Hand Me The Reins (Bachelor Auction Book 3) Page 5

“The wedding and reception is at a hotel?”

  A beep came from her purse and she pulled out her cell, read a text and responded with a flurry of moving thumbs.

  “Sorry, my sister. Yes, the hotel overlooks the ski resort. The view is pretty.”

  “Not your type of thing?” I asked. If she was from Cutthroat and her daddy was a doctor, her family had some big bucks. The Manning family wasn’t hurting. Hell, I didn’t have to work at all, but then what would I do with myself? We just didn’t flaunt it. I had a feeling Astrid’s family might be the opposite.

  “The last thing I want at my wedding is a big cake. Or it taking place in Cutthroat. In fact, I can’t really see it at all. What about you?”

  “Me? Get married?” I laughed and kept my eyes on the road. “Huck will most likely be hitched before first frost.” Probably get Sarah pregnant by then, too. Claire wouldn’t stop talking about how Sarah was her new mommy and neither she nor Huck were telling her otherwise. Alice had been walking around in a cloud of happiness. “Sawyer by next summer, if he has his way.”

  “You didn’t answer, you know,” she countered, then set her hand briefly on my upper arm. “Don’t panic. The secret word of the weekend is fake. I know you’re not my real boyfriend and I’m not planning on wrangling you into a relationship, let alone a marriage.”

  “You don’t want true love?” I arched a brow in her direction.

  She laughed. “Let’s have this talk after you meet my family.”

  She didn’t want to get married because her family was most likely nuts. I didn’t want to get married because my parents had died. I still missed them. I didn’t even understand how Astrid could be so distant with hers.

  “Well, we do the bachelorette thing and go upstairs to our room at the hotel to sleep,” I replied, simplifying it down.

  She didn’t answer, so I looked her way. Her teeth bit down into her lower lip and she twisted her fingers about. I carefully slowed the van and pulled over.

  She looked around. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “You look as if I’m driving you to get your wisdom teeth pulled.”

  Her shoulders dropped when she sighed.

  “I know how to relax you.”

  She frowned, then blushed.

  I grinned.

  “Not quite that,” I added, catching on to where her mind had gone. “A kiss.”

  “Oh.”

  “Totally fake.” I tossed that out there just so she knew there was no pressure. Reaching over, I stroked her hair back, amazed at the thick curtain. “I love your hair like this.” I didn’t give her a chance to respond. Just kissed her. I didn’t linger. Not since we were on the side of the road. We had a time sensitive cake in the back.

  I lifted my head, then gently pressed her glasses into place.

  I felt triumphant that she looked much more relaxed. If I had some time, and a bed, I could make her boneless. And I wouldn’t have a hard dick and blue balls.

  Yet I was kicking myself for giving in. Her lips seemed to be my weakness. She’d just said this was fake, reassuring me she wasn’t trapping me into something. I was the one who was putting the moves on, which was what I wanted. But didn’t want.

  Fuck! I wanted Astrid but didn’t want commitment. She was giving that to me so why was I insane?

  “The thing is...” she began. “We’re not staying at the hotel. We’re staying with my parents.”

  What the—

  I was thirty years old and I was going to be sleeping in my pretend girlfriend’s house with her parents down the hall. This just got better and better.

  “Then I sure as shit need another fake kiss. That one was for you. This one’s for me,” I replied, taking her lips once more. Adding tongue and tugging at her hair as I wanted.

  I finally pulled back onto the road and we didn’t say much after that. I was trying to figure out why a kiss with Astrid was better than sex with any woman I could remember.

  I stared at the road for a bit, the silence between us easy. When I looked over at her next, she was asleep, her head tipped to the side. Her dark lashes fanned over her cheeks and her hair swept over her bare shoulders.

  She was sure fucking pretty.

  Thirty minutes later, I pulled in front of the hotel where we were dropping off the cake. I’d been to Cutthroat before. While it was bigger than The Bend, I knew my way around. Two women, clearly a mother and daughter pair, stood in matching poses of arms crossed and tapping right feet.

  I tapped her on the shoulder and her eyes opened.

  “Sorry. I can fall asleep anywhere.”

  “No worries,” I replied, then tipped my chin out the front window. “I assume you know them.”

  “My mother and sister,” she replied, her voice grim.

  The welcome wagon didn’t look all that welcome. They looked… put out. We were bringing the prettiest wedding cake I’d ever seen. I blew out a breath and realized this was probably going to get far, far worse. A kiss wasn’t going to be enough. For either of us.

  8

  ASTRID

  “It’s lovely, dear,” my mother said.

  I’d kissed her and Amy on their cheeks, then opened the back of the van so they could see the cake. They were way more interested in that than me. I took in their summer dresses and high heels, their styled hair and artfully applied makeup.

  I wasn’t a schlump, but I felt like one whenever we were together. Weight and height aside, my dress was from a secondhand store in The Bend. I’d chosen cowgirl boots instead of teetering on toothpicks. I wasn’t skilled at hairstyles. Working with food made braiding my hair a daily requirement and found leaving it down was a treat. As for makeup, I spent ten minutes on a good day “putting on my face” but preferred colored lip gloss over the more potent shades Amy preferred.

  “I expected it to be larger,” Amy commented, breaking me from my thoughts.

  Bigger?

  “It’s a four-tier cake that can feed two hundred. How much bigger should it be?” I countered.

  Hours had been spent on this cake. First were the drawings, the back and forth with Amy on everything from shape to flavor to decorations. I’d baked the layers last weekend, kept them chilled in the fridge and began the decorating on Monday. There were over twenty sticks of butter in the thing between the batter and the frosting. I had a feeling if either of them knew that, they wouldn’t take a bite. I’d hand made over one hundred roses, lilac, and lily of the valley accents. I’d texted her pictures of the work-in-progress.

  “I just wanted it to make a grand statement, just like me,” Amy added.

  I turned and looked her over. We had the same brown hair, but that was where our similarities ended. Where I was short, she had five inches on me. I had trouble finding bras that fit well and looked pretty. Amy didn’t even need an underwire. She weighed a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and flaunted a size two figure. My thigh was that size.

  She wore a slim dress that fell to just above her knee. The bright yellow made her hard to miss, but with her strappy high heels, she looked elegant and sexy. The huge diamonds in her ears and in the engagement ring on her finger made her look expensive. A guy could take one look at her and know she was high maintenance and costly to keep happy.

  I could tolerate her being taller and prettier. I’d been used to that my entire life. It was her grand attitude she carried around like a designer purse that drove me bonkers. She didn’t even notice how the flowers perfectly matched the photo of what her bouquet would include, which she’d been adamant about. Or the color, a slightly deeper shade of off-white to match the “bone” color of her dress.

  Mother looked equally elegant in her blue dress, but it wasn’t sexy or flashy. She went for understated, except for her jewelry which was big, shiny, and plentiful.

  “You wouldn’t want a cake to overshadow the bride.”

  At the sound of Thatcher’s voice, Amy and Mother spun about on their three-inch heels.

  I bit my lip
at the look on their faces. Amy’s eyes widened to saucers and my mother’s mouth dropped open like a fish.

  Thatcher definitely had that effect on women. Young and old. And in crisp jeans, a white snap shirt and cowboy hat, he was… devastating.

  “You’re Astrid’s date?” Amy asked, as if the idea couldn’t be possible.

  I bristled worse than her passive aggressiveness about the cake.

  “From what Astrid has told me, you’re her sister, Amy,” he countered.

  I thought about everything I’d told him about my sister, which wasn’t much.

  “Astrid, dear,” Mother said, talking to me but eyeing Thatcher. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Thatcher tipped his hat. “Thatcher Manning, ma’am.”

  I winced as Mother hated being called ma’am since it reminded her she wasn’t twenty-five any longer. His effect was clearly strong on her since she didn’t say a word.

  A woman approached, a big confident smile on her face. She was in simple black pants and a white blouse. Subtle and understated. “Hey there. I’m Kit Lancaster, the wedding planner. I saw your van and can’t wait to see the cake.”

  I’d talked to her on the phone this week about the hotel’s fridge space to store the cake, but I swept my arm out welcoming her to take a peek.

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous!” She looked thrilled. This was what I was hoping for from my sister.

  “I’m sure you want to get this gorgeous cake in the kitchen’s fridge before it melts,” Thatcher commented.

  “Got some helpers right here,” Kit added, then turned her head and waved two men in white uniforms over. Mother and Astrid stepped out of the way and I gave quick directions to them on how to handle the cake. “Nice to meet you, Astrid. I’ll take care of this beauty for you.”

  They whisked it away and then I was stuck with nothing to do except spend the weekend with my family.

  Oh joy. Kit was too efficient.

  “Astrid, you’ll want to take your van away as soon as possible,” Mother advised. It wasn’t good to have it known one of her children worked in the service industry, even though she was the one who wanted me to make the cake.

  Before I could respond, Mother glanced at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I don’t know why you always decide to be late, but the coed party has already started.”

  She looked me over and her lips pinched. This was why they didn’t look thrilled when we’d pulled up. Well, one of the reasons. They hated it when I came in the bakery van. It was the only vehicle I had. Not only did it offer constant advertising, it made no sense for me to drive something else when I was paying for this one.

  Since Amy had told me to arrive at seven and they were out front waiting at this exact time, she was just being… herself. Then again, I wasn’t sure why Amy had told me to come now when I was late to tonight’s party.

  “I am always punctual, Mother,” I reminded.

  “And if she was a bit late, that’s a woman’s prerogative, right?” Thatcher added, setting his hand on my shoulder and kissing my temple. The gesture was reassuring and felt dang good.

  Mother stared. Amy stared.

  “That… that doesn’t give you time to change or put your contacts in, but at least you’re here.”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I replied. “As requested. This is what I’m wearing, and you are well aware that contacts bother me.” I had no idea what she wanted me to change into or why my glasses were a bother. It wasn’t like I was wearing Mickey Mouse ears or something. Or my bakery t-shirt.

  She pursed her lips. “When you said you were bringing your boyfriend, Astrid, I didn’t realize you were bringing someone so—”

  “Thatcher,” I cut her off, petrified with how she was going to finish that sentence. “This is my Mother, Patricia, and my sister, Amy.”

  “Ladies. Congratulations to you on such a happy event.”

  Both of them practically preened at his words.

  “I see Astrid’s beauty runs in the family,” he added.

  They frowned, as if he’d totally stumped them.

  Mother pulled herself together first. “The party is tonight, here in the bar, then there’s softball tomorrow after lunch, then the rehearsal dinner and the wedding Sunday,” Amy added.

  Softball? I hadn’t heard of that one, especially since the only sport Amy ever played growing up was competitive clothes shopping. Fortunately, I always packed casual clothes and a sports bra whenever I traveled so I’d be able to play without getting two black eyes—and making a fool of myself in the process.

  As for the rest of the weekend’s wardrobe, I had yet to see the dress for Sunday. Perhaps “being late” saved me from that tonight.

  “I’ll park the van if you ladies want to go inside,” Thatcher offered.

  I nodded and he gave my shoulder a squeeze before closing the van’s back doors. Amy hooked her arm through mine and led me up the front entry steps of the country club as she glanced over her shoulder as Thatcher drove off.

  “I want to know everything about him,” she said. “Everything.”

  “He’s just a guy, Amy,” I countered.

  “Have you seen him? I mean, he wears a cowboy hat.”

  “Um, yeah, I’ve seen him,” I replied. I couldn’t miss the cowboy hat because it had a serious effect on me. It seemed to have one on Amy, too.

  “Don’t be petty,” she snapped. “Share. He’s big. Is he big… everywhere?” She waggled her eyebrows and gave me a sly grin.

  I tried so hard not to blush, which was easily tempered by anger.

  “Aren’t you getting married this weekend?” I countered. “To Michael? The guy whose everywhere you should be thinking about?”

  She huffed, but said nothing more.

  We cut through the fancy central hallway to the bar that overlooked the eighteenth hole. It was clear today and the top of Cutthroat Mountain was visible, snow still capping the tall peak. The club had a look of the Wild Wild West crossed with stodgy boarding school. There were elk and moose heads on the walls along with marble floors and gaudy red carpet. Cutthroat was known for its ski resort that catered to the wealthy and bored. Golf clubs replaced skis in the summer. My parents had been members my whole life and I recognized some faces we passed, including those who worked here.

  Thatcher caught up to me at the bar. The server was handing over my glass of wine.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He set his hand on the small of my back and ordered a glass of ice water. “For what?”

  I looked up at him. “My sister and mother. I swear they were drooling.”

  He grinned and I needed a cocktail napkin myself. “Warm enough?” he asked.

  The club was air conditioned, even though it was rarely needed. The weather today was in the seventies.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  He nodded, then his gaze lowered to my chest. “It’s cooler here and I just wanted to make sure.”

  I smacked him on the arm when he’d picked up on the fact that my nipples were hard. The blush alone warmed me up. So did his smile. What he didn’t know was they weren’t diamond points because of the cooler air at high altitude, but all due to him. As soon as he was near, they tried to reach out and get to him.

  “Glad I’ve got an effect on you.”

  Boy, did he ever.

  “What exactly is a coed bachelor/bachelorette party?” he asked, thankfully changing the subject.

  I scanned the room. The mahogany bar ran the length of the back wall. There were high-top tables in a row in front of it, then small tables with comfortable chairs spread out around the room. For the private event, there was a banquet table covered in hors d’oeuvres and snacks. I counted about thirty people mingling and chatting.

  “I think it’s just a cocktail party.”

  “So no male strippers or women popping out of a cake.”

  My eyebrows went up and took a second to imagine that happening in this stodgy bar.

  “Doubtful
. Although most of them will be drunk by nine. Who knows what will happen then.” I pointed to a group of men most likely talking about their golf game based on their body motions. “You ready for this weekend’s lineup?”

  “Go for it.”

  “The one with the gray hair and green shirt is my dad.” As if he’d heard me talking about him, he looked our way, smiled and offered a little wave.

  “You get along with him?”

  I knew he asked because it was clear I only tolerated Amy and Mother.

  “It’s hard to say when he’s worked sixty-hour weeks since 1985,” I replied, then looked up at him because my father had gone back to chatting with his friends. “I always wondered how he and my mother fell in love, or how he’d stayed with her all these years.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “At this point, I’d say it’s a marriage of convenience. He makes the money and she spends it. He works all the time or is here at the club. She shops.”

  “Amy does too?”

  “Absolutely. Fortunately for her, Michael’s rich.”

  I remembered then that the Manning’s weren’t poor either. Their huge property was well known in The Bend. So were the three brothers. I knew Alice, their housekeeper, from the strawberry shortcake.

  “Sorry, I sound petty.”

  He shrugged. “Money does weird things to people,” he countered.

  “Not me. I have a trust, which you probably didn’t even need to know about, but I don’t touch it. I went to college on a scholarship. I live off what the bakery brings in.”

  “Because you don’t want to be like them?”

  I nodded and looked at the snap on his shirt.

  “Sweets, I’ve only just met them, but I feel confident in saying you couldn’t be like them if you tried. Are you sure you weren’t born in a cabbage patch?”

  I snorted, then laughed so loud that heads turned our way.

  “Stork,” I countered. “Anyway, I think my parents’ love, or lack of it, is why I’m still single. Amy and Michael are on their way to being just like them, and they haven’t even said ‘I do’ yet.”

  What could he say to that? I redirected the conversation, realizing I was sharing things that Thatcher probably didn’t care about.