âOh my gosh!â She pointed to the offending object on his ring finger. âYouâre married! I just spent the night with a drunk, married man.â
She pulled her white four-hundred-thread-count shroud tighter around her body, as if she could vanish from the shame and his anonymous wifeâs impending wrath.
âWhat are you talking about?â Drew asked as he picked up a plain white undershirt and pulled it on over his head. âIâm not married.â
âBut we did spend the night together. And youâre wearing a wedding ring.â
He squinted his baby blue eyes at his finger, looking truly puzzled by the gleaming jewelry. Then he turned his gaze to her, as if waiting for her to explain the whole situation to him.
Well, good luck with that, Mr. Not Married. She had no idea what was going on. She struggled to get her improvised garment back into position, and her breath caught when she saw what had caught his attention.
âYou have one, too.â His tone was casual, lacking any judgment or accusation.
She stared at the matching band on her own ring finger.
For the first time in history, Kylie Chatterson, former pep leader of the Boise State Cheer Team, second runner-up for Miss Idaho USA and current CPA whiz, was at a loss for words.
* * *
Sugar Falls, Idaho: Your destination for true love!
To Betty Lou Astleford, a consummate peacemaker who also ran off and got married despite her motherâs warnings that if she married âthat man,â he would never be able to afford shoes for her children.
Your strong marriage was a priceless gift to your you bought us to prove your mother wrong. And you really taught me how to splurge on a good pair of shoes. I love you, Momoo.
Chapter One
Every morning for the first thirty years of her life, Kylie Chatterson had woken up alone.
Until today.
Sheâd barely rolled over on the hotelâs plush mattress when her sleepy eyes did a double take at the fair-haired, angelic-looking man snuggled up beside her.
Who in the world was heâand how in the world had he gotten here?
His muscular body was chiseled like the marble statue of a Greek god, but this work of art was warmer and much more real. The brutal morning sun intruded through the wide-open curtains sheâd obviously neglected to close, shedding unnecessary light on her growing sense of shame.
Kylie held her breath, commanding her body to stay still so her spinning head could add up all the facts.
Fact one. Sheâd flown to Reno for her friendâs coed bachelor/ette party yesterday. This was definitely the room sheâd checked into because her fuchsia cheetah-print suitcase was haphazardly propped on the luggage rack at the foot of the bed. So at least she was where she was supposed to be. That was good.
Fact two. She remembered meeting up with some of the wedding party and having one or two cocktails in the casino bar. She normally didnât drink much, so it couldnât have been more than a couple. Could it? She spotted three plastic oversize souvenir cups by the TV stand. That wasnât so good, but it explained the throbbing at the base of her scalp, her queasy stomach and her lack of memory.
Donât feel, she commanded herself. Just think and solve the problem.
Fact three. There was a dyed-blue carnation bouquet next to an instant photo in a cheesy cardboard frame from the Silver Rush Wedding Chapel that read Hitched in Reno on the bedside table next to her. The image was too grainyâor maybe her eyes were too fuzzy to seeâbut she was definitely the one holding up the ugly flowers in the picture. She carefully stretched out her arm, trying to bring the photograph closer and into focus without waking the sleeping Adonis beside her. She squinted at the photo. Had they gone to some sort of Wild Westâthemed bar last night? Maybe that was where sheâd met the guy next to her, because he was in the picture, too.
She let out a quiet breath while she carefully studied the shot for more clues. She and Mr. Adonis looked as if they were sitting in a covered pioneer wagon. Next to them sat two people wearing costumes reflecting Nevadaâs silver mining heritage. At least she hoped those were costumes. This was really weird, unless...
She glanced over her bare shoulder. The perfectly formed male snored softly away in her bed, and, as she let her gaze drift past the golden features of his face, she rethought her earlier angel appraisal. There was nothing cherubic about the man from the neck down. Had some of the bachelorettes ended up at an all-male revue show?