Someone Borrowed: sweet contemporary romance (Jilted in Sawyer Creek Book 3) Read online

  Someone Borrowed

  Susan Crawford

  Lacy Williams

  Contents

  Exclusive invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Exclusive invitation

  Also by Susan Crawford

  Also by Lacy Williams

  Exclusive invitation

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  Chapter 1

  22 Hours Until Aisle-Time

  What have I done?

  Quinn felt short of breath and nauseous as she turned off the county road onto the quarter-mile drive that led to the Sawyer Creek Bed & Breakfast.

  She was a big-city girl all the way, but she found herself charmed by the small town she'd just driven through. It had two stoplights, one at either end of Main Street. Two!

  "You can do this," she coached herself.

  It was only a wedding. A wedding weekend, really. As maid of honor, Quinn would be busy with hundreds of tiny details. Final approval of the flowers. Ensuring no one switched from their assigned tables at the rehearsal dinner. The groom's ring. All of which was right in her wheelhouse. The overstuffed notebook-slash-planner she'd custom-made for this occasion sat in her tote bag on the passenger seat.

  She flexed her hands on the steering wheel. When she was stressed, her RA—rheumatoid arthritis—flared up. Hardly a moment of her life passed without her experiencing a low level of pain. A hum beneath her skin that she'd been forced to get accustomed to. But when stress increased... She'd be lucky if she made it through the rehearsal dinner tonight without keeling over.

  Her wedding duties weren't the cause of her stress. Nor was the bride, her best friend.

  "It's for Claire," she continued. "It'll be fine."

  But as her little coupe crawled down the gravel drive, her heart crawled into her throat.

  Quinn was no coward. She had a job she loved—that she was good at, darn it. She had solid friends, including Claire, and was independent and professional.

  But she really didn't want to be here this weekend.

  The driveway ended beneath a copse of trees. The two-story farmhouse had been converted into an exclusive B&B. A line of full, squat pine trees offered a windbreak and an extra sense of privacy from the flat pasture that would've allowed the house to be seen from the road, even though it was set a quarter mile back on the property.

  She should have been thrilled for the opportunity to unwind and spend time with Claire.

  And she would be thrilled if it weren't for the man parked just off the covered front porch. She watched him now pulling a suitcase from the trunk of his sedan.

  Quinn's ex-boyfriend, Andrew.

  It was too late to put the coupe in reverse and back down the drive. Claire was probably watching from inside the B&B. She'd have seen Quinn arrive. Plus, Andrew would know she still cared. And she hated that thought more than she hated the idea of spending the weekend with him as one of the groomsmen.

  She could do this.

  She just needed rhino-thick skin and a makeover.

  At least one of those would happen tomorrow before the wedding.

  "You need a wedding date," Claire had said a month ago when Quinn had confessed she wasn't looking forward to being face-to-face with Andrew for the weekend.

  Claire had given her a hopeful smile, but Quinn had quickly shut that down. "My work schedule isn't good for dating." She was on-air six nights a week. Her schedule had been one of the things that Andrew complained about constantly.

  But Claire's smile had turned mischievous. "Trust me. I'll find you an awesome wedding date."

  Quinn had vetoed that plan, and Claire had let it drop.

  Now, Quinn regretted that decision.

  She had to get out of the car.

  Andrew had glanced her way as he pulled a second suitcase from his trunk. She'd shut off her engine, and her car clicked and clinked as it cooled. If she delayed any longer, it would be awkward.

  Still, she delayed.

  Because she was awkward. She'd lacked the social graces her girlfriends had possessed in spades, even back in junior high and high school. She was the worst at reading social cues, and she couldn't flirt to save her life.

  Not that it mattered. Flirting was the absolute last thing she wanted to do right now. She didn't want Andrew to talk to her—insult her—at all.

  She found the nerve to move. As she pushed the driver's door open, the B&B's front door opened, too. She'd hoped for Claire, but it was the groom's older brother who strode out onto the porch.

  Wilder Caine.

  Quinn's shoulders drew up even tighter, if that were possible.

  Wilder had been the one who'd mopped her up at the disastrous engagement party six months ago. Andrew had broken up with her hours before, and then he’d brought some bimbo to the party. Quinn had held on to her pseudo-composure for hours, but as the party wound down, she'd slunk onto the patio and dissolved into tears.

  It had been humiliating.

  Wilder had witnessed the entire meltdown.

  She'd known he would be here, but she'd been more concerned about Andrew. One man to be humiliated over per weekend was more than enough.

  Wilder didn't stop on the porch, didn't raise a hand to greet Quinn's ex.

  He strode purposefully down the B&B steps and straight toward her.

  Was he giving her cover to go into the house unobtrusively? A buffer, maybe? That, she would take.

  She swung her shaky legs out, then forced herself to stand.

  Her stomach flipped as he drew near, and she stood awkwardly between her car and the open door. The nearer he got, the more trapped she felt. And he was already uncomfortably near.

  What was he doing?

  "Hey, babe." His greeting came with an intimate smile that hit her squarely in the chest.

  Who'd he think he was, speaking to her like such a chauvinist? If she could've caught her breath, she would've told him not to call her that.

  Well, she probably would've told him. She didn’t like to be rude.

  And then he was inches away, looming over her. Way closer than friendship dictated and miles beyond the boundaries of her personal bubble.

  His confident smile was like a tractor beam, and she stood frozen as one of his hands settled at her waist. The other cupped her jaw.

  What are you doing?

  The words were trapped in her head, so of course he didn't hear her.

  He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her lips.

  Not a friendly kiss. Not a simple brush of his mouth.

  A casual kiss like that, she might've been able to reason away.

  On what planet…? The sensible part of her brain screamed.

  But this… There was no reasoning. This kiss was a claiming. His lips slanted over hers as if they'd done this before. As if he’d been starving for her. As if his life had depended on kissing her.

  Her stomach backflipped, every nerve ending in
her body coming to life. Heat flared in her chest and rose up through her neck into her face.

  "Mmm," he said as he pulled back. His eyes were smiling at her, fine lines crinkling at the edges, but the rest of his face smoldered. "Hi."

  She realized that somehow her hand had come up to clutch his wrist. Had her subconscious wanted to push him away? Or pull him closer?

  "What—?" Is happening?

  A trunk slammed closed, and she jolted, the sound cutting her query short.

  Andrew stomped up to the porch, suitcases in hand. Pointedly not looking in her direction.

  She was trembling, trying to piece together what had just happened.

  Andrew disappeared inside.

  Wilder's hand fell from her waist, but he didn't back away. His other hand settled over the car door, which meant she was still trapped.

  She gaped at him.

  Her interpersonal relationship skills were sorely lacking, but even through her broken filters, she knew this was all wrong.

  She didn't even know Wilder. She’d barely spoken to him one time.

  "What—?" she started again, but the question trailed off as she looked up into his face.

  He was gazing at her like he was going to kiss her again. His chin dipped just so, his eyes slightly narrowed and focused intently on her mouth.

  Then he frowned. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

  Wilder's voice had emerged gruffer than the casual tone he'd intended.

  Because, that kiss...

  He hadn't meant to fall into it like that. Her lips had tasted sweet, and the soft surrender she'd given him was even sweeter. Her surprise had quickly turned into a passion that surprised him.

  Something he didn't want to think about too hard.

  At his words, her lips had thinned, pressed into a tight line. She tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. "Claire put you up to this? I told her I didn't want a wedding date."

  No one—except his own impulse—had put him up to anything. He'd just had to be the hero, hadn't he? He'd been minding his own business in the B&B lobby, fielding a phone call from one of his employees, when he'd seen Quinn sitting in her car. It'd been too far a distance for him to make out the details of her expression, but his brain had filled in the blanks, playing the memory of her tear-stained face the night of the engagement party.

  He'd wanted to kiss her then.

  So today, he'd just gone ahead and done it?

  What was wrong with him? She probably had another boyfriend by now.

  Except she'd just said she hadn’t wanted Claire to find her a wedding date. Which meant she needed a wedding date.

  He could work with that.

  Now, he propped his arm along the top of her car door and let his gaze track along the sweep of hair against her cheek, the spray of freckles across her nose, the flecks of gold in her ocean-blue eyes.

  She glared at him, arms crossed over her midsection. "I don't need your pity."

  He let a slow smile slip free.

  She blinked once before she glanced away.

  "Claire didn't ask me to do anything," he said. "I saw you sitting in your car and thought you might need a rescue. Was I wrong?"

  Her chin jutted out at a stubborn angle even as she turned her face to one side, giving him her cheek. "I rescue myself."

  She was adorable.

  And she wasn't his type. Not that he had a type, per se. He liked all kinds of women. Short, tall, slender, full-figured. Blondes. Brunettes. Redheads.

  He wasn't picky.

  But he didn't usually waste his energy chasing someone who wasn't interested. And tall, prickly Quinn was sending uninterested signals right and left.

  Except for the soft pink blush that had spread up her neck and into her cheeks.

  She hadn’t been unaffected by his kiss. She was forcing this hostility.

  And he was officially intrigued.

  Wilder had come across her in tears at the tail-end of the engagement party six months before. An emotional female was nothing new to him. He and Nick had a younger sister, Shelby, and during her adolescence, they'd fielded plenty of crying jags. Wilder had dated extensively in his twenties and had seen women cry for numerous reasons. To manipulate. To entice comfort. To put on a show.

  Quinn hadn't been crying like that. She'd tried to hide her tears, first by finding a private place, and then, when he'd wrapped his arms around her to give her comfort, by trying to push away from him. Still hiding, even though he'd seen her sobbing.

  It wasn't the kind of encounter that should've interested him at all, but ever since that night, all those blondes and brunettes and redheads he’d crossed paths with hadn’t even earned a second look. No, since that night, he’d been thinking about Quinn.

  Not that he was going to tell her that.

  She was growing nervous under his scrutiny. Or maybe she was just ready to get away from him. She uncrossed her arms and hit a button next to the steering wheel. The trunk opened.

  He flashed her a grin and stepped behind the car. "I'll get your bags, babe."

  She'd leaned in across the driver's seat to retrieve something. "I'm not…" She tried to straighten, forgetting she was half-inside the car, and whacked her head on the doorframe.

  He heard her bite back an expletive and had to clench his jaw to keep from chuckling. Man, she was a firecracker.

  In the trunk, he found only a long, clear garment bag and a carry-on sized suitcase, evidence of her efficiency in packing. Impressive. Wilder lifted both, slinging her floor-length bridesmaid's dress over his shoulder.

  Closing the trunk with his elbow, he came face-to-face with her again. She had one hand pressed to the top of her head. The other hand carried the biggest purse he'd ever seen. Purse wasn't the right word. It was almost a suitcase itself.

  He retracted his positive thoughts about her packing ability.

  "I can carry my own stuff." A hard line creased her forehead. "And don't call me babe."

  "Already got it." He tossed her a wink, knowing it would infuriate her. "Why don't you just enjoy the view, darlin'?"

  That kind of flirtatious statement usually won him a narrow-eyed glance. He’d always hoped those looks were to check out his build, which he worked hard on.

  But Quinn barely skimmed her eyes in his direction, even though the sleeve of his T-shirt had ridden up far enough to reveal his bicep, and he was flexing, just a little.

  She rolled her eyes. "No darlin', either. Have you forgotten that I've known Claire for years? I know all about your ridiculous exploits."

  He used his elbow to nudge her toward the farmhouse and fell into step beside her. "Exploits is a bit of an exaggeration." So, he liked women. He enjoyed having someone to chat with over dinner, liked finding out the little things that made one person different from another. He didn't much care for long-term situations, but that was okay. There were plenty of women looking for casual.

  Unfortunately, Quinn didn't seem to be one of them.

  "I'm not interested in a wedding-weekend fling," she said. And the set of her jaw, the muscle ticking in her cheek, seemed to be the exclamation point on that sentence.

  "That's too bad," he said as they reached the wide wrap-around porch. "It'd sure keep your ex off your case, don't you think?"

  She sent him a scathing glance over her shoulder, but he didn't miss the haunted look in her eyes.

  He held the door and followed her inside, the air-conditioned interior refreshingly cool after the blazing Texas heat.

  Inside, Wilder's mom and great aunt were perched on a settee in the overly-girlie lobby area. Flowers and doilies weren't his thing, but he guessed it made a nice venue for a wedding.

  He was more of a two-of-us-on-the-beach kind of guy. Or he would be, if he ever changed his mind about the institution of marriage.

  Quinn's ex was standing at the dark-stained wood front desk, where Wilder had picked up his room key earlier. Since the wedding party had the entire B&B reserved, an
d since the proprietor, who was a friend of his mom's, was catering the wedding, all the room keys had been laid out on the counter, assignments noted on a white board, and a register left open for each person to sign in.

  It only took about thirty seconds to figure out the setup, which meant the ex was loitering there for a different reason.

  Quinn seemed to realize it, too, and if Wilder wasn't mistaken, she scooted closer to him. Close enough for their elbows to bump.

  Wilder had never been one to let a golden opportunity slip away. He set her suitcase on the lobby floor and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Mom, look who's here," he called out.

  Quinn found herself caught between two bad decisions. Go it alone this weekend, dateless and pathetic, and face-off with Andrew, or lean into this... this thing with Wilder.

  His arm was thick and warm around her shoulders. She knew he owned a moving company in Austin, and, well... the body she was snuggled up against felt like a solid wall of muscle. Like he was one of the guys out hauling people's heavy furniture and boxes, not the owner sitting in an office somewhere.

  Being close like this flustered her, and she only caught the end of Mrs. Caine's greeting. "...was the drive up, dear?"

  "Um, fine," she squeaked. "Traffic was light this time of day." Was Andrew still over there? If he'd gone to his room, she could step away from Wilder.

  But the man beside her seemed to have other ideas. "Aunt Ruby, didn't you tell me you've been listening to Quinn's show?"

  Oh, bother.

  She hated it when people brought up her radio talk show. Too often, people—even listeners—were condescending, sometimes mentioning how radio was going the way of the dinosaurs. Her ratings begged to differ.

  But she hated it even more when people complimented her.

  The older woman was all smiles, though she was glancing suspiciously between Quinn and Wilder. "Ever since we talked about it at the engagement party."