The Fake Husband. Lynnette Kent
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the whole truth, of course. Not the part about how being within a few feet of Rhys had been enough to set her pulse to pounding, just as it had when she was eighteen years old. How she’d caught herself wanting to trace the lines on his face with her fingertips, to rub the pad of her thumb over his lips. How, after years of banishing every wisp of memory, last night she’d dreamed of the past and all the lovely hours she’d spent in Rhys Lewellyn’s arms.
Phoebe swallowed a sip of tea. “Sounds to me like there’s more to this than you’re telling.”
“Well…yes,” Jacquie admitted, folding the napkin into crisp, even pleats. “I had a crush on him at the time. So it’s hard to meet him again as an old-widow woman with a kid.” How hard, she wasn’t prepared to say.
Her friend nodded. “I can see how that would be awkward. You could just tell Erin ‘no,’ right? She would survive.”
The only way to keep Erin and Rhys from seeing each other would be to forbid her to have anything to do with horses altogether. “I don’t think that would work.”
“Well, then, just concentrate on the bad and try to forget the good stuff.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking. “He’s probably insufferable, anyway. Arrogant and callous.”
That wasn’t fair. “Only when someone doesn’t give him their best effort.”
“And peremptory,” Abby added, setting down their plates. “Always ordering people around.” She leaned against the side of the booth.
“He can be,” Jacquie admitted. “But—”
Across the diner, the bell on the door jangled as another customer came in. Jacquie glanced at the new arrival, then looked again and felt the blood rush to her face.
“What’s wrong?” Phoebe had her back to the door, but she could, no doubt, read the trouble in Jacquie’s flaming blush. “Who is it?”
Abby gave a long, low whistle. “Speak of the devil. My guess is that Mr. Rhys Lewellyn just walked in. And we left out his most obvious character trait.”
Eyes wide, Phoebe looked from Abby to Jacquie. “Which is…?”
“He’s gorgeous,” Abby said. “With a capital G.”
Phoebe turned in her seat to get a quick peek. Flushing, she sat back again, facing Jacquie. “Oh, yes.”
Beside Jacquie, Abby straightened up. “And he’s heading this way.”
CHAPTER THREE
OTHER THAN THE CHANCE to pick up a cup of coffee for the twenty-minute drive back to Fairfield Farm, Rhys hadn’t expected anything out of his visit to the diner across the street from Andrew’s school. Finding Jacquie inside was a stroke of good luck he was sure he didn’t deserve, but one he intended to take full advantage of.
She had friends with her—a plump, chestnut-haired beauty standing by her shoulder and a cool blonde seated in the booth. They reminded him of watchdogs. If he didn’t behave, he had a feeling they were prepared to chase him off the premises.
“Good morning,” he said as he approached the table. “Is this where weary parents come to recover from the struggle of getting teenagers out of bed before noon?”
Jacquie grinned. “There’s a special pot of double-strength coffee set aside for those of us who need it.” Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered she didn’t want to talk to him, the grin faded. “Let me introduce you to some of your new neighbors. This is Abby Brannon.” She nodded to the woman standing beside her. “She and her dad Charlie run the Carolina Diner. Phoebe Moss,” she said, gesturing to the blonde, “lives just down the road from me, and when she’s not taking care of rescue horses, she works as a speech therapist. Abby, Phoebe, this is Rhys Lewellyn.”
“I’m glad to meet you.” Rhys tried out a smile on each of them, without much success. Phoebe’s gray gaze seemed to possess X-ray powers with which she intended to expose his every sin. If Jacquie had shared the details of their personal history with her friend, then there were a hell of a lot of sins to be found.
“Would you like anything else with your coffee?” Abby had a commercial interest to protect, he understood, which forced her to talk to him. “Doughnut, biscuit, piece of pie?”
“Just coffee, thanks.” When he smiled again, she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly, but he wasn’t sure that counted as progress.
“I’ll bring it out right away. Can I get y’all anything else?” She looked at Jacquie and Phoebe, who shook their heads, before hurrying off to the kitchen.
“This seems to be a popular place for breakfast,” Rhys commented, trying to keep the conversation going. No one, he noticed, had asked him to sit down.
“And lunch and dinner.” Jacquie looked around the room instead of meeting his eyes directly. “Most people in New Skye probably eat at the Carolina Diner at least once a week.”
“Some of them eat here every day,” Phoebe said, as the bell on the door jingled yet again. “Like my fiancé. Adam?” She lifted her hand and waved to the dark-haired man coming in the door, who quickly joined them.
Rhys stepped closer to Jacquie as the newcomer bent to give Phoebe a kiss. “Good m-morning, s-sweetheart, I didn’t know you’d be here. I’d have c-come in s-sooner.”
Phoebe’s smile was gentle as she laid her palm along the man’s jawline. “I came for breakfast with Jacquie.”
“S-sorry, Jacquie.” The guy straightened up and grinned. “I didn’t m-mean to ignore you.”
“That’s okay—you have your priorities right.” She winked at him, with a camaraderie Rhys envied. “Let me introduce you to Rhys Lewellyn. Rhys, this is Adam DeVries, Phoebe’s fiancé and, incidentally, the mayor-elect of New Skye. Adam, Rhys moved in during the snowstorm.”
“W-welcome to the area.” DeVries extended a strong hand. “Where are you c-coming f-from?”
“New York.”
The mayor-to-be laughed. “Well, if you were hoping to escape the sn-snow, don’t worry—we don’t usually get this m-much. Every f-few years we’ll have a fr-freak storm, but m-mostly we see an inch or two that melts by m-morning.”
Relieved at the absence of undercurrents, Rhys smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. The horses thought we’d done all that driving for nothing.”
“Horses?” DeVries sat down beside Phoebe, who scooted over to make room. “This is a good part of the country f-for horses. I know Jacquie’s been riding since she could walk—did the two of you know each other before you arrived?”
Rhys looked at Jacquie and found her staring at him, her eyes wide with alarm. He turned back to DeVries. “Jacquie came up to train at my barn, quite a few years ago. But we haven’t been in contact—it’s just my luck that she’s in this area.”
Abby returned just then to hand him a large foam cup with a cover. She saw Adam and gave a genuine smile. “Morning, Mr. Mayor. What’ll you have?”
“’M-morning, yourself, M-Miss Abby. The usual will be great.” DeVries looked up at Rhys. “Can you s-sit down with us?”
“I—” He would have refused—Jacquie obviously didn’t want him here. But, still without looking at him, she moved over into the corner of the booth, which left him no other option. “Sure, I’ll sit down for a few minutes.”
DeVries was a personable man, and a politician, so the conversation flowed easily enough for the next few minutes, until Rhys thought even Jacquie had begun to relax beside him. At least she’d eaten some of her breakfast. His awareness of her was like sitting near a blazing fire on the winter’s coldest night—the burn along that side of his body created a penetrating warmth that reached all the