“Vaughn? Why would I think anything about Vaughn?” she asked, going for a nonchalant air while trying not to think about the way he’d looked the last time she’d seen him, at the engagement party. She’d escaped to the garden by the fountain—her mother’s favorite spot in the days before the cancer had left her bed-ridden—because she’d needed a moment to cool her temper after hearing the gossips talking about her broken engagement. There’d been a moment, when she and Vaughn had been standing by the fountain, alone, when she’d been struck by how effortlessly handsome he’d looked with his coat off and tossed over one shoulder.
Her first instinct, naturally, had been to be snarky. You said something about leaving? She didn’t need to be noticing how handsome a man like Vaughn Roberts was.
“I get a vibe that you don’t like him very much,” Isabelle said.
Imagine that.
“I thought everything seemed fine between Vaughn and me when we met you and Simon for dinner the other night,” Sidney said evasively. And technically, that wasn’t a lie. She’d gone out of her way that night, and at the engagement party, to be polite to Vaughn—at least in the presence of others.
“Maybe I’m just not used to seeing you around single men since your breakup with Brody.”
Sidney’s head spun toward her sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you seemed a little tense around him. Like you were giving him back-off signals or something.” Isabelle held up her hand, seeing Sidney open her mouth. “Which would be totally understandable, given what happened with The Asshole,” she said, her nickname for Brody. “I would imagine that it’s a little scary, thinking about putting yourself out there again.”
Sidney resisted the urge to roll her eyes. First Trish, now her sister was trying to bait her into a discussion using her therapy techniques. “I’m doing fine,” she said assuredly. “In fact, I just set up two dates for next week.” She declined to mention that Isabelle’s wedding was, in part, the driving force behind her determination to get her love life in order. As close as she was with her sister, that felt odd to admit.
“Oh.” Isabelle seemed briefly surprised that she didn’t already know about the dates, but then she smiled. “Well, that’s great. I’m glad to hear you’re moving on.”
“Exactly.” Sidney took a bite of her cupcake. “Mmm. No offense to the peanut, but he or she is crazy to miss out on this frosting.” Yes, she was changing the subject. She was truly happy that Isabelle and Simon were getting married and having a baby—she wouldn’t begrudge her sister anything. But talking about her dating life emphasized the fact that she was now back at square one, single again at thirty-three and trying hard to quell her growing fears that all the non-weird, commitment-ready men in this city had already been snatched up.
They walked in silence for a few moments before Isabelle cleared her throat. “So, this weekend I’m supposed to drive up to Wisconsin with Simon and Vaughn. They have some project they need to help their dad with, and Simon’s parents suggested that I come up, too, so we could meet.”
“Ooh, your first chance to dazzle the future in-laws.” Sidney winked while licking frosting off her fork.
“Um . . . right. See, here’s the thing. Simon and I were talking about it last night, and he told me that his parents’ house is a small ranch next to some woods or something. Three bedrooms, just one-and-a-half bathrooms.”
Sidney was sure that this verbal blueprint of the Robertses’ house was going somewhere, but so far . . . no clue. “A ranch in the woods sounds cozy. Isabelle Sinclair goes country.”
“That’s the problem—it is cozy. Too cozy. With this morning sickness, I’m constantly running to the bathroom. You think Vaughn the FBI agent isn’t going to notice that? Or Simon’s mother?”
That was indeed a tricky situation. Sidney thought for a moment. “Maybe you could pretend you came down with the stomach flu or something.”
“Then in three months, after this whole thing comes out, she’ll know I lied to her. I’m trying to avoid actual outright lying, if at all possible. So I’ve come up with another solution to the weekend problem.”
“Oh, good. What’s that?”
“You go on this trip, too.”
Sidney laughed, thinking that was a joke. Then she saw Isabelle’s expression. “Yeah . . . that’s not happening. I don’t do country.” Her idea of rustic was having to walk more than three blocks to a Starbucks.
Isabelle clasped her hands together, ready to plead her case. “Come on, Sid. It’s only for one night. We drive up Saturday morning, and we’ll be back Sunday evening. You told me your work schedule was better now that you started this new position. Surely you can take a break for two days.”
Absolutely she could. Since she had switched over to private equity, people accommodated her schedule, not the other way around. But that wasn’t the point. “I don’t see how it helps you if I go. What’s the plan here? That I go to the bathroom with you, and we pretend that it’s me getting sick? Hey, I know—maybe I’m the one with the secret baby.”
“No, if you go, we can stay at a hotel. It was already going to be tight with me at the Robertses’ house, but if I had said I wanted to sleep at a hotel instead of their place, I would’ve seemed like an uppity rich girl. But if you go, we can get around that, and the entire Roberts clan won’t have to wake up to the sounds of me hurling in the bathroom.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe the hotel thing would help you. But why would I randomly tag along this weekend?”
“Because you thought a weekend out of the city sounded relaxing?” Isabelle suggested.
Sidney gave her a look over the top of her sunglasses. Try again.
Isabelle remained undeterred. “Fine. You’re there because it’s the efficient thing to do. With less than three months to go, we have tons of stuff to talk about between the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and wedding. So we’ll use the three-hour car ride each way to make a dent in that.”
Sidney hmphed at that. The “efficient” angle at least made some sense.
Isabelle smiled hopefully. “Please, please, please? I just want this weekend to go smoothly. More than anything.”
Sidney took a deep breath, and then sighed in resignation. Isabelle always had been the one person she could never say no to. “I’d better get a kick-ass maid of honor dress out of this.”
Isabelle squealed and threw her arms around Sidney in a huge hug. “Thank you! It’s going to be fun, you’ll see. Simon says it’s beautiful up by his parents, plus you and I can stay up late in the hotel room, watch a sappy romantic comedy, and look through wedding magazines.”
One arm around her sister, Sidney tilted her head affectionately against Isabelle’s as they began walking. “I suppose there are worse ways to spend a weekend.”
“Even a weekend spent with Vaughn?” Isabelle asked, still fishing.
On second thought . . .
Sidney maintained her casual demeanor. “I told you, there’s no bad vibe between him and me. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine this weekend.”
At least in the presence of others.
Seven
BEHIND THE WHEEL of his Dodge Charger, Vaughn watched as two long, slender legs stepped out of the driver’s side of the Mercedes sedan parked a few feet away.
Out climbed Sidney, the warm breeze blowing her wrap dress an inch or two higher.
Vaughn unrolled his window, peering at her from behind dark sunglasses. “Maybe if you drank just a little less water?”
Sidney tipped her bottled water at him, her third so far this trip. “Need to stay hydrated. I’m a city girl—not used to all this fresh air.” With a smile that said he could kiss-off if he didn’t like the sound of that, she headed into the gas station.
The passenger door of the Mercedes opened, and Isabelle scrambled out. “As long as you stopp
ed, I might as well stretch my legs, too.” She leaned against the car and took a few deep breaths.
Next to Vaughn in the passenger seat, now it was Simon’s turn to chime in. “Good idea. Might as well stretch a bit myself.”
“Take your time,” Vaughn said easily. He watched as Simon jogged over to Isabelle and put his arm around her, murmuring something in a low voice that Vaughn couldn’t hear.
So, this was the story they were all going with. They’d stopped three times in just as many hours, and Vaughn had heard so much talk about “fresh air” and “stretching” that one would think his companions were partaking of some sort of traveling yoga class instead of road tripping.
It seemed fairly obvious that, in reality, Isabelle was feeling carsick and needed to make a few stops to break up the ride. For that reason, Vaughn was careful not to complain about the snail’s pace they were making up to his parents’ house—he felt bad that Isabelle was uncomfortable. Indeed, life would be so much easier on all of them if everyone just told him the damn truth. But since that apparently wasn’t the plan, he would continue to play the role of a guy oblivious to all the shenanigans around him.
Luckily, they were less than twenty miles from his parents’ house. The bad news was, however, that in about two miles they would be leaving the highway and the remainder of the drive would be slow, hilly, and winding. His parents lived in a small lakeside community, and in order to get to their house, one needed to traverse a complicated web of unmarked roads—not recognized by GPS—that passed through limestone bluffs, canyons, and deep ravines. For a first-time visitor, his parents’ house was difficult to find—which was why he and Simon had insisted that the two cars stay together for the drive.
A few minutes later, Sidney came out of the gas station carrying a plastic bag. “Some snacks for the road,” she said cheerfully.
Vaughn could see the contents through the plastic bag and doubted the bottle of ginger ale and small box of saltine crackers Sidney had purchased were for her. But still, he said nothing.
All part of the little dance they were all doing.
They hit the road again, with Sidney’s sleek black Mercedes right behind him.
“What do you think Mom and Dad are going to think of her?” Simon asked, as they cruised along the last stretch of highway before the turnoff.
Vaughn pictured the sophisticated knot Sidney had pulled her auburn hair into, and the summer dress, heels, and Gucci sunglasses she was wearing. He’d been wondering that same thing himself. “That she’s very ‘New York.’”
Simon cocked his head, as if confused. “Oh. No, I meant Isabelle. You know, the one I’m marrying?”
Right. “They’ll think she’s great, Simon.” His mother had called him, and undoubtedly Simon, too, nearly every day this past week, wanting to know what time they planned to get on the road, what time they would be leaving on Sunday, and whether the “girls” were sure they wanted to stay at a hotel. His parents had been happy to hear that Isabelle was bringing her sister. His mother was Irish, after all—in her mind, when it came to family, the more the merrier.
Initially, Vaughn had found the last-minute addition of Sidney curious. But now, having observed the situation, he got it: Sidney was there to help Isabelle and Simon maintain their cover, to deflect attention from the fact that her sister wasn’t feeling well. And while as a general rule he disliked being purposely deceived, as an older sibling himself, he found the protective nature of Sidney’s actions rather . . . endearing. Perhaps underneath all that snark, there was a softer side to Sidney Sinclair.
At least when it came to some people.
“Mom told me she’s planning to make shepherd’s pie for lunch,” Simon said, interrupting his thoughts.
“The specialty of the house.” Seemingly, Simon and Isabelle weren’t the only ones hoping to make a good first impression. His mother’s shepherd’s pie could make a grown man cry.
Simon cleared his throat as they passed by the rolling fields of a dairy farm about five miles out from his parents’ place. “I need you to do something for me.”
From Simon’s serious tone, Vaughn could guess what might be coming. Don’t tell Mom and Dad, but Isabelle is pregnant. Good, it was about time he was brought into the circle of trust. He was an FBI agent, for chrissakes. Isabelle and Simon needed help with a little undercover work? Pfft. That was his specialty.
“I want you to be nice to Sidney this weekend,” Simon said.
Vaughn blinked in surprise. “Why would you think I wouldn’t be nice to her?”
“Isabelle told me that she doesn’t think Sidney cares for you much.”
“If that’s true, then maybe you and Isabelle should be having the ‘be nice’ conversation with Sidney instead of me.”
“I’m being serious, Vaughn,” Simon said. “Sidney means the world to Isabelle. So if you’ve done something to offend her, or piss her off, or annoy her, just fix it.”
Vaughn grumbled under his breath. If he and Sidney were not being so clandestine about the origins of their meeting, he would’ve pointed out to his brother that all he’d done was hit on the woman. This was hardly a federal crime, in fact—hello—it was a compliment.
Simon wasn’t letting go of the subject. “Look, I know Sidney can come off a little tough when you first meet her. But she and Isabelle are really close—their mother died when they were young, and the way Isabelle tells it, Sidney essentially took on the role of watching over her after that.”
“What about their father?”
“I get the impression he wasn’t around much between his job and personal life.”
“Well, marriages take a lot of work. Especially four of them.”
Simon chuckled. “So you’ll play nice this weekend, then?”
“I’ll play nice,” Vaughn assured him. Because of his job, he was a pro at masking his thoughts. Certainly he could act civil toward Sidney for the next thirty-six hours, even if she was a termagant. With great legs.
“Good.” Simon pointed, as if having just thought about something. “But not too nice.”
“You know, you’re getting to be kind of a pain in the ass with all these rules. You ever hear the term ‘groomzilla’?”
Simon let out a bark of laughter at that. “There’s no such thing.”
Vaughn gave him a look that said the jury was still out on that one.
• • •
“IZZ, ARE YOU seeing this? We’ve got cows. And look—there’s an actual farmhouse.” Sidney peered through the windshield. “It’s like we’ve stepped into a John Cougar Mellencamp song.”
Sidney Sinclair had indeed gone country.
Isabelle, however, did not appear to be enjoying this slice of Americana quite as much. “Why do cows have to smell like cows?” she groaned.
Sidney glanced over. “So roll up your window if the smell is bothering you.”
“I need the air or I’ll throw up. Do you want me to throw up? Do you? Because I’ll hurl all over this car, right now.”
This had been how Sidney’s last three hours had gone—trapped in a leather-interior hellhole with the crazy pregnant lady. She hoped the menfolk were having a nice, relaxing road trip in that souped-up man car they were riding in because as soon as they got to the Robertses’ house, she was pawning the woman formerly known as her sister onto the dude whose sperm had apparently turned her into a she-devil. “I’ll tell you what—let’s save the Exorcist-like spewing for the ride back. We can’t use up all the fun car games on the first day.”
Isabelle threw her arm over her eyes, groaning again. “Don’t make me laugh. My stomach hurts too much. Are we almost there yet?”
As if Sidney had any clue where they were going. She followed dutifully behind Vaughn’s car, past the farm and open fields, until they turned off the two-lane highway onto an access road marked “Apple Canyon.” Ther
e, the scenery became more heavily wooded, and the streets no longer were marked. Sidney saw a yellow hazard sign for deer crossing, and the city girl in her immediately slowed and gripped the steering wheel tight with two hands—images of Bambi leaping tragically to a death-by-Mercedes flashing across her eyes. Then they came around a hill, and her eyes widened at the scenery before her.
They entered a gorgeous valley, with rolling green hills on both sides, and drove over a bridge that crossed a winding, picturesque creek. There were a few houses scattered along the valley, but they kept going, up another hill and past a waterfall. “Izz, sit up. Check out the waterfall.”
“Just tell me that means we’re close and I can get out of this damn car.”
Ah, her sweet sister, soaking in every moment of the journey. They drove for a few more minutes, then Vaughn’s car slowed considerably and turned onto a one-lane gravel road. Rocks flew up, hitting the underside of the Mercedes in a staccato burst of pings and clangs. They drove into a small subdivision of nine or ten houses, spaced apart by at least an acre or more of land. Sidney followed as Vaughn pulled into the driveway of a white ranch house with a welcoming front porch and a pretty, multihued cottage garden.
Sidney parked the car and turned to her sister. “Ready for this?”
Isabelle, who looked a little better now that the car had stopped, took several deep breaths. Then she nodded and even managed a smile. “Let’s do it.” She opened the door just as Simon walked up, and he helped her out of the car. Hand-in-hand, they walked up the cobblestone walkway to the house.
Vaughn walked over to Sidney’s side of the car, looking inconveniently sexy in his dark sunglasses and day-old scruff, gray T-shirt, and jeans.
“Guess that leaves you and me,” he said as she climbed out of the car.
Great, she thought sarcastically. But then her heel slipped on the gravel driveway, and Vaughn instantly put his hand on her waist to steady her. Sidney felt a quick flare of heat in her stomach.
Oh, brother.