Fiance Wanted. Ruth Dale Jean
“Until my birthday, for sure.”
He nodded. “October twenty-fifth.”
She gaped. “You remember my birthday?”
“Why not? I went to enough of your stupid birthday parties growing up.” He made a face. “The only thing that made it bearable was that your mother always baked a good cake.”
“Yeah, and she’s the one who made me invite you. She always liked ‘that nice Cole boy.’ Which proves she didn’t really know you.”
Dylan grinned. “Your mom likes me? That’s great. I need all the fans I can get.” His expression grew cautious. “So what do you think?”
“Give me a minute to think about this.” Eyeing him warily, she wondered if there was any way they might get along for more than five minutes, even with so much at stake. Certainly he was not bad looking—handsome, according to many. Owner of the Bear Claw Ranch west of town, he was popular with men and sought after by women, one of whom had caught him; he’d been married and divorced.
But could they make such a charade work? Unfortunately, Katy was desperate enough to find out….
“Okay,” she said, “we might as well give it a try. What do we have to lose?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Nothing except our lives.”
“We’ll have to get a lot of things straight first,” she warned. “For example, how will we ever convince anyone we’re a couple?”
He grinned. “I’ve got a tougher question than that. How will we ever convince anyone that a dyed-in-the-wool career woman like you even wants to get married?”
“Why, of all the nerve!” She practically sputtered in her outrage. “Of course, I want to get married! What makes you think—”
Laura waved her hands for order. “Hold it, you two. This is no place to work out the details.”
Katy glanced around, saw several pairs of eyes watching, and groaned. “You’re right. Where—?”
“My house.”
Dylan blinked. “ Your house, Laura?”
She nodded. “For dinner tomorrow night at six—the kids need to eat early, and then we—I mean you can work out all the details without an audience.”
Dylan made a face. “Matt will really get a kick out of this.”
“Quit grumbling,” Katy snapped. “We’ll be there, Laura.”
“Speak for yourself,” Dylan flared.
“Okay, the floor is yours.” She slumped back in her chair peevishly.
“We’ll be there, Laura,” he said, as if this were new information. “Now if you ladies will excuse me—” Lifting his hat from the table and clapping it on his head, he rose and strode toward the door.
Katy stared after him until he’d disappeared outside. Then she groaned. “Laura, what have I done?”
“Everything you can to make your grandmother happy. Remember that, Katy.”
As if she could forget. There was no other reason in the world she’d deliberately subject herself to the company of Dylan Cole.
Dinner with the Reynolds family was curiously awkward.
Katy couldn’t quite figure out why. Matt and Laura were her dearest friends, and she adored their talkative children. And although she didn’t put Dylan into those exalted categories, she was, at least, accustomed to him.
Maybe it was just the strain of trying not to fight with him.
Whatever it was, he seemed to be feeling the pressure, too. In fact, he looked entirely ready to grab his hat and run out the door at the slightest provocation.
“So,” Matt said, lifting another piece of Laura’s good fried chicken off the platter, “what do you two think about the new gasoline station going up on the west side of town?”
“I think it’s a crime,” Dylan said swiftly, right over Katy’s, “I think it’s high time!”
They looked at each other across the table, frowning.
Katy said, “If you lived over there, you wouldn’t be so quick to condemn. I have to drive halfway across town now to fill up my car.”
“And if you had any concern for the environment and runaway growth, you wouldn’t mind driving a couple of blocks further,” he shot back. “That’s what’s wrong with people today. All they think about is themselves.”
“Why, of all the cotton-headed approaches to urban planning—”
“Not to mention overpopulation. If we don’t do something to stop it, Colorado’s going to turn into another California. Why, just the other day—”
“Excuse me.” Laura gave them a warning glance. “Can you hold off on that until the kids are excused?”
Ten-year-old Jessica, seated beside Katy, grinned. “I don’t want to be excused. I think it’s fun to hear Aunt Katy and Uncle Dylan fight.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “ Fighting is not fun. How about I give you kids an ice cream bar for dessert and you can eat it outside while the grownups talk?”
“She means ‘fight,”’ Jessica confided to seven-year-old Zach, who was listening with wide eyes. “Sure, Mom. We know when someone wants to get rid of us.”
Once the kids were through the door, Matt chuckled. “When Laura told me what you two are up to, I told her it would never work. Was I right?” He looked lovingly at his wife, who sighed.
Katy felt duty-bound to defend her friend’s faith in her. “Look, if Dylan and I want to make it work, it’ll work.”
The gentleman in question raised his brows. “ Do we want to make it work?”
She let out her breath on a gust of displeasure. “If you’re going to take that attitude…no.”
“Katy!” Laura exclaimed. “I thought your mother and grandmother—”
“I’d do it for them if I could, but I don’t really see any way.” Katy shook her head in disgust.
Laura turned to Dylan. “And what about Brandee Haycox?”
Matt bolted upright in his chair. “Brandee’s after you now? Dylan, why didn’t you tell me?” He began to laugh.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew this would be your reaction.” The corners of Dylan’s attractive mouth curved down. “And because I knew you wouldn’t have any tips on how to dislodge her.”
“Oops.” Matt glanced at his wife. He’d been Brandee’s target once himself, before he and Laura got together.
Laura frowned. “I just don’t get it,” she complained. “You’re two of my favorite people and—”
“Since when?” Katy shot a challenging glance at Dylan. “I never thought you liked that guy.”
Laura laughed. “I didn’t—and I didn’t like this guy, either.” She touched her husband’s arm tenderly. “Which all goes to show you that things aren’t always what they seem.”
Katy rolled her eyes. “Skim milk masquerades as cream,” she agreed, “but I’ve never heard of cream masquerading as skim milk.”
Dylan frowned. “Am I being insulted, here? Katy, there’s no law saying we have to go out there and make fools of ourselves trying to convince folks we’re a couple. If we told them we’d buried the tomahawk, they’d think we buried it in each other’s back.”
“Absolutely.” She nodded for emphasis. “This will never work, so it’s good we found out