think about it, there was another headline, too, something about his wife, Shari, and her tennis coach.”

“An affair or two have been rumored, I believe. That’s a natural assumption, I expect. She’s quite young—less than half his age.”

“Which brings me to my third and last question—”

“Last?” He gazed longingly toward the restaurant.

“Last,” Jessi replied, biting back a smile. Clearly the way to this Washingtonian’s heart was through his stomach. That would be good news to a gourmet cook such as herself... if she were trying to win his heart, which she most definitely wasn’t. “Is Shari’s bad reputation the reason we had to get married? I mean, Elaina did make up that story about our living together for two years. Why the need for a wedding?”

“I figure one of two reasons—either Elaina’s a lousy liar or our mythical cohabitation wasn’t enough for him, and he wanted some hard evidence of commitment. Either way, it’s clear that he doesn’t trust his wife, probably the reason she’s being dragged along on this expedition, and, now that I think of it, maybe even the reason you are, too. He’s afraid she won’t behave herself around an unattached guide as dashing as me and wants you along to keep her occupied and act as chaperon.” He suddenly grinned again. “Or maybe we’re all wet on this thing. Maybe she doesn’t trust him, and it’s the shapely cook’s marital status, not the guide’s, that’s to blame for these mandatory nuptials—a sort of loop of suspicion.”