The Third Daughter's Wish. Kaitlyn Rice
tell him.
“Good job,” she said. “I especially like the vest and holster.” She reached up to yank at a few strands of his thick mustache. “This isn’t yours, is it?”
After slapping her hand away, he pressed a finger against the fake facial hair to keep it from peeling off. “Of course not. You saw me clean-shaven a couple of days ago.”
“Just checking,” she said, smiling as he worked to restick the edges.
He had to be sexier than the real Wyatt Earp. It might have been fun to play Josephine to his Wyatt tonight. To arrive at the party on the arm of a handsome good guy, to dance in his arms. Perhaps even enjoy a little old time smooching out behind the barn.
She couldn’t do that, of course.
Josie was no fool. Her longest intimate relationship had lasted eleven weeks. Her platonic connections were much more solid. She hung out with the guys over whichever sporting event was in season, and they swapped tales of work and romance wins and woes. She liked men, and her buddies were the best of the bunch.
She didn’t sleep with them, though. Sleeping with men led to departures of men. She wouldn’t lose a friend that way. Especially not Gabe.
“Really thought I’d dress as your wife, huh?” she asked as she crossed her living room.
“Would it be that bad?”
“Aw heck, Gabe. You want a wife? Just empty your pants pockets before you do your laundry.”
“Beg pardon?”
She laughed. “Dial the number on one of the business cards or napkin scraps you find in there.” She strode into the kitchen to grab a paper bag full of plastic-wrapped marshmallow and cereal treats. “Those women aren’t looking for job interviews, my friend,” she hollered back.
“I’m not looking for a wife and you know it,” he shouted. “I was merely surprised at your choice of costumes.”
“Just admit it, I got you.” She lowered her voice as she returned to Gabe to exit via the door behind him.
As if he were the real Wyatt Earp facing off some outlaw, Gabe remained in place, his hands low on his hips. “You about ready, then?” he asked when she finally stopped a short four inches from his chest.
Josie throttled a grin. She’d met Gabe when she was a college sophomore running the weekend registers at the hardware store and he was a hungry carpenter with a perpetual need for supplies. These days when the proud owner of Thomas Contracting landed jobs that required interior design work, he talked up her skills. Josie referred construction work to him.
She had a great deal of respect for Gabe’s talent and integrity, but he could be too serious. Too logical. When he was in an ornery mood, though, he was more fun than anyone.
Josie craved that distraction tonight. As she looked up into his gleaming eyes, she stepped squarely on his toe. “You’re the one who’s not moving.”
He yanked his boot from beneath hers, then swung around and offered her an elbow. She hooked a hand around it and they stepped outside. He waited on the porch while she locked her house, then offered his arm again as they approached the driveway.
Tonight should be a blast.
When Josie reached her truck, she stopped. Gabe kept going and nearly yanked her arm out of the socket.
“Ow!”
He mumbled an apology, but also untangled his arm and kept walking toward his pearl-white BMW, parked behind her truck in the drive. “We’re taking my car, kid.”
“Nope.” She lifted her keys to jingle them. “Move the overpriced status symbol. I’m driving.”
Gabe stopped and turned around near his car. He shoved his thumbs over his holster and leaned a hip against his fender, appearing as though he could wait all evening.
She sighed. He’d had that dang car just over a month. Every year when the new models came out, he traded up. She’d been driving the same Toyota pickup for ten years. It had heart, like her. Gabe’s cars were simply vehicles, and she told him so, often.
After a moment, he broke their staring match to frown down at his clothes. “I can’t ride with you,” he said. “I borrowed this shirt from Nadine’s husband.”
Nadine was Gabe’s younger sister by six years, and Livy’s twin. The fact that Gabe had borrowed the Western-style shirt from his brother-in-law was no great shock, but Josie couldn’t fathom what he’d meant by the comment.
“These boots used to be my mother’s,” she said. “How would borrowed clothes factor into this decision about who drives?”
“I can’t risk ruining the shirt with blood or broken glass,” he said, deadpan. Then he walked around to the passenger side of his car and opened it, indicating with a nod that she should duck inside.
She stood her ground. “You’re not risking anything. I’m a great driver.”
“Except you rely on everyone else to be on their toes.” He leaned down to pat the car seat. “Get in. We’re taking the car.”
She waved the paper bag. “Can’t. I need to go by Callie’s before the party.”
“I know the way to your sister’s house.”
Josie scowled and kept her feet planted.
“Come on, Josie.” Gabe leaned an arm across the top of his car door. “I’ll be the designated driver and you can have as good a time as you want.”
Now, that was tempting. A couple of beers and she’d be primed to party. Maybe she’d forget all her turmoil about her visit with her father.
“You can get completely schnockered if you like,” Gabe added.
Josie didn’t drink that much. She made certain she didn’t. And worried anyway.
Lifting her chin, she crossed the space between her truck and Gabe’s car. “For your information, I’ve never once been schnockered. I drink one or two at a time, and generally only on weekends.” She slid inside and slammed the car door before Gabe could respond.
But of course, after Gabe had come around and folded his long frame behind the steering wheel, he said, “You’re practically a miniature person, so two could get you into plenty of trouble.”
“I’m five-four—almost average for a woman my age.” She sounded huffy, but she couldn’t help it. Her height, or lack of it, was also a sore point.
Gabe winked.
Ooh! The man could push her buttons! Josie opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of his teasing, but shut it again when she noticed his eyes.
His gaze had locked on her lips, and he was frowning. His mustache hopped from side to side as he wiggled his jaw. Then he pursed his lips slightly.
“Uh, Gabe? What are you doing?”
He lifted his eyes to hers. “Your mustache is crooked.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She felt her own pasted-on mustache and discovered one side hanging loose. “Can I borrow that?” She pointed to his rearview mirror.
“Sure.”
She set the paper bag on the floorboard, then slid halfway onto his car’s middle console and tilted the mirror her way.
Gabe didn’t start the car. As she worked to peel off the left edge of the mustache and restick it, he sat with the full length of his leg pressed against hers.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
“Enjoying the view.”
She flicked a gaze at his muscular thighs and just higher, for an instant. “Uh-huh! You were liking more than the view.”
“You’re