Just Married!: Kiss the Bridesmaid / Best Man Says I Do

Reader favorite Cara Colter and New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump bring you

JUST MARRIED!

Wedding bells are ringing in St John’s Cove and we’re about to see love blossoming for the bridesmaid and the best man!

Praise for Cara Colter:

‘Cara Colter’s HIS MISTLETOE BRIDE

has everything: wonderful characters,

humor and emotional depth.’

—RT Book Reviews

Praise for Shirley Jump:

‘Shirley Jump always succeeds in getting the plot,

the characters, the settings and the emotions right.’

—Cataromance.com

Dear Reader

I love summer. I love the lemonade, the barbecues, the July fireworks. I love swimming in ice-cold water on simmering hot days, and I love sitting in a comfy chair in the shade with a good book.

No matter what time of year you are reading this story, I hope it gives you that summertime feeling. A feeling of life being fun, and simple, and filled with delightful surprises.

To me, that is the magic of a romance novel. It can transport you, immerse you in a different world, take you from a cold place to the place of endless summer that each of us holds in our hearts. Journey with me now, from wherever you are, to the season of summer and the season of love.

With warmest wishes

Cara Colter

With thanks to Shirley Jump for all her great ideas,

and for sharing her Cape Cod summers.

CHAPTER ONE

“LADIES, if you would gather by the chocolate fountain, Mrs. Charles Weston is about to throw her bouquet.” Colton St. John had been best man at the wedding of two of his oldest friends, and now he was acting as the master of ceremonies.

The town had been founded by his forefathers, and leadership came easily to him. At twenty-eight, the dark-haired, blue-eyed Colton would have been a more likely movie star than a law school graduate and the youngest mayor St. John’s Cove had ever elected.

Not that Samantha Hall, bridesmaid, was admiring the confidence and finesse of her dear friend, Colton, at the moment.

It’s nearly over, she told herself as she slid toward the exit of the St. John’s Cove Yacht Club. It was hard to be unobtrusive in the bridesmaid’s gown that Amanda—make that Mrs. Charles Weston—had chosen. Amanda had glowingly described the color as fuchsia, but it wasn’t. The dress was the exact shade of pink Sam’s current stray rescued dog, Waldo, had thrown up after eating the Jell-O salad Sam had made for Amanda’s bridal shower earlier in the week.

As if the color wasn’t hideous enough, Sam considered the dress just a little too everything for a wedding. Between hitching up the hem so she wouldn’t trip over it, pulling the tiny spaghetti straps back on her shoulders every time they slipped down, and tugging at the plunging V-line of the bodice, the dress had felt like a full-time job since she had first put it on nearly twelve hours ago. Even her three older brothers, who usually teased

unmercifully when she put on “girl” clothes, had gone silent when she had come out to the car and they’d seen the dress for the first time.

“I thought you said it looked like dog puke,” her oldest brother, Mitch, had said, holding open the door of his ancient station wagon for her. She was driving with her brothers to the wedding because she couldn’t manage the clutch of her Land Rover in the three-inch heels, plus was afraid of splitting the hind end out of the dress getting in and out of her higher vehicle.

And then Mitch had done the oddest thing. He’d kissed her cheek and said, almost sadly, “When did you go and grow up, Sam?”

Since she’d been living in her own apartment above the business she had founded here in St. John’s Cove after graduating from high school seven years ago, his comment had been insulting rather than endearing.

Trust a man! Show a little too much cleavage, pile your hair on top of your head and put on a bit of makeup, and you were all grown-up.

Her brothers’ reaction had foreshadowed an uncomfortable evening. Guys she had spent her whole life in this small Cape Cod hamlet with—boating and swimming and fishing—had been sending her sidelong looks as if she’d gone and grown a second head.

Thankfully most of them were too scared of her brothers to do anything about it except gawk.

Though there was one man—he’d been introduced in the reception line on the steps of St. Michael’s Church as Amanda’s cousin, Ethan Ballard—who hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her through the whole evening.

He was gorgeous, too. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered. Dark. Dark eyes, dark hair.

Sam killed the intrigue he made her feel.

He’d asked her to dance four times, but she’d said no. Even his voice gave her the shivers, deep and measured.

The truth was she didn’t know how to dance, and wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by trying for the first time in the heels. The truth was, Ethan was asking the illusion to dance. If he’d seen her in her normal duds—rolled-up jeans, sneakers, a faded shirt that advertised her pet store and supply business, Groom to Grow, he would have never looked that interested.

Of course, there was always the possibility one of the local guys had dared him to show interest in her, or offered him twenty bucks to dance with her.

Knowing that any man in St. John’s Cove who went near Samantha Hall was going to have to run the gauntlet of her brothers.

Sam glanced over to where Ethan was standing, one shoulder braced against the wall, his tie undone, his crisp white shirt open against the end-of-June early-summer heat in the reception room. He was nursing a drink and still looking at her.

And he didn’t look like a fool, either. Ethan Ballard radiated the confidence, wealth and poise one would expect from a businessman from Boston.

He raised his glass to her, took a long, slow sip without taking his eyes from her. Now how could that possibly seem suggestive, make her insides melt into hot liquid?

How about because she hadn’t had a date in over a year? And that date had been with a sumpie—she and her friends’ pet name for summer people—because the locals were afraid to ask her out. And with good reason. After one drink, her brother Mitch had shown up at the Clam Digger, glowering and flexing muscles earned from plying his strength and guts against the waters of the Atlantic to make his living as a lobsterman.

To the local male population, she was Sam, not Samantha. She could outrun, outsail and outswim most of them—it was a well-known fact no one had beaten her in a race to the buoys since she was sixteen. But even if the local young men weren’t totally intimidated by that, nobody wanted to deal with the Hall brothers, Mitch, Jake and Bryce, when it came to their little sister.

Which was okay with her. Fairy tales had finished for her family when her mom and dad had been killed in a boating accident when she was twelve. Mitch, newly married, had stepped up to the plate and taken in his siblings, but his wife, Karina, had not bargained for a ready-made family of two rowdy teenage brothers, and a twelve-year-old girl swimming in pain. Karina, Sam’s one chance for a bit of feminine influence, had jumped ship.

Her brothers had raised her so she could fight but not put on makeup, handle a fishing rod but not wear heels, arm wrestle but not dance. They’d given her an earful about what men really wanted.

Plus, all three of her brothers had taken Karina’s abandonment personally and were commitment phobic, and so was she.

Most of the time. Occasionally Sam felt this odd little tug of wistfulness. She felt it when she watched couples walk hand in hand along the beach at sunset, she felt it when old Mr. and Mrs. Nelson came into her shop, their teasing affection for one another reminding Sam of her mom and dad.

And Sam had felt it with surprising strength when Charlie and Amanda had exchanged their vows earlier at St. Michael’s, Amanda glowing, and Charlie choking up on emotion.

Sam’s own eyes had teared up, and she was so unaccustomed to that, she didn’t have a tissue, and so unaccustomed to mascara that she didn’t know crying in it would have unfortunate consequences.

And she had reacted like that even though she personally felt that if there were ever two people who should not have gotten married, it was Charlie and Amanda!

The pair were part of a tight-knit group of six friends, Colton St. John, Vivian Reilly and Sam’s brother Bryce, who had been hanging out together since grade school. Sam was the youngest of the group—she had started as a tagalong with Bryce. Amanda and Charlie had been dating on and off since they were fourteen, their relationship punctuated with frequent drama, constant squabbling, and hundreds of breakups and makeups.

Ah. Sam’s hand connected with the steel bar of the exit door of the reception hall. She pushed, caught a whiff of the fresh June breeze coming in off the bay. Freedom. On an impulse, she turned and wagged her fingers at Ethan Ballard, goodbye.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Vivian Reilly said. Vivian, also a charter member of the Group of Six, was the other bridesmaid, and she caught Sam’s arm just as she was halfway out the door.

“How come the dress doesn’t look like dog puke on you?” Sam asked, wishing she could take back that impulsive wag of the fingers.

The color of the dress should have clashed with Vivian’s incredible red hair, but, of course, it didn’t. Vivian looked leggy and beautiful, but then Vivian could wear a grain sack and make it look sexy. If anything, the dress was slightly more demure than Vivian’s usual style.

“It mustn’t look all that bad on you, either,” Vivian said with a laugh. “Check out that man staring at you. I’m getting heat stroke from it. He’s glorious. Ethan something? Amanda’s cousin?”

Ethan Ballard. Sam remembered his name perfectly, not to mention the touch of his hand in that reception line. Lingering. Sam slid Amanda’s cousin another look, and looked away, though not before her heart tumbled in her chest, and she felt the tug of something a lot stronger than the wistfulness she felt when she looked at old Mr. And Mrs. Nelson picking out a new collar for their badly spoiled Pom, Duffy.

Ethan Ballard was glorious. And no doubt just as superficial as every other guy in the world, including her brothers. She did not kid herself that the good-looking cousin would have given her a second look if her hair was pulled back into its usual nononsense ponytail, her eyes were not smudged with the plum shadow that Vivian and Amanda insisted made them look greener, and her chest wasn’t falling out of the embarrassingly low-cut dress.

The door clicked shut again, and Sam, resigned, tugged at the dress. She glanced up to see Ethan Ballard watching, an amused smile playing at the handsome, firm line of his wide mouth.

There was that hot rush again, so she stuck her nose in the air so he wouldn’t ever guess.

“Come on,” Vivian said, steering Sam back toward the gaggle of giggling single girls and women waiting for the traditional throwing of the bouquet. “Be a sport.”

Amanda was standing at the front of the room now, still glowing, a queen looking benevolently at her subjects. No doubt she was kidding herself that this was the best day of her life, Sam thought cynically.

As soon as Vivian let go of her arm, Sam moved way up to the front of the gathering of hopefuls. She’d played ball with the bride, and Amanda had a strong throwing arm. As long as she didn’t do the I’m-cute-and-helpless routine, that bouquet should sail right over Sam’s head and hit old Mable Saunders in the back row.

Sixty and never married.

Which will probably be me someday, Sam thought, and given that she was cynical about the institution of marriage she was not sure why the thought made her feel more wistful—and gloomy—than before.

The truth was the whole day had made her feel gloomy, not just because she didn’t hold out much hope for Amanda and Charlie—why would they be the one out of two couples who succeeded when they hadn’t ever managed to go more than three days in their whole relationship without a squabble—but because Sam didn’t like change.

Her five friends were the unchangeable anchor in her life. Vivian, Amanda, Charles, Colton and Sam’s brother Bryce had all hung out together for as long as she could remember. Oh, some of them moved, went to college, came back, but the ties remained unbreakable. The constancy of family and friendships were what made life in the small Cape Cod community idyllic for its three thousand permanent residents.

This was the biggest change they had experienced. A wedding. Sam didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.

Though she had to admit Amanda did look beautiful in her wedding dress, beaming at them all from the front of the room.

The dress, considering the sudden haste to get married, was like something out of a fairy tale, a princess design of a tight-fitting beaded bodice and full floor-length skirt with about sixty-two crinolines underneath it.

Amanda’s eyes met hers, full of mischief, so Sam was relieved when someone suggested Amanda turn around with her back to them all, so she couldn’t choose who to toss the bouquet to. As soon as Amanda did turn around, Sam shuffled positions, moving closer to the burbling chocolate fountain, still close to the front, gambling on Amanda’s good arm.

What she couldn’t have gambled on was this: Amanda threw the bouquet over her shoulder with all her might. It arched up and up and up toward the ceiling.

Those who really were eager to catch the thing moved back in anticipation of where it would fall back to earth.

But the bouquet hit an exposed beam, and instead of completing its arc, it fell straight down like a duck shot out of the sky.

It was going to land right in the middle of the chocolate fountain.

Unless someone intervened.

For an uncharitable moment, Sam swore it was not going to be her.

But she caught a glimpse of the horrified look on Amanda’s face and wondered in that split second if it wasn’t some kind of bad luck for the bouquet not to be caught, to land smack dab in the middle of a pool of burbling chocolate.

Amanda and Charlie were going to need all the luck they could get.

Reluctantly Sam reached out an arm, and the bouquet fell into her hand as if it had been destined to find her.

A cheer went up, though she could hear the lusty challenge of Mitch.

“Anyone who thinks they’re going to marry my sister is going to have to arm wrestle me first.”

Sam smiled, with so many teeth she felt like a dog snarling, waved the bouquet and headed for the exit.

So that’s my future wife, Ethan Ballard thought, watching the bridesmaid head out the exit onto the stone veranda that faced the sea. He bet she was going to hurl that bouquet right off of there, too. He hadn’t missed her thwarted attempt at escape earlier, or the way she had looked during the dinner and the toasts. Cynical. Uncomfortable. Bored.

The least romantic woman in the room. Perfect.

He’d been pretty sure she was the one from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Despite the sexy outfit, and the abundance of rich chocolate upswept hair, he could tell by the sunburn and freckles that she was the wholesome, outdoorsy type that he imagined the Finkles would love.

She’d be perfect for the task he had in mind. When he’d held her hand a little too long in the reception line she’d yanked it away and given him a dirty look with those sea-mist eyes of hers.

Ditto for his offers to dance with her. Though Ethan felt faintly stung—who didn’t want to dance with him—it boded well for his plan.

Samantha Hall was the girl least likely to appreciate his offer of marriage. Least likely to want anything else once the assignment was over.

And he only needed a wife for one day.

Tomorrow. Combining his cousin Amanda’s wedding with business, Ethan was in Cape Cod looking at real estate. He’d seen a promising property on the Main Street of St. John’s Cove this morning, but what he really wanted was an old family cottage up the coast, between St. John’s and Stone Harbor. He’d been drooling over the Internet pictures of Annie’s Retreat for over a week, and had an appointment to see it tomorrow.

Then his lawyer had called. He’d done his homework, as always. The current owners, the Finkles, had turned down a lot of offers on the place. They knew exactly what they wanted, and it wasn’t to sell to a businessman who would see their property as an investment, who would see the development potential in that rare amount of oceanfront.

The Finkles would be more amenable to an offer made by Mr. and Mrs. Ballard, who wanted to raise a dozen children on the place.

Trying not to whistle at his good fortune in finding the perfect Mrs. Ballard so quickly, Ethan headed out the door after her. Job one was to find out if she knew the Finkles. If she did, he wouldn’t proceed.

Samantha Hall was in the shadows, on the wide deck behind the exit door, standing so still that for a moment he didn’t see her. And when he did he was struck by her loveliness, her slender figure silhouetted by moonlight, her face lifted to the breeze.

She was looking out at the sailboats and yachts bobbing in their moorings, something faintly wistful in her expression.

Very romantic.

She turned, startled when she heard him come out, turned away instantly. He almost laughed out loud when she pulled at the front of her dress, again. The dress fit her graceful lines perfectly and showed off her slender curves to mouthwatering advantage.

But for some reason he found her discomfort with it far more delightful than the dress itself.

“Gorgeous night,” he said conversationally.

“Hmm.” Noncommittal. Suspicious.

“Lucky catch on the bouquet.”

“I guess that depends what you think lucky is.”

“Isn’t the one who catches it the next one to get married?” he asked.

“There’s a disclaimer clause if you’re just saving the bouquet from a disastrous dip in chocolate.”

Ethan laughed, and not just because it was the perfect answer for a man with a mission like his.

“What did you do with the bouquet?” he asked.

Her eyes slid guiltily to the left and he saw the bridal bouquet had been shoved in a planter, the elegant lilies bright white against red geraniums.

“I’m Ethan Ballard,” he said, extending his hand.

“We met in the reception line,” she said, pretending she didn’t see it.

The music started inside. He wondered if he should ask her to dance, again, and was surprised that he wanted to dance with her. But on the other hand, there was no sense romancing her. His marriage proposal wasn’t about romance, and he didn’t want her to think it was.

Job one, he reminded himself, surprised at how hard it was to get down to business with her scent tickling at his nostrils.

“Do you know a family named the Finkles, over Stone Harbor way?” he asked.

Her brow scrunched in momentary concentration. “No,” she said. “I can’t say I do.” Then, with a touch of defensiveness, “My world is pretty small. You’re looking at it.” And she nodded her chin toward the sea and then the barely visible lights of town.

“I’m looking for a wife,” he said, always the businessman, cutting to the chase, even while he kept his tone light, and even while he was aware of being not completely professional. A renegade part of him was looking forward to getting to know her a tiny bit better.

She shot him a look. “Goodie for you.”

Despite the fact this was all a business venture for him, he was a little taken aback at her lack of interest in him. That was not the reaction he got from women at all. Obviously she had no idea who he was, and he found that in itself refreshing.

What would it be like to get to know another human being who didn’t know you were heir to a fortune, a millionaire businessman in your own right and a retired major league baseball player?

“You caught the bouquet, it seemed fortuitous. I have a proposition for you,” he said carefully.

“Propose away,” she said, but he realized when she tucked a wayward strand of her glossy dark hair behind her ear that she was not as cavalier about his attention as she wanted him to believe.

For the first time, he felt a moment’s hesitation. Maybe she wasn’t right for this job, after all; there was something sweetly vulnerable under all that not very veiled cynicism.

At that moment the side door exploded open. His cousin, Amanda, came bursting out, the skirt of her bridal confection caught in her hands, tears streaming down her face. She raced down the stairs with amazing swiftness given that her outfit was not exactly designed for a one-hundred-yard dash. She was at the bottom of the stairs before the door exploded open again, and Charlie came out it.

“Mandy, honey, come on. Don’t be like this.”

“Don’t you Mandy, honey, me!” she yelled, rounding on him. “How could you?”

Ethan was pretty sure that neither of them had even noticed that he and Samantha were in the shadows behind the door. Samantha had gone still as a statue, and he did the same.

And then the bride turned around, tore past the pier, up a set of stairs on the other side of it and into the parking lot. Charlie gained on her and caught her; a furious discussion ensued that Ethan felt grateful he could not hear.

The discussion resulted in Amanda climbing behind the wheel of her bright yellow sports car convertible, revving the engine and leaving Charlie in a splatter of gravel.

Ethan turned to see how his bridesmaid reacted to the drama. She was leaning on the railing, her small chin on her hands, a knowing little smile playing sadly on her lips as she gave her head a cynical shake.

His doubt of a moment earlier was erased. She was perfect.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“Why not?” she answered, then smirked at his startled expression. “We have at least as good a chance as them.”

And then she looped her arm through his and dragged him back through the door, he suspected so that Charlie, who was coming back up the steps, shoulders drooping, would remain unaware that the horrible little wedding-night drama had had witnesses.

Ethan was struck by how the sensitivity of the gesture, the loyalty to her friends, did not match the cynicism she was trying to display.

She could have saved herself the effort, though. Back inside it was evident the bride and groom had had many witnesses to their first argument as a married couple.