“Joe,” Sally cooed. “Welcome to Kiss the Bride!”

The reality TV hostess gestured to Casey. “The show where you marry the woman of your dreams. Doesn’t she look gorgeous?”

Joe opened his mouth, but it took him a couple of tries to get any words out. “She does,” he managed to say at last.

Relief washed over Casey, restoring her heart to its normal rhythm. It’s going to be all right.

“Joe, this is your big moment,” Sally said. “All you have to do is pop the question and you can marry Casey right here.” She beamed encouragement.

Joe hesitated. Casey gave him what she intended to be a loving smile, although she was afraid it might have emerged as pleading. Still he hesitated.

“Joe, aren’t you going to ask Casey to marry you?” Sally sounded like a mother addressing a recalcitrant child.

Joe spoke, loud and clear this time. “No, I’m not.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abby Gaines wrote for five years before she sold her first novel. Fortunately, she got used to the barrage of rejection letters – though she never quite embraced them in the way some people recommend – and didn’t lose heart. During those years she worked as a business journalist and also as editor of a speedway magazine.

Abby lives with her husband and children in an olive grove. She says olive trees are perfect to inspire the funny, tender romances she loves to write.

Dear Reader,

Do you find it difficult to say no when someone asks you to help out? Me, too! Of course, helping out is always a wonderful thing to do… but sometimes you can’t help feeling as if you have Pushover tattooed on your forehead.

In Married by Mistake, Casey Greene decides she’s finished with being a pushover. Unfortunately, her fight for the no-strings love she’s always wanted goes disastrously wrong; she ends up accidentally married to Adam Carmichael. Adam might be Memphis’s most eligible bachelor, but he never does anything he doesn’t want to. Yet when a reformed pushover and a man of granite go head to head, anything can happen!

I hope you enjoy Adam and Casey’s story. Please e-mail me at abby@abbygaines.com and let me know what you think.

If you’re like me, when you get to the end of a book, you wish there was just a little more to read about those characters you’ve grown attached to. Well, with this book, there is! If you’d like to see how the romance of minor characters Sam and Eloise came to its happy ending – and how Casey and Adam renewed their wedding vows – visit the For Readers page at www.abbygaines.com to read a couple of special extra scenes.

Abby Gaines

Married by Mistake

ABBY GAINES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Nigel, who mostly succeeds in being an

immovable object, but when it really

matters, is putty in my hands…

CHAPTER ONE

THE BRIDE WORE a long white dress and a look of utter despair.

Adam Carmichael saw her through the glass wall of the Memphis Channel Eight boardroom, scurrying down the corridor as fast as the full skirt of her dress would allow, flicking furtive glances over her shoulder.

Damn, a runaway bride. Could this day get any worse?

He stepped out of the boardroom, and she saved him the effort of stopping her when she cannoned into him, preoccupied by one of those over-the-shoulder checks. Soft yet firm breasts pressed hard against Adam’s chest; honey-gold hair tickled his chin.

He steadied her with his hands on her upper arms. And saw tears welling in her eyes. Instantly he released her, took a step back.

She brushed at the tears with short, impatient movements. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” She looked behind her again and said distractedly, “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, but I really must…”

She gathered up her skirt, ready to run, giving Adam a glimpse of slim ankles above a pair of silk shoes.

Overhead, the PA system crackled to life, and Adam recognized the voice of Channel Eight’s senior producer, unusually agitated. “Would Casey Greene please return to makeup immediately. Casey Greene to makeup.” There was a pause, then the producer said, “Now!” more ferociously than Adam had ever heard her speak before.

There was no mistaking the whimper from the runaway bride, nor the flare of panic in her eyes, which were the gray-green of the Mississippi when a storm was brewing.

Adam clamped a hand over her forearm. “Sounds like they’re looking for you.”

“I can’t go back.” She tried to tug her arm free.

Fleetingly, he considered letting her go. But much as he hated this wedding show, he wasn’t about to sabotage it.

They were due to go live in an hour, so it was a safe bet people would be scouring the building for the missing bride. In her panic to get away, she’d obviously taken the elevator up instead of down. It might take awhile for the search party to reach the top-floor boardroom, but they’d get here in the end.

“You can’t leave like this,” he said. “You look terrible.” Oops, that wasn’t the most tactful thing to say to a bride. “I mean, you look great…fantastic.” He ran a quick eye over her to check if he’d made a fair assessment. She was a little on the short side, around five-four in her shoes, he estimated, but the dress hugged some very attractive curves.

He pushed open the door to the boardroom. “Why don’t you take a minute to pull yourself together?” He gave her no chance to refuse, shepherding her in, then steering her to one of the black leather couches arranged along the far wall. He turned a chair from the boardroom table around to face her, and sat down. “I assume you’re Casey Greene?”

She nodded. Someone walked past the boardroom, and she shrank down in the couch.

“It’s only my secretary,” he assured her. But she looked jittery, as if she might spring up at any moment. Adam estimated it had been a minute since that call over the PA, probably several minutes since she’d left her minders. Where were those guys? He said chattily, “So you’re a guest on Kiss the Bride?”

“I was.”

Uh-oh. This was just what he needed, after he’d worked through the night to get this show into some semblance of order, tying up the loose ends his cousin Henry, the show’s creator, had overlooked. Except Adam hadn’t had time to check if Henry had lined up a replacement bridal couple in case someone pulled out. He’d bet money the answer was no.

Any minute now, representatives of the show’s sponsor, New Visage Cosmetics, would arrive at the studio to see the debut of “their” show. New Visage was in a different league from Channel Eight’s other sponsors; having them on board would bring the station to the attention of the major players. Adam couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.

He wanted to haul this woman back to the production suite—anyone dumb enough to sign up for a surprise wedding show deserved whatever she got. “It’s understandable you have cold feet. Just remember, this is the happiest day of your life.”

He couldn’t have sounded very convincing, for she shot him an unbridelike glare.

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I dupe my fiancé into coming to the TV studio, and he won’t find out until we’re on air that he’s here to get married. Happy days.”

Adam should never have left Henry in charge while he was in New York. His cousin must have had this crazy idea in mind for months, to have set the show up in just four weeks. Adam had come home two days ago to find the station abuzz with excitement about Kiss the Bride.

He could have canned it. But then the family stockholders would accuse him of being high-handed again. Better to let tonight run its course, then convince New Visage to put their money into a higher quality program.

The muted sound of the PA system drifted in from the corridor. “Paging Casey Greene. If anyone has seen Casey Greene could they please notify Production immediately.”

Adam eyed the telephone on the boardroom table.

Casey stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

He would, if he didn’t think it would scare her into resuming her escape. He had an hour of live TV to fill, the viewers had been promised a wedding show and that’s what they would get. A show delivered to the highest possible standard. Which meant no empty seats on the set. “How about we let the crew know you’re okay?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“Adam Carmichael.” There was no flash of recognition—he had to assume she didn’t read those magazines that voted him Memphis’s Most Eligible Bachelor. “I run this place.”

“So you can get me out of here? Off the show?” She stood in a flurry of excitement, a hopeful smile curving her mouth, crinkling the corners of those gray-green eyes, hinting at a dimple in her right cheek.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he hedged, “exactly what the problem is?”

Her smile faded and she sat down again. “You’re not going to help, are you? Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Adam hadn’t missed the vulnerability that shadowed her eyes.

The vulnerability that made her not his type.

“Have you changed your mind about the wedding?” Maybe he could find someone— a woman, someone happily married, anyone but him—to talk her around.

“Not exactly. I’m desperate, or I wouldn’t have resorted to coming on Kiss the Bride.”

She didn’t look desperate. With her eyes still bright with moisture and her cheeks flushed at the personal nature of the conversation, she looked more than ordinarily attractive, like the kind of woman who would have potential bridegrooms lining up on her doorstep.

“Is your fiancé giving you trouble?”

Casey shook her head. “Joe is pretty well perfect. Kind, good-looking, honest—fun to be with.”

“He sounds great,” Adam said heartily. “How about we get you to the studio so you can marry him?”

Okay, so that wasn’t subtle. She fixed him with a stung, accusatory expression. “But what about love?”

Adam felt the kick of a headache at his left temple. He looked through the glass, out into the empty corridor. How the hell could the production team be doing such a bad job of finding this woman? “I don’t know,” he said cautiously. “What about love?”

Casey eased back into the cushions, as if he’d hit on her favorite subject. “I love Joe, and he loves me.” She spread her hands, palms up. “We wouldn’t have got engaged otherwise, would we?”

“I suppose not,” Adam said.

“But sometimes, people love you for what you can do for them, as much as for who you are, and it’s hard to tell the difference. I always wanted a husband who’d adore me just for myself, and someone I adored back. Real love, no strings attached.” Her finger traced the piping that edged one of the cushions. “If I’m honest, that’s not what Joe and I have.”

Adam groaned. Poor Joe, expected to “adore” this woman for the rest of her days, when, if he was anything like most guys, all he wanted was a quiet life.

Her eyes sparked in annoyance. “Don’t you think people should hold out for their dreams?”

“I think people should figure out what they want, then go for it,” Adam said. “But…a guy who adores you? No strings?” He shook his head. “Those are teenage daydreams.”

She thought that over. “You mean, you used to dream of marrying a woman who adored you, but you grew out of it?”

Adam cast another longing glance at the phone. “The last thing a teenage boy wants is to be adored by some woman for the rest of his life.” Some of us never grow out of that. “Boys dream about NASCAR racing.”

“Did you?”

If sharing that misguided ambition would get her back on the show, Adam would do it. He nodded. “Believe me, I never regretted joining the family business instead.”

Even if he had run off to Charlotte, the racing capital, he’d probably still be on the receiving end of constant demands from his grasping relatives.

“Are you married?”

Did he look like a sucker for punishment?

She rushed on without waiting for him to reply, as if it was a relief to be revealing her doubts. At least someone was enjoying this. “Joe and I started dating in high school. We drifted into our engagement at graduation—that was seven years ago. We said we’d wait until we could afford to buy a house before we got married.”

“Good idea,” Adam said. He inched his hand toward the phone.

“Every time we set a wedding date, something happens to change our plans,” she said. “But now I need to hurry things up. Now, I have to get married.”

A shock of…surprise surged through Adam, and he forgot about the phone. He stole another quick look at Casey’s figure, to see if he’d missed any suspicious bulges. No sign of a baby—but pregnancy would explain her emotional state.

She looked as if she was about to break down again. Adam, inured to tears through years of dealing with weepy female relatives, planned to wait her out. But something about the way Casey’s eyes shimmered, then widened as if to say she wasn’t about to cry, no, not at all, got to him. He whipped his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her.

She took it without a word. He read the Emergency Fire Instructions pinned to the wall while he tried to ignore the way her snuffling did funny things to his insides. Eventually he gave up, and glanced sideways long enough to find and pat the creamy shoulder nearest him. At his touch, Casey straightened, drew on some inner reserve to blink the tears away, and met Adam’s gaze full on.

“I’m sorry.” She blew her nose one last time.

“Why don’t you tell me more about Joe?” Dwelling on her husband-to-be’s good points might cheer her up.

“He’s very nice. We have a lot in common,” she said. “He’s about to join the navy, which means he’ll be away a lot, but I can handle that.”

For all Casey’s dreams of being adored, Adam would bet the marriage she had lined up with Joe would be a lot happier than one based on some infatuation.

“Unless,” Casey said, “I pull out now, and wait for a man who adores me.”

He wished she wouldn’t keep saying that. She had stars in her eyes when she talked about love and adoring.

Besides, if Casey was pregnant, she should marry the father of her child. The pretty-well-perfect father of her child.

“You could wait a long time for a man who adores you,” Adam said, and was annoyed to find he felt like a heel, telling her to abandon her dreams. More forcefully, he added, “You might never find one. Marry Joe and be happy with what you’ve got.”

“Casey!” A voice from the doorway startled them. Adam recognized one of the production assistants. About time. Casey leaped to her feet.

“There you are.” The woman’s voice was overly bright. She flashed Adam a look of sympathetic exasperation. “They’re waiting for you in makeup. We need to hurry.”

Casey hesitated. She swallowed, then turned to Adam. “You’re right, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Her voice held the faintest question, so Adam nodded reassuringly. She smiled, a proper smile this time, which made her eyes glow more green than gray. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You, too. And—” he might as well admit he knew what she’d been alluding to “—good luck with the baby.”

Her eyes widened. He saw confusion, the dawn of understanding, then amusement chasing through them. She laughed out loud. “I’m not pregnant.”

“So why did you say you have to get married?”

She beamed, still amused. “It’s complicated. Family stuff.” She stuck out a hand and said, “Bye, Adam.”

“Goodbye, Casey. And good luck.” Whether it was because he knew what desperate measures family could drive a person to, or because he felt unaccountably relieved she wasn’t pregnant, or just because she was dressed in such formal, elaborate style, Adam did the weirdest thing. Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it to his mouth, pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers.

And found himself sorely tempted to kiss Casey Greene all the way up her arm and keep right on going.

CASEY HAD CONVINCED herself she had her nerves under control. She’d gotten over that crazy bout of crying in front of a complete stranger. She’d gone through makeup, final adjustments to her hair and the fitting of her veil, ninety-five percent certain that following her dream justified this extreme step.

Now, a renewed surge of misgiving tightened her grip on the seat of the high stool center stage in the baking-hot television studio. The show hadn’t started; a buzz of conversation drifted from the studio audience toward the stage.

“Remind me why I’m doing this,” she muttered to the bride on her right, her best friend, Brodie-Ann Evans. Beyond Brodie-Ann, the third bride overheard the question and tittered. She’d introduced herself as Trisha from Truberg and, in her wedding dress, was alarmingly reminiscent of a giggling meringue.

“Two words,” Brodie-Ann said. “Push. Over.”

Oh, yeah. I am not a pushover. Not anymore. Casey recalled the way Joe kept postponing the date for their wedding, and how their plans to move out of Parkvale kept getting put on hold. Then she summoned to mind the letter she’d received last month from her sister, Karen. A letter that gave Casey the urge to get as far away as possible from their hometown.

It was time her life started happening, and tonight was the night.

“Thanks, hon,” she breathed to Brodie-Ann.

Signing up for the pilot episode of Kiss the Bride had been Brodie-Ann’s idea—but Casey had instantly recognized its genius. If her best friend could marry the man she loved after dating him just six months, then Casey would darn well marry Joe.

Which was how she’d ended up here, dressed in a silk-and-lace concoction she could never have afforded in real life.

The floor director, who’d introduced himself earlier, stepped up on to the stage in front of Casey. “Two minutes, ladies, so get ready to smile. And remember, don’t look at the cameras while you’re being interviewed.”

Instinctively, Casey’s gaze darted to the nearest camera, which appeared to be pointed right at her. The director tsked. “Keep your eyes on Sally, the camera will find you.” He paused, pressed his headphones against one ear as he listened, then smiled at the brides. “I’m happy to report that your men are ready and waiting in the green room. No cold feet.” He nodded brisk reassurance, then hurried to talk to Sally.

Casey wasn’t surprised to hear the men weren’t worried.

She’d told Joe they were competing on a game show and were likely to win a lot of money. They’d driven three hours to Memphis this morning. Brodie-Ann’s boyfriend, Steve, along with a third unsuspecting man had been taken out for lunch by Channel Eight staff and given bogus details as to what the show was about. They doubtless assumed their female partners were getting the same treatment.

How could it have occurred to Joe that Casey would be selecting a wedding dress, having a makeover and planning on marrying him in front of millions of viewers?

She shuddered. Thank goodness it was only a local show. No one outside of Tennessee would see what she’d had to go through to get married.

“I’m not conning Joe into marrying me,” she told Brodie-Ann. “I’m just bringing the date forward a bit.”

“You told me that already. Twelve times.”

Casey closed her eyes and prayed she wasn’t crazy.

What was crazy was that her fingers should still be tingling from the kiss of a stranger. Worse, as she tried to conjure up Joe’s face, that same stranger’s image kept intruding.

Adam Carmichael was the kind of guy any woman would think about, she consoled herself. Those broad shoulders, those strong hands that had steadied her…At first, Casey had thought his eyes an arctic blue, but when he kissed her, they’d glinted a warmer azure color. Most of the time he’d looked tense, with a furrow in his brow that told her the tension might be habitual.

When Casey opened her eyes, Adam stood in her line of vision, next to the camera she wasn’t supposed to be looking at. He was looking right at her, frowning again. She couldn’t see that furrow, but she knew it would be there. She guessed he might be worrying about her, and her delusions of romance.

She mustered a reassuring smile—I’m not going to fall apart—and waggled her fingers at him. He waved back, but it was a brief, tense movement.

A production assistant clipped a microphone to her dress, obscuring Casey’s view of Adam. When the assistant stepped aside, he was gone. A peculiar loneliness made her chest ache.

Then someone was counting down. Sally Summers, the show’s host, looked in the mirror one last time and…they were on air. It took all Casey’s willpower not to flee the set as Sally began her introduction. The words passed Casey by, but she was jerked back to reality when Sally came over to interview Trisha from Truberg.

“Trisha, how long have you and Martin been dating?”

Five years, Trisha told Sally. They’d been engaged for three, and their families still couldn’t agree on a wedding date.

After the interview, a drumroll rounded to a crescendo, then Sally called Martin Blake to the set. He emerged from backstage to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride,” and the audience applauded on cue. Martin did a double take, but to Casey’s relief—maybe this won’t be so bad—he got over his initial shock.

Sally explained he could marry Trisha right now. The deputy clerk of Shelby County Court would issue a marriage license and a minister would perform the ceremony. Then Martin and Trisha would head off on a luxury honeymoon.

Martin scratched his head. “Now? Tonight?”

Sally repeated the offer, this time stressing that the honeymoon was all-expensespaid.

“Just think, baby,” Trisha coaxed him, “no more arguing with your mom about the wedding.” She giggled as she darted a look at the camera. “Oops, sorry, Mrs. Blake.”

Maybe that was the clincher, because Martin said, “You’re right, hon, let’s do it.” Trisha squealed with delight. The marriage license was completed during the commercial break, and when they were back on air, the minister stepped up. Five minutes later, Trisha had her wish.

“That went okay,” Casey murmured, as the audience clapped. Brodie-Ann didn’t reply. She appeared frozen in her seat, as if she’d only just realized what tonight was all about.

After the next commercial break, Sally introduced Brodie-Ann to the audience and invited her to tell everyone about Steve.

“He’s the most wonderful guy I ever met,” she said, the quaver in her voice barely discernible. “We haven’t been together long, but I adore everything about him. I know he’s the one.”

The audience oohed appreciatively.

Casey felt a twinge of envy. She couldn’t remember ever loving Joe like that.

Then it was Steve’s turn to come on stage. He was a smart guy; it took him only half a second to realize what “Here Comes the Bride” and Brodie-Ann in a long white dress meant. A huge grin split his face. He stepped right up to her, went down on one knee and said, “Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

The crowd went wild—and they did again when, at the end of the brief ceremony, Steve and Brodie-Ann shared a kiss that raised the temperature in the studio by several degrees. Then the new Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton joined Trisha and her husband on the studio couch.

“TELL ME THIS ISN’T CRAP,” Adam demanded of his good friend Dave Dubois, who was standing next to him at the back of the control room. As a freelance programming consultant, Dave occasionally worked with Channel Eight. He hadn’t been involved with this show. But he was keen to see it. In front of them, the show’s director focused intently on a wide, multi-window screen. The footage currently being broadcast played out in the large center window. Smaller windows around it displayed feeds from the other cameras. Adam could see Casey, the last bride, in one of those windows.

“It sure isn’t your normal kind of show.” Dave’s response lacked the contempt Adam would have welcomed.

“It’s no one’s normal kind of show. It’s my cousin Henry’s kind of show.”

The director said into his headset, “Ready, two, with a close-up on bride three. Standby mics and cue.” Camera two obediently zoomed in on Casey, ready for her to take center screen. Her jaw appeared to be clenched so tightly she risked breaking a tooth.

“Look.” Dave pointed to the image feed from camera three. The studio audience was apparently enthralled by the whole tacky proceedings. To Adam’s irritation, his friend evaded the opportunity to savage Henry, settling for an ambiguous, “You’re still the boss around here, right?”

“If you mean does my charming family still see me as the bad guy, you bet. If you mean does fear of me stop Henry creating idiotic new shows while I’m out of town…”

“Hmm,” Dave said. “Any progress on the legal front?”

Just what Adam wanted to think about right now. He sent his friend a withering look.

Dave said hastily, “Y’know, this show’s not bad. And the reality market is still booming, no matter what the doom-sayers predict.”

If he’d intended to distract Adam from thoughts of the lawsuit that Henry and his mother had instigated against Adam, he’d picked the wrong topic. Adam fixed him with a black look.

“Okay, so it’s not the last word in good taste,” Dave admitted. “But it’s got pretty women—that third bride is a real babe. It’s got romance and happy endings. Though I do think something’s missing.”

“A dancing girl bearing Henry’s head on a platter?”

Dave gave the suggestion due consideration. “You’re on the right track. The whole thing needs more tension. More drama.”

ANOTHER COMMERCIAL BREAK, then they were back on air. Casey licked her dry lips, feeling very alone at center stage. She looked around for Adam, but couldn’t find him.

“Folks, this is Casey Greene. She’s come all the way from Parkvale for today’s show,” Sally announced.

The crowd cheered, expecting great things from another Parkvale girl.

“Casey is twenty-five. She’s a journalist and a psychology student, and she wants to be a novelist,” Sally continued. “What do you want to write, Casey?”

“Books,” she answered numbly.

“And your fiancé is Joe Elliott,” Sally added brightly. “Tell us about you and Joe.”

“We met in high school, and we got engaged at graduation.” If she’d been any more wooden, they’d call her Pinocchio. Relax. Casey exhaled slowly through her nose.

“How’s that, folks? High school sweethearts!” Sally tried to rally some enthusiasm from the crowd, but their applause was muted. They must have sensed this wasn’t the love story of the decade. “Casey, tell us what you love about Joe.”

Casey’s mind went blank. “Uh, he’s, uh…”

Sally’s smile froze.

“He’s so honest,” Casey said at last. “So handsome.” Silence. For Pete’s sake, they wanted more? “I’ve known him forever. And…I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

At least she couldn’t until about an hour ago, when a stranger had left the imprint of his lips on her hand. She glanced quickly down at her fingers—of course there was no sign of Adam’s kiss. “I really want to get married,” she said, and added, with an emphasis that was too loud and too late, “to Joe.”

At last the interview was over. The strains of “Here Comes the Bride” filled the studio. Across the stage, Joe appeared. He stopped dead, looked around, saw the other two couples on the couch, heard the audience chanting, “Joe, Joe, Joe,” and, finally, looked at Casey. A dragging inevitability slowed his progress across the stage.

“Joe,” Sally cooed. “Welcome to Kiss the Bride, the show where you marry the woman of your dreams.” She gestured to Casey. “Doesn’t she look gorgeous?”

Joe opened his mouth, but it took him a couple of tries to get any words out. “She does,” he managed to answer at last.

Relief washed over Casey, restoring her heart to its normal rhythm. It’s going to be all right.

“Joe, this is your big moment,” Sally said. “All you have to do is pop the question, and you can marry Casey right here.” Her brilliant smile encouraged him.

Joe hesitated. Casey gave him what she intended to be a loving smile, though she feared it might have emerged as pleading. Still he hesitated.

“Joe, aren’t you going to ask Casey to marry you?” Sally sounded like a mother addressing a recalcitrant child.

Joe spoke, loud and clear this time.

“No, I’m not.”

CHAPTER TWO

“YES!” DAVE DUBOIS PUNCHED the air with his fist. “You did it, buddy. This is much better than Henry’s head on a plate.”

Adam cursed as the center screen flipped from one camera feed to the next as the director searched for something other than frozen expressions and hanging jaws. So much for convincing New Visage Cosmetics that Channel Eight could mount a professional, sophisticated production.

With Dave on his heels, he rushed out of the control room and into the studio, where stunned silence had given way to a hubbub of excited chatter.

On the set, Sally Summers’s famous smile had evaporated. Joe stepped toward Casey, and the microphone clipped to his shirt picked up what he said, despite his low voice.

“I’m sorry, Casey, but I don’t want to marry you—I don’t love you that way anymore. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings….” He stopped, perhaps aware his words were being broadcast around Tennessee.

Make that the entire U.S.A.

As Adam headed to the front of the studio he noticed Channel Eight’s PR manager had pulled out her cell phone and was talking in urgent tones. She’d be instructing her assistants to get this story on the late news. By tomorrow, she’d have sold the program nationwide. Casey’s disaster was great TV.

Joe said again, “I’m sorry.” Then he turned and—as if he hadn’t done enough damage—all but ran offstage. Sally patted Casey’s hand in what might have been intended as a gesture of comfort, but looked perfunctory.

Adam headed for his cousin Henry, next to camera three. To reach him, he had to pass the New Visage executives, huddled in anxious consultation in their front-row seats.

“Adam.” Henry’s round face was flushed with panic. He grabbed Adam’s arm. “I had no idea this would happen, I swear.”

Damn, that meant there was no contingency plan.

Henry jerked his head toward the stage. “Do you think she’s going to faint?”

Adam looked up at Casey, swaying on her stool, blinking rapidly.

Behind him, the chatter of the studio audience swelled to an unruly level. He shut out the sound, focused on what needed to be done. One, restore order to the studio. Two, salvage the show so New Visage doesn’t pull the plug. Three, get Casey out of here before she decides to sue Carmichael Broadcasting for public humiliation.

“Tell the crew to follow my lead on this,” he told Henry. His cousin began issuing hurried instructions to the floor director, who was in radio contact with the director in the control room. To Dave, Adam said, “How good an actor are you?”

“I played a tree in The Wizard of Oz in fifth grade.”

“I hope you were a damn good one,” Adam said. “Wait here until I tell you to come up on stage. Then do as I say.”

The security people let Adam through and he stepped up onto the stage. Sally became aware of his presence. She turned and took a few hesitant steps in his direction.

“Mr. Carmichael,” she said, then remembered to flash her dazzling smile. “Welcome to Kiss the Bride, the show where—”

He stalked up to her and motioned to her to mute her mic. When he was sure no one would hear him, he said, “We need to fix this—now.”

“How do you propose we do that?” she hissed.

“That bride—” he nodded toward Casey “—is going to have a wedding.” He added grimly, “Even if I have to marry her myself.”

“You can’t do—”

“You’re going to help.”

Sally flicked a yearning glance over his shoulder at her teleprompter. When no script appeared, she started to shake her head.

“Right now, Sally.” Adam dropped his voice to a menacing murmur. “Your contract negotiations are due at the end of the quarter.”

Sally Summers was nothing if not pragmatic. Adam could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she turned to the audience wearing a wide smile that only the two of them knew was false. She switched her mic back on and stepped forward.

“Well, folks, the course of true love never runs smooth, and who knows that better than Casey? But tonight, one man’s loss might be another man’s gain. It turns out Casey has another admirer here in the studio, a man waiting in the wings—literally —for his chance at love.”

Adam winced at the stream of clichés. But Sally was headed in the right direction, however painful the route she took to get there.

“Folks—” she was warming to her task and by now had some real enthusiasm in her voice “—meet Adam Carmichael, Memphis’s most eligible bachelor. And, if she’ll have him, Casey Greene’s bridegroom!”

The audience broke into a cheer, which Adam suspected was more out of confusion than celebration. He strode over to where Casey clung dazedly to her stool, and took both her hands in his. She clutched them as if he’d thrown her a lifeline.

“Casey—” he spoke loudly so his words would carry to the audience without a mic “—will you marry me?”

He heard a shriek from someone in the crowd. Casey stared at him. He leaned forward, and his lips skimmed the soft skin of her cheek as he whispered in her ear, “We’re going to fake a wedding.”

He stepped back and said again, for the benefit of the crowd, “Casey, will you marry me? Please?”

He wondered if she’d understood, she sat there, unresponsive, for so long. Then she expelled a slow breath and smiled radiantly, her gray-green eyes full of trust. “Yes, Adam, I will.”

For a second, he felt a tightness in his chest, as if he’d just seriously proposed marriage to the woman he loved. Whatever that might feel like. A din exploded around them, the audience cheering, Sally yelling to make herself heard. Someone called for a commercial break.

Five minutes later, the clerk had issued a marriage license. Under Tennessee law there was no waiting period, no blood test. Adam announced he would use his own marriage celebrant, and beckoned to Dave. His friend looked around, then twigged that Adam meant him. He bounded forward, and by the time he reached the set his face was a study in solemnity. If you discounted the gleam in his eyes.

Dave patted his pockets, then turned to the ousted minister. “I seem to have forgotten my vows. Could I borrow yours?”

Just as they went back on air he clipped on a microphone. He began laboring through the “wedding.”

“Adam James Carmichael, do you take—” He slanted Casey a questioning look.

“Casey Eleanor Greene,” she supplied.

“Casey Eleanor Greene to be your wife? To have and to hold, for—”

“I do,” Adam said.

“Right.” Dave moved down the page. “Casey Eleanor Greene, do you—”

“I do,” Casey said.

“—take Adam James Carmichael to be your husband?”

“She said she does,” Adam snapped.

At the same moment, Casey repeated desperately, “I do!”

Dave got the message and started to wrap things up. “Then, uh—” he lost his place and improvised “—it’s a deal. You’re married, husband and wife. You may—”

“Kiss the bride!” the audience yelled on cue.

Why not? They’d gone through all the other motions of a wedding. Adam turned to Casey and found she’d lifted her face expectantly.

One kiss and this nightmare would be over, Casey told herself. She could escape the scene of her utter humiliation, and barricade herself in the house in Parkvale for the next hundred years.

Going after your dreams was vastly overrated.

She leaned toward Adam, went up on tiptoe to make it easier for him to seal this sham. Just kiss the guy and we can all go home.

She wasn’t prepared for the same current of electricity that had left her fingers tingling earlier to multiply tenfold as their mouths met.

Shaken, she grasped his upper arms to steady herself, and encountered the steel of masculine strength through the fine wool of his jacket. His hands went to her waist and he pulled her closer. The shock of awareness that somewhere deep within her a flame of desire had been kindled snapped Casey’s eyes open. She met Adam’s gaze full on, saw mirrored in it her own realization that this was about to get embarrassing. Even more embarrassing.

Slowly, he pulled back.

The audience hooted in appreciation. Casey blushed.

“Folks, none of us expected this when we came on stage an hour ago, but there you have it. Casey Greene married Adam Carmichael, right here on Kiss the Bride.” Sally ad-libbed with ease, now that time was almost up. “These three lovely couples will head off on their honeymoons, courtesy of Channel Eight. Don’t miss next week’s show—anything can happen on Kiss the Bride!”

Casey and Adam didn’t wait around for the inevitable interrogation. By unspoken agreement, they headed offstage and back to the boardroom where they’d met—could it really have been just two hours ago?

Casey sank onto the leather couch, trying to control the shaking that had set in now she was out of the public eye.

Her savior scrutinized her as if she might be dangerous. “Are you okay?”

She heard a wild quality in her laugh—no wonder he looked nervous. She took a deep, calming breath. “I’ve had better days.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have told you to go ahead with the wedding.”

“I probably would have done it anyway.” She ran a hand down her face, suddenly exhausted. “I’m the fool for agreeing to go on the program in the first place.”

“I should have cancelled that stupid show the minute I heard of it.”

A gruff voice said, “When you two have stopped arguing over who’s to blame for this mess, you might want to think about how you’re going to get out of it.”

A middle-aged man, tall and trim, dressed conservatively in a dark suit and tie, had entered the room. Adam introduced him as Sam Magill, Channel Eight’s in-house legal counsel and Adam’s own attorney. The lawyer’s sharp eyes narrowed to a point where Casey thought they might disappear.

“What you do in your private life is your business, Adam,” he said. “But I’m amazed you’d get married without a prenup.” “Hey!” So what if it hadn’t been a real wedding? Casey resented the implication she was after Adam’s fortune, which presumably, since Sally Summers had described him as Memphis’s most eligible bachelor, was considerable. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Missy, everyone’s that kind of girl when there’s enough money involved,” the lawyer said. “I don’t like what happened to you back there, but if you plan on taking advantage of this situation to feather your own nest, I’m warning you—”

“That’s enough, Sam,” Adam said sharply. “That wasn’t a real wedding, and as soon as Casey has a chance to work out where she’s going next, I’ll make an announcement to that effect.”

The lawyer’s jaw dropped. Then he broke into the wheezy laugh of a chronic smoker, a laugh that sent a tremor of unease through Casey.

“What’s so funny?” Adam demanded.

It took a moment for Sam to regain his sober countenance. “Am I wrong, or was that David Dubois who performed that little ceremony out there?”

Adam nodded.

“The same David Dubois who served as a commissioner in Fayette County a couple of years back?”

Adam nodded again. “I believe he did.”

“Then, my friend, I have news for you. The state of Tennessee allows marriages to be performed by any current or former county executive, as well as ministers, judges and the like.” The lawyer cast his eyes to the ceiling as he spoke, as if reciting directly from Tennessee Code. “And unlike most other states, the executive doesn’t have to have served in the county where the marriage is performed.”

He brought his gaze back to Adam, a smile hovering on his lips. “For the rest of his life, your pal Dubois can legally marry anyone anywhere in Tennessee, as long as they have a marriage license.” He paused, then delivered the coup de grâce. “You did get a license, didn’t you?”

The wheezy laugh started again, and Casey knew the sound would haunt her for the rest of her days.

LEGALLY MARRIED. To a woman I don’t know.

The irony wasn’t lost on Adam as he held Casey’s hand, waiting for the press conference to start. His reluctance to rush into marriage had opened the door to his relatives’ lawsuit against him. If it was possible to laugh from beyond the grave, right now Adam’s father would be in stitches.

Sorry, Dad, but this one won’t last. The sooner Adam extricated them from this mess, and got his focus back on his real problems, the better. Sam Magill had already left to start working on an annulment.

“Keep Casey with you until you hear back from me,” he had said on his way out the door. He was probably worried she would sneak off and open a joint checking account.

Adam had agreed, mainly because he’d been forced to scrap his plan of smuggling her out of the building, which was surrounded on all sides by media. Fortunately, Dave had slipped out before the press arrived.

Casey hadn’t argued with the lawyer. She looked as if she was in shock, Adam thought. Her face, flushed with embarrassment in the studio, had paled to the same shade as her dress.

As many journalists as could fit were crammed into the Channel Eight lobby. Adam cursed the fact it was silly season—midsummer, when there wasn’t enough news to fill the papers—which meant their wedding had attracted far more attention than it should have. He’d agreed to the press conference on the condition the journalists would allow them to leave privately afterward.

“I’ll do the talking,” he told Casey. His plan was to say as little as possible, to be noncommittal about their future until they knew where they stood legally. They would lie low for the weekend, and with any luck the fuss would have died down by Monday. Hopefully, by the end of next week the announcement of their annulment would be absorbed by viewers over morning coffee, and his and Casey’s brief alliance would soon be forgotten.

“Kiss the Bride is the hottest show in the land,” the PR woman crowed to the media. “We’re expecting huge demand from networks around the country….”

When she’d finished her spiel, she read out a hastily prepared statement from New Visage, which claimed to be delighted with the show and confident its relationship with Channel Eight would be both long and mutually beneficial.

That succeeded where nothing else could in putting a smile on Adam’s face as he and Casey faced the barrage of camera flashes and the questions hurled at them.

“Mr. Carmichael, is this a ratings stunt?”

“Casey, why did you say yes?”

“Adam, how long do you give this marriage?”

“Are you in love?”

“Casey, what will your family think?”

At this last question, he felt the tremor of her fingers in his grasp. She looked imploringly at him. He held up a hand for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “as you’ve probably realized, tonight didn’t go according to plan for either of us.” Chuckles from the crowd told him they were on his side. All he had to do was give them enough to satisfy their immediate need for a story, without exposing Casey to further humiliation and without actually lying. “We’re asking you to respect our privacy beyond what we tell you now. I can reveal that Casey and I knew each other before this evening’s show—” only an hour before, admittedly “—and that for as long as I’ve known her I’ve considered her a very special lady.”

Any grown woman who could cling to her dream of being adored had to be special.

He looked down at Casey, noting that a few tendrils of honey-colored hair had escaped her veil. Gratitude warmed her eyes, and her lips curved in a tremulous smile. He turned back to the waiting media. “Can you blame me for seizing the chance to marry her?”

Applause broke out among the journalists. Pleased at the success of his speech, Adam grinned at Casey. She smiled back, obviously relieved.

“Hey, Mr. C.” It was one of the older hacks. “How about you kiss the bride?”

Photographers readied their cameras in a flurry of motion.

Adam raised his eyebrows in silent question to Casey. She gave a barely perceptible shrug, then a nod.

Once again, their lips met.

Like last time, he intended a brief kiss, one that would allow the cameras to get their shot.

Like last time, he found himself drawn to her.

Despite the crowd around them, he couldn’t resist the temptation to test the softness of her lower lip with his tongue. Her indrawn breath told him she was just as intrigued by the exploration.

The catcalls of the journalists pulled them both back to reality.

“Okay, folks, that’s all.” Mainly with the power of his glare, but using his elbows where necessary, Adam parted the throng and ushered Casey out the front of the building and into a waiting limo. She scrambled across to the far side, gathering her skirts about her to make room for him.

“Where to now?” Casey asked. The last half hour had passed in a blur, and she couldn’t imagine what might come next. All she knew was it couldn’t be worse than what had happened in the studio.

Adam’s half smile held equal measures of cynicism and resignation. “Our honeymoon.”

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK at night—her wedding night— by the time they got to the Romeo and Juliet Suite at Memphis’s famous Peabody Hotel.

Casey—or Mrs. Carmichael, as the hotel receptionist had called her—roamed around the room, while Adam tipped the porter. The original honeymoon Channel Eight offered hadn’t included the suite, which Casey suspected went for several hundred dollars a night. But a standard hotel room wasn’t going to work for a newly married couple who had no intention of sharing a bedroom, let alone a bed.

Judging by the crowd of reporters who’d followed them from the TV station, and were now being held at bay by the Peabody’s doorman—so much for their promise to respect the newlyweds’ privacy—Casey and Adam wouldn’t be leaving the hotel in a hurry, so the bigger the suite the better. Casey climbed the curving staircase to the bedroom. The king-size bed was a sea of snowy-white covers and elaborately arranged pillows. Surely a real honeymoon couple would want something cozier?

There was a bathroom off the bedroom, in addition to the one she’d seen adjoining the living room. More white—marble and porcelain—offset by highly polished stainless steel fittings.

“Casey?” Adam called from downstairs.

Dreading having to sit down and hash out the legal implications of what they’d done, she joined him in the living room. How was she going to explain this to her family? How would she respond when they demanded her immediate return to Parkvale?

Right now, she doubted she could resist. The newfound backbone that had empowered her to seize control of her future had crumbled when Joe jilted her. She would get it back; of course she would. But not tonight.

“It’s late,” Adam said. “You must be exhausted. How about we get some sleep and talk in the morning, when we’ve heard back from Sam about the annulment?”

“Sounds perfect.” At least she’d married a man who didn’t expect her to solve all their problems.

“You take the bedroom, this couch will do me.”

Considerate, too. Casey wasn’t about to argue. She tried but failed to stifle a yawn. “Thanks, Adam.” She ran a hand around the back of her neck to ease muscles exhausted from the strain of holding her head high through today’s fiasco. “Good night.”

A knock at the door interrupted his reply. Adam opened it and a bellboy presented him with an envelope. Casey caught a glimpse of the words Private and Confidential.

“From Sam,” Adam said.

Thank goodness. Hopefully the lawyer had figured a way out of this predicament.

Adam tore it open. It took him only a second to read the contents. He uttered a half laugh, half groan.

“What is it? Bad news?”

He didn’t answer, only gave her a brooding look.

She stretched out a hand. “May I see it?”

He held the note just out of her reach. “I’m not sure you want to.”

In answer, she snatched it from him. And read Sam Magill’s instruction, etched on the fine paper in bold blue strokes.

DO NOT CONSUMMATE THE MARRIAGE.

“Oh.” Casey dropped it on the coffee table, her cheeks burning. “As if we were going to. That’s…that’s…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Exactly.”

“Sam is very thorough. I imagine he wanted to cover all contingencies.” Adam grinned, and that furrow of tension disappeared. “Perhaps he was worried by your enthusiasm when you kissed me at the TV studio.”

Casey sputtered. “I kissed you? You’re the one who heated things up.” The memory of his mouth on hers flooded back, leaving her light-headed. She clutched at the only possible explanation. “It was a rebound thing for me.”

That wiped the smile off Adam’s face. He looked pointedly toward the couch. “I think it’s time we got some sleep. Separately.”

In the bedroom, Casey discovered the reason why someone else had buttoned her dress for her at the TV studio. There must have been at least thirty tiny pearl buttons down her back, most of them beyond her reach.

She grappled with the dress for another minute, but it was hopeless. Peeking down into the living room, she was relieved to find Adam hadn’t yet gone to bed, he stood by the window, staring out over Union Avenue, deep in thought.

Casey headed down the stairs. “Adam? I can’t undo my buttons. Could you help?”

She half turned her back so he could see the problem, and he came to her aid.

Casey had never realized the area between her shoulder blades, where the buttons started, was so sensitive. The brush of Adam’s fingers against her bare skin stimulated a whole bunch of nerve endings. She shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, his tone impersonal.

Casey nodded, holding herself rigid to prevent any more of those traitorous shivers. But it didn’t lessen the sensation. She felt the release of each little button, aware that more and more of her flesh was showing. Warmth rose within her—was it possible her back was blushing?

This had to be because of that note from the lawyer. They’d been told not to consummate the marriage, and five minutes later she’d had to ask Adam to undress her.

“You can probably manage the rest yourself,” he said, his voice clipped.

She stepped away. “Thanks. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable on that thing.” She gestured to the couch.

He looked at her for a long moment, then his gaze dropped to her shoulders. He said tightly, “Time you were in bed.”

DESPITE HER EXHAUSTION, Casey slept badly. All that subterfuge, her humiliation aired on national TV, the extreme step of marrying a stranger, and she was no better off than when she had left Parkvale on Friday morning. Her family would be frantic to know what was going on. But perhaps the worst thing was that she hadn’t even thought about Joe since he’d run out on her, aside from a brief urge as she left the stage to murder him by the most violent means possible.

That compulsion had passed, leaving a curious void.

It took no great psychological insight to realize how little Joe really meant to her. How could she have planned to marry him? She’d convinced herself she could give him the no-strings love she wanted for herself, when really she was using him to get away from her family.

In hindsight, she deserved to be dumped. Perhaps not quite so publicly… but she’d brought that on herself.

Casey allowed the recriminations to chase around in her head as she lay in bed until eight o’clock, when she was sure Adam would have had time to get dressed. She showered, then looked in her suitcase at the clothes she’d packed for her honeymoon. She’d bought a couple of new items, skimpier than she would normally wear, with the idea, she supposed now, of turning Joe on.

She rejected a strappy top in favor of a white, sleeveless T-shirt, which she teamed with a denim skirt. She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. No way could Adam think she’d dressed to turn him on.

He was standing at the dining table when she got downstairs. Someone must have brought his luggage during the night. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt, open at the neck. Casey’s gaze was drawn to his bare forearms, tanned and strong, as he lifted the covers off several dishes on a room-service trolley. He pulled a chair out for her, and Casey wiped her palms against the sturdy fabric of her skirt as she sat down.

“I ordered breakfast,” he said. “It’s not safe to go down to the restaurant. The manager tells me a couple of journalists checked into the hotel.”

Casey helped herself to fruit and yogurt, shaking her head at Adam’s offer of a hot meal. He piled his own plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, raised his glass of orange juice to her in salute, and started on his breakfast.

Casey took a sip of her own juice as she glanced at the newspaper that lay folded by her plate—and promptly choked.

“Oh, no.” After all those photos she and Adam had posed for at the press conference, they’d published one taken in the TV studio, obviously at the moment Joe had jilted her. Her face, panic in her eyes, mouth open, gaped back at her from the front page beneath the headline Carmichael Rescues Jilted Bride. She grabbed a napkin, wiped away the rivulet of juice she could feel on her chin, without taking her eyes off the newspaper.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Adam was presumably referring to the article and not to her photo, because that couldn’t be any worse. “They speculate that Channel Eight cooked up this scheme to boost the ratings of Kiss the Bride. They tried to get a comment out of your fiancé, but he wasn’t talking.”

Casey unfolded the paper, then clamped a hand to her forehead at the sight of her father, peering around the front door of the house. “They spoke to my dad.”

“That’s not so good,” Adam admitted. “They also talked to my stepmother. Seems she told them we’ve been secretly engaged for months.”

“Why would she say that?”

Adam shrugged. “My guess is she didn’t want to be caught not knowing about something as important as my wedding.” Casey gathered from the careful neutrality of his expression that he didn’t much like his stepmother. “Still, she’s probably helped confuse the press, which can’t hurt.”

“Any word from the lawyer?” Casey asked.

“I’ve had a few calls.” He gestured to the cell phone on the table between them. “But not from Sam.”

His phone trilled again.

“Hello, Eloise,” he said with resigned patience. “Did you like the show?”

Who was Eloise? His stepmother? His girlfriend?

Whoever she was, Adam was obviously enjoying her reaction to their wedding. Not his girlfriend, then. He grinned and held the phone away from his ear—Casey heard a spate of words pouring out. “Sorry, Eloise, I have another call coming through. I’ll get back to you.”

That set the pattern for the next few minutes, with Adam receiving one call after another, mostly, she gathered, from family, all anxious to know how his marriage might affect their interests. His reticence must have infuriated them.

Bored with waiting, Casey turned on her own cell phone. Almost immediately, it beeped with a text message from the answering service to say she had twenty-one new messages.

She dialed the service and scrolled through the worried communications from her father (five messages), her sister (six) and her brother (one). There was also one from Brodie-Ann, and several from people who were concerned her wedding might make Casey unavailable to help them. People like the church choir director (did the wedding mean she wouldn’t be singing her solo this Sunday?) and the head of the Parkvale Children’s Trust (Casey was still okay to bake two cakes and a batch of cookies for next week’s open day, wasn’t she?).

No and no. She couldn’t help smiling. She’d figured getting married would give her the perfect out, but not like this. Still, she wouldn’t call anyone back just yet. Not until she and Adam had talked. His phone rang again, and she sighed. Whenever that might be. She realized she hadn’t touched her food yet, and took a mouthful of yogurt-smothered melon.

Then her own phone rang, chirping “You Are My Sunshine.” By the time she’d convinced the Parkvale librarian she wasn’t available to fill in during children’s story hour that afternoon, Adam was off the phone and regarding her quizzically.

“Did your phone just play ‘You Are My Sunshine’?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. It’s a personalized ring tone. It’s affirming.”

He laughed, until the dignified raising of her eyebrows told him she was serious.

“Affirmations are good for your self-esteem,” she told him. “Every time my phone tells me I’m its sunshine, it makes me feel good.” Though at this precise moment it didn’t seem to be working. Still, she gave Adam a sunny smile as she popped another piece of melon into her mouth.

“You really believe that?”

She nodded. “You have to find an affirmation that works for you, of course. ‘You Are My Sunshine’ gives me confidence.” Casey thought about that furrow that had made a permanent home in Adam’s brow. “Whereas you might want to look in your mirror each morning and tell yourself you won’t get stressed today.”

He frowned, and the furrow deepened. “I hope you didn’t pay good money to learn that psychobabble.”

“That comes direct from my community college lecturer,” she protested.

“I’ll bet he didn’t tell you to get affirmation from your cell phone.”

“No, she didn’t. I’m extrapolating.”

Adam tackled his bacon and eggs, which must surely be cold after all those phone calls, with renewed energy. “So why are you studying psychology? To overcome childhood trauma?”

“I’m not in therapy,” she said with exaggerated patience. “I study psychology because it helps with characterization in my writing.” Her phone warbled again and she looked at the display. “It’s my dad.”

Her father took a moment to remind her he loved her, then launched into a monologue about how much her family needed her and how she’d better sort out this confusion and get back home as soon as possible. He ended with a plaintive query: “How am I supposed to get to physical therapy on Tuesday?”

Call a cab. Don’t you think I have more on my mind right now? But she’d taught her father she would always be there when he needed her, so how could she blame him? She was saved from answering by a beep on the line.

“Just a moment, Dad, I have another call.” She switched to the other line.

Her sister. Casey straightened in her seat. “Yes, Karen, I did just get married. No, I’m not crazy—” she hoped that wasn’t a lie “—and no, I’m not coming back to Parkvale.” She hoped that wasn’t a lie, either. “I’d like you and Dad to— Hello?”

When she got back to the other line, her father wasn’t there.

“Bad connection,” she explained to Adam. She put her phone on the gilded, glass-topped table between them and looked hard at her plate so he wouldn’t see the hurt she knew must show in her face. “Now that we’re both free—”

“Free being a relative term,” he interrupted. “We’re still married.”

“—let’s have that chat you mentioned.” Her phone rang again, but after a glance at the display she ignored it.

“You could always turn that thing off,” Adam said. His own phone rang, and he answered it. Which at least gave Casey a chance to regain her fighting spirit.

“You were saying?” she asked sweetly, when he’d finished.

He frowned. “I’m expecting a call from Sam. I don’t want to miss it.”

“And I need to talk to my family,” she said. “Even though I don’t know what to tell them.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Casey’s phone chirped “You Are My Sunshine” again.

“Karen, please, honey, don’t cry.” Casey’s voice wobbled. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted me there, but this is for your own good, sweetie.”

Adam realized Casey was blinking in an effort to hold back tears. Rising hysteria emanated from her cell phone, audible even to him, several feet away.

He checked his watch. If she was going to spend the whole morning arguing with her family, they’d never get this mess sorted out. From what he could see, her folks were as bad as his own relatives. There was only one way to deal with people like that. Get tough.

One look at Casey told him that wasn’t going to happen. In two seconds, Adam had moved around the table and slipped the phone from her grasp—easily done, since she wasn’t expecting it.

“Karen? I don’t know who you are, but you’re not helping Casey right now.” He crossed the room, aware of Casey’s startled expression. Karen sputtered on the other end of the phone.

“My wife and I—” damn, that sounded weird “—need some time alone.” He reached the huge vase filled with an elaborate display of flowers, delivered last night compliments of the Peabody management. Casey, following right behind, bumped into him. “So goodbye.”

With Karen still squawking, he dropped the phone—right into the vase.

Casey yelped. “Have you gone crazy?”

“You’re not prepared to turn that thing off, and it’s upsetting you. I’m dealing with the problem.” He dusted his hands together. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“No! How could you…” She stopped. “Actually,” she said slowly, “it does.” She ventured a small smile.

From across the room they heard the sound of his phone.

“Allow me to deal with that.” Casey moved toward it.

“It’s okay.” He followed her. “I’ll take it.”

She’d picked it up already and was reading the display. “It’s Eloise.”

“My stepmother again.” He rolled his eyes. “Pass it here.”

“I said I’d deal with it,” Casey reminded him. She stepped back and moved around the other side of the sofa.

Adam wasn’t quite sure what happened next. But somehow, he went one way and she went the other, toward the open window.

“Casey, don’t—”

Too late.

She dropped the phone just as he reached her.

Adam looked so shocked, Casey wondered if she’d gone too far. She held her breath as he stuck his head out the window. When he turned back into the room, his face was grave. “You just killed an Elvis impersonator.”

Casey clapped a hand to her mouth. “No! I looked, there was no one—” Then she caught the grin he was trying to hide.

And they were laughing, clinging to each other in helpless hilarity that for a moment made the whole mess go away.

Adam looked into Casey’s eyes, where tears of merriment glistened. On automatic pilot, he wiped the corner of her eye with his thumb. And found himself robbed of all sensation except the pressing desire to feel her mouth beneath his.

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