“It’s not working.”

Lexie Kowalsky jumped like someone had stuck a pin in her. Beneath the bill of a ridiculous hat, she raised her deep blue gaze. “What?”

“If you’re trying to blend in with the locals, it’s not working.” Not when her hair stuck out like straw from beneath a cap that made it look like she had a fish swimming through her head.

“What makes you think I’m trying to blend?” She raised a cup of coffee and blew into it.

And not when, despite the hair and the fish, she looked good enough to spread on the table and eat. “I talked to Jimmy before he left.” Sean took the chair across from her at the Waffle Hut. “I hear people are taking a whole lot of interest in looking for you.” He’d also seen the whole cast of The View talking about her at his mother’s house just before he’d escaped her nonstop health complaints.

As a couple of tourists walked past in parkas and rubber fishing boots, Lexie ducked her face and reached up as if adjusting the bill of her cap. “There’s a Cancun vacation from Hoda and Kathie Lee at stake.” With her hand covering the side of her face, she asked, “Are you going to rat me out?”

“No.”

“Thank you.” She pushed her hair over her shoulders and sighed as if relieved by his answer.

“I’ve been to Cancun many times.” He lowered his gaze as a lock of her hair slid back over her shoulder and rested against the fish on her T-shirt. The Spirit of Sandspit sculpture was the pride of the community and one of the first things tourists saw when they landed at the airport, but stretched across her big breasts, the salmon looked more like a whale. “It’s not my favorite vacation destination.”

A waitress approached, and Sean paused as she set down a plate of waffles and bacon and a little pitcher of syrup.

“Can I get ya anything, Sean?” she asked.

The woman wore a sleeveless fleece over a red turtleneck and looked at him through glasses sitting a little crooked on her face. He was sure she was a friend of his mother’s, but he couldn’t recall her name. It was past noon and he ordered a Molson to take the edge off the pounding in his head. His gaze slid to her badge. “Thank you, Louise.”

“My pleasure.” She glanced at the top of Lexie’s fish cap. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“Coffee, please.”

He continued their conversation as he watched Louise walk away. “Now, if someone offers a trip to Cozumel . . .” He returned his gaze to Lexie. “That’s a whole different ball game. I’d have to turn you in for a chance at a Cozumel vacation.”

“Seriously?”

No. “Yep. There’s a little bar on the southern tip of the island that serves the coldest beer, cranks the best reggae, and encourages the women to go topless.”

A disapproving frown pulled at the corners of her full kiss-me-baby lips as her long fingers with short, pale pink nails wrapped around the syrup. “Classy.”

“This from the woman who chased pigs on national television.”

“And won.” She drizzled syrup into the deep waffle squares. “Without getting very muddy, I might add.”

He sat back and folded his arms over his chest covered in a gray Henley. “I wouldn’t know about the mud. I never watched the show.”

She set the pitcher on the table and glanced at him. “Then how do you know about the pig?”

“I saw it on a commercial.”

She placed a paper napkin on her lap, then picked up her fork and knife to slice off a piece of waffle. One bite and she sighed. Her eyes closed and the corners of her lips lifted as if she was in heaven. “Mmmm. So good.” Or having an orgasm. Damn.

She swallowed and her eyes opened. “You never watched the show?”

“No,” he answered as the waitress set his beer on the table.

“How’s your mama doin’ with that leaky pancreas?” the waitress asked.

Sean just smiled like he always did and looked up into the woman’s face, probably aged beyond her years by the harsh, salty air. “Better.”

“She must be in a world of pain.”

“I believe she’ll make a complete recovery.” Like always.

“Last time I saw her, it was . . .” Louise paused in momentary thought. “Geez, it was probably at the trade show this past October. She mentioned she might be moving to the States with you.”

Which was why he was in Sandspit. To make sure she didn’t.

“She just can’t take the winters. Poor thing.” Louise’s eyes pinched at the corners like she was trying to figure out why the woman eating like a lumberjack seemed familiar.

“She sure is proud of you.”

Sean watched Louise watch Lexie. The top half of Lexie’s face was hidden from Louise’s view beneath the bill of a fish hat. “I’ll tell Mother you asked about her.”

“Okay.” Louise’s brows lowered and she turned to leave. “Enjoy.”

Sean glanced over his shoulder as she walked away. “I’m sure she didn’t recognize you.” He turned back to Lexie, her head still ducked.

He watched her mouth as she asked, “How sure?”

“Fairly.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” Slowly she lifted her face, the brim sliding up her cheeks and nose to her deep blue eyes. “What’s a leaky pancreas?”

Fiction. “She doesn’t have a leaky pancreas. Louise is mistaken.” He reached for his beer and took a drink.

“What’s wrong with her?”

Sean shrugged and lowered the glass. “We were talking about you and that idiotic show,” he said to change the subject away from his mother’s pretend illness.

“I never should have gone on that stupid show.” She dabbed her mouth with the paper napkin and reached for her coffee. “I should have figured out some other way to get national exposure for Yum Yum’s Closet.” She sliced off a bite of waffle and put it in her mouth.

That’s right. Through the blur of a pouf and gauze, he recalled her mentioning something about a dog clothes business last night. “Sounds more like you never should have won.”

She lifted one shoulder in agreement and placed a napkin in her lap. “I’m supercompetitive.” She took a bite of waffle and chewed. A drop of syrup rested on her bottom lip.

That’s what he’d heard about her. He watched the drop for several seconds before the tip of her tongue licked it away.

“I come by it naturally, on my dad’s side. He used to play hockey for the Seattle Chinooks and had a reputation for scoring goals and fighting.”

He knew that, and it was part of the reason he’d sought her out.

“His name is John Kowalsky. If you live in Seattle, you might have heard of him.”

“Most people have heard of John.” He’d had his first ass-chewing from the coach the very same week he’d moved to Seattle and put on his Chinooks jersey. He’d scored a hat trick against the Sharks, and the coach had pulled him into his office to bitch at him. “Goddamn it, Knox,” he’d said with his finger in Sean’s face. “This is a team sport. Your cocky showboating is disrespectful as fuck!” Sean had heard it before, but he had the skill to back it up, and the fans loved it when he rode his stick after scoring a goal. Just three nights ago, Kowalsky had chewed his ass again. He’d scored the winning goal in the last five seconds of the game, and had ridden his stick from one end of the ice to the other.

“A lot of people look up to my dad.” Lexie took another bite and swallowed.

“He’s a hockey great.” Sean would give him that.

“Yeah. He’s a great guy, too.”

He probably wouldn’t go that far.

“His heart is just a big marshmallow.”

He definitely wouldn’t go that far.

“Unless you get on his bad side.” She stabbed another piece of waffle. “He’ll come at you hard if you get on his bad side.” She paused in thought as she chewed. “But that rarely happens. A person has to do something really offensive, like steal from poor people.” She reached for her coffee. “When I was ten, he actually caught a guy trying to steal from a Salvation Army bucket. So he put him in a headlock and fed him his lunch.” She raised the cup and added as she blew into the coffee, “He hates cocky showboating about as much as I hate dog beaters.” She set her cup on the table and looked across at him. “You never did mention what you do for a living.”

He was on the same level as a dog beater? “Nothing as exciting as chasing pigs and running away from weddings.” He took a drink of his beer and sucked the foam from his top lip. Last night, her cluelessness about him had seemed kind of funny. Like an inside joke. Not to mention a few extra hours before he had a conversation with John about a certain wedding dress and flying buttons. In the light of day, not so funny. He’d sought her out today to tell her that he was a Chinook. It wasn’t a secret and she was bound to find out. He’d looked for her today to tell her and because there were parts of last night she might not want her dad to know about. He would be willing to help her out because he was a nice guy, but now she’d called him a thieving, dog-beating showboat, and he didn’t feel like helping her or telling her shit. “What do your folks think of you being the runaway Gettin’ Hitched bride?”

“Not happy. Mortified. Worried.” She looked away and took a bite. “Once my dad got over his initial blowup, he was okay. But my mom . . .” She shrugged a shoulder. “She’s happy that I didn’t marry Pete, but she’s hurt that I didn’t come to her instead of running away.”

Sounded reasonable to Sean. “What did your folks think about you being on the show? Chasing pigs and competing for that Pete guy?”

“I didn’t talk to them while we were taping, but of course I could guess.” She put her fork down and reached for her coffee.

“You couldn’t contact them?”

“Yes, but we could only make one call a week on the phone in the Hitchin’ House, and those were recorded. I didn’t want a recording of my mom crying and my dad swearing over the pig phone.”

“Pig phone?”

“It was a landline phone shaped like a pig.” She took a sip from her cup. “It was pink and grunted instead of ringing.”

Of course it did. “What did your parents think about your groom?”

“Dad thinks Pete’s a pansy ass.”

“Is he?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged one shoulder. “My mother couldn’t quit crying and thought I shouldn’t marry a man I didn’t know. She was right. I’d had two solo dates with him, but we weren’t really alone. The whole film crew was there.”

“Are you shitting?”

“No. Some of the other girls met him alone in his private Pig Pen.” A separate bungalow on the property which housed his euphemistically titled bedroom, Hog Heaven. “I never went to his Pig Pen.”

“Again.” He leaned forward. “Are you shitting?”

“No. I didn’t want to humiliate my parents or embarrass myself.”

That wasn’t what shocked him. “You were going to marry a man you didn’t know and hadn’t spent any time alone with?”

“I know it sounds crazy.” From beneath the fish head on her hat, she lifted her gaze to the picture of the Pesuta shipwreck on the wall behind him as if to gather her thoughts. “But the show was crazy.” Her brows lowered. “We got caught up in it. At least I did.”

He held up one finger. “Your parents didn’t want you to marry him.” A second finger. “You didn’t want to marry him.” Then a third. “So why in the hell were you getting ready to marry him?”

She returned her gaze to his and said as if it made perfect sense, “Our pictures were on the tea towels, as the saying goes.”

What saying? And what the hell was a tea towel?

“We did manage to have a few moments alone when the camera crew packed up for the day. Like after the surf challenge.” She took another drink and shook her head. “He did seem really moody that day. Like someone forgot to put sprinkles on his birthday cake.” Her nose wrinkled. “We were still on the beach and I was busy trying not to stare at his disturbingly long toenail.”

“What?”

“That should have been my first clue that I couldn’t marry him.” She set her cup on the table. “Then he said he doesn’t like little dogs—which normally qualifies as a deal breaker.”

His toenails and dislike of dogs were probably the least of the problems between them. “A lot of people don’t like little dogs.”

One brow winged up her forehead. “In my experience, men who don’t like little dogs are compensating for something.”

He leaned back and reached for his glass. “Like what?” He knew what she meant; he just wanted to hear her say it.

Beneath the brim of her cap, her eyes moved back and forth as if she was a perp in a room filled with cops. Her cheeks turned pink and she lowered her voice like she was going to say something shockingly vulgar. “Small penis.”

That was it? Penis? Sean hated the word “penis.” It sounded small. “Not all men who don’t like little dogs are hung like babies.”

“How many men do you know who don’t like little dogs?”

Just him, and he didn’t have a problem in the hung department. He took a long pull of beer, then asked, “Explain it to me again. Why in the hell were you about to marry a moody guy with bad toenails and small junk?”

“Well, if you love someone—”

“Don’t tell me you loved the guy,” he interrupted. “It doesn’t happen that way.”

Her big eyes rounded. “How many times have you been in love?”

“Enough to consider marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Never.”

“Then you don’t qualify as an expert.”

“Not saying I’m an expert. Just curious how a girl like you ends up engaged to a man she doesn’t even know.”

“A girl like me?”

Mindful of the trap women set to snap off a man’s leg, he answered carefully, “Not ugly.”

“Pressure.” She sat back in her chair. “And convincing myself that it was love at first sight.”

He scoffed.

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“No.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I believe in lust at first sight.” He was looking at it square in the face. Staring into lust. Lust and chaos. A dangerous combination for him.

She sighed and gave up the pretense of maybe, sort of, could have been in love. “I told myself that I was probably wrong about his moodiness, and I figured he could get pedicures.” She set her knife and fork on her plate and pushed the remains of her waffle away. “Everyone can’t help but fall in love with Yum Yum and . . . and we could compensate.”

He shook his head. “Princess, there’s no compensating for a small dick.”

“I once dated a guy and . . .” Her voice trailed off and she didn’t finish.

“Exactly.” He looked at her, sitting there in her ridiculous fish hat, looking absolutely beautiful. Sean Knox had sat across from a lot of beautiful women. Some were a punch in the gut and a feast for the eyes. Others piqued his curiosity and left him wanting more. Lexie was both: a double dose of seduction and cut with some grade A drama. That made her a trifecta of trouble. The kind he didn’t need.

He raised one hip and pulled a wallet from his worn Levi’s. Last night, he got a real good glimpse of her corset. He imagined it had been designed for her wedding night, and the thought of some man peeling her out of it had made him peel out of the Harbor Inn parking lot, once he’d dropped her and Jimmy off.

He’d needed to put some distance between him and Lexie Kowalsky, but here he was. Back again, thinking about her underwear and soft skin. “I got your waffles covered.” Sean pulled out a green queen and tossed it on the table. He’d checked up on his coach’s daughter. It was the right thing to do and bound to make him look like a hero in the eyes of his teammates.

“Are you leaving?”

He glanced up from the twenty and into her blue eyes. “Yeah.”

“Where are you going?”

He’d done his duty.

“To your mom’s?”

“Maybe.” He shoved the wallet back into his pocket and stood.

“I’d love to meet her.”

“Why?” She rose also. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly subject themselves to Geraldine Brown.

“Well . . . she’s sick with a leaky pancreas. That sounds . . . debilitating. I could help out and . . . make some soup.”

Soup wasn’t going to cure his mother’s hypochondria.

“I am an excellent nurse and I have people skills.”

“No. Thank you.”

She grabbed his forearm and dropped the pretense of a soup-making nurse with people skills. “I’m bored to death, but I can’t exactly walk around town. I might get recognized.” He ran his gaze from the top of her head, down the fish hat and shirt, to the baggy sweats tucked into a pair of ugly boots. Sean wasn’t an expert in women’s fashion, but he hated baggy sweats and fucking Uggs. “If I have to spend all my time cooped up in my room, I’ll go crazy.”

He didn’t owe her anything. Hell, he’d already given her his shirt and paid for her breakfast. The thought of her chatting it up with his mother made his brows pinch together.

Her eyes widened and her grasp on him tightened. “I’ll go all Bates Motel.”

For a few seconds, he gave it some thought as he lowered his gaze to her hand wrapped around his forearm. She was fresh meat for his mother’s deathbed stories, the ones she told repeatedly to anyone within hearing or shouting distance of her. If he threw Lexie to his mother, she’d refocus her attention away from him.

When he didn’t answer right away, Lexie took that for a yes, and a big smile curved her lips and lit up her eyes. She released him and grabbed a worn bomber jacket that had to belong to Jimmy. She shoved her arms through the sleeves, then followed him out of the waffle house. Fresh snow crunched beneath their boots, and puffs of their breath hung in the air as they walked to his mother’s Subaru. Sean opened the passenger door as Lexie shoved a hand down the front of her shirt. His breath caught in his lungs, leaving only her little puffs to hang between them.

“Chap Stick,” she said, as if that explained anything. Her hand fished around between her breasts before she pulled out a tube of Burt’s Bees. “I don’t have a purse or pockets in my sweats. This jacket has huge holes instead of pockets.” She coated her lips with honey-scented balm.

“What else do you have in there?” He was tempted to look for himself.

“The phone Jimmy bought for me.” She shoved the yellow tube back down her shirt. “Don’t freak out if you hear ‘Crazy Train’ coming from my bra. That’s my ringtone. It seemed appropriate.” She got into the car and said, “Thanks for letting me tag along. I won’t cause problems. I promise.”

She broke that promise before he drove from the parking lot. “Can we stop somewhere so I can get some bottles of water?”

“I thought you weren’t going to cause problems.” They stopped at a drugstore, where she hung a blue plastic basket from her elbow. She filled it with two bottles of water, a bag of pretzels, breath mints, mascara, and a “zit stick.”

“Thanks, Sean.” She grinned as they pulled away from the store. “I won’t cause you any trouble now.”

He doubted it. From the top of her fish hat to the bottoms of her ugly boots, Lexie Kowalsky was all kinds of trouble. The kind that—All aboard! Ozzy Osbourne yelled from Lexie’s boobs. Sean accidentally jerked the wheel and nearly drove off the road. Ozzy laughed like a lunatic as she dug into her shirt. I, I, I, I . . .

Lexie pulled out a TracFone and glanced at it before answering. “Hi, Marie. Oh yeah? Did Jimmy give you this number?” She listened for several moments, then said, “Sandspit, British Columbia.” There was a brief pause, then she said slowly, “Sandspit . . . British Columbia . . . No. Sand—spit.” She spelled it out, then laughed. “I know, right?”

Sean drove up the two-lane road and gathered from the one-sided conversation that the driver of the silver clown car was on the other end of the line. Lexie scratched her head beneath the fish hat.

“I’ll be home day after tomorrow,” she said as he turned up a gravel drive. “Come over and we’ll open a bottle of wine and order takeout . . . Okay. Love you, too.” She ended the call, and the phone went back down her shirt. Then she placed her hands on the outside of her T-shirt, cupping the undersides of her breasts, and adjusted herself.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She pushed one side and then the other.

Sean forced his gaze from her shirt as he drove around a weathered A-frame house that had once been the main lodge at a KOA. He pulled to a stop and glanced at Lexie adjusting herself one last time. “Do you need help?”

She looked across at him, blinked as if she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone, then said, “I got it.”

“What you got down there beside a phone and Chap Stick?” And big breasts.

“A couple of toonies, some sawbucks, and a Borden.” She dropped her hands. “My driver’s license and hotel key.”

Money and a hotel key. “You have a lamp in there like Mary Poppins?”

“I wish I had a magic carpetbag, right about now.” She didn’t wait for him to walk to her side to open her door. “I’d pull out my makeup bag, good shampoo, and black cloche.”

Sean had no idea what a cloche was, and didn’t think he wanted to find out.

“And underwear.”

Underwear was something he did know about, especially the lacy stuff worn by Victoria’s Secret models. The sound of her boots on snow and gravel seemed unusually loud as she followed behind him toward the back door. He wondered if he should warn her about his mother. Give her a quick heads-up, but how could he explain Geraldine Brown? He’d tried in the past, but people tended not to believe him when he told them that his mother’s illnesses were all an act. That she was at death’s door at least twice a year. It sounded crazy because it was crazy. If he talked about it, people tended to think he was crazy, too. Either that or a coldhearted asshole of a son who didn’t care about his dying mother.

The back door squeaked as Sean opened it, and Lexie followed him inside. Instantly he was reminded of exactly why he’d stopped bringing his friends home at the age of twelve. Pill bottles and every kind of over-the-counter medicine took up most of the counter space. And just like when he’d been a kid, a rush of heat rose up his neck and face.

“Sean?”

He paused in the middle of the small kitchen as the old familiar heat scalded his esophagus. As a kid, he’d always had the most embarrassing mother on the block, or at his school, or sitting in the bleachers.

“Is that you? Are you back?”

This latest illness had been inspired at the medical clinic when a nurse suggested she get a glucose tolerance test for pancreatitis. “Were you expecting someone else?” Six months ago, she’d gone to the doctor for a scratchy eye, but she’d left his office at death’s door. Again. That time angina had come knocking and, of course, she’d answered.

He stepped into the living room and was somewhat relieved to see his mother lying in her recliner, covered by one of the multicolored afghans she was always crocheting. An Elasto-Gel Cranial Cap covered her head, secured with Velcro around her throat. He’d bought her the cooling cap when she’d had “meningitis.” What it had to do with her pancreas was a mystery. One he didn’t care to solve.

“I brought a guest,” he said, and glanced back at the woman close behind him. “Mom, this is Lexie Kowalsky.” He didn’t know which hat was stupider, the fish hat or the cranial cap. “Lexie, this is my mother, Geraldine Brown.”

Lexie stepped around him and moved to the recliner. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brown.” She actually took his mother’s hand and patted it.

Geraldine turned her head and studied Lexie. “You’re not a local girl.”

“No. I live in Seattle.”

“Well, Sean.” She looked from Lexie’s face to his. “You didn’t tell me that you’d brought . . . a special friend?”

Lexie wasn’t a special anything. “Surprise.”

“I’ll say.”

Lexie dropped his mother’s hand and Sean was almost certain she recognized the Gettin’ Hitched bride. Geraldine Brown watched nonstop television, and Lexie was big news. His mother didn’t mention anything about the show, and Sean grew suspicious.

“How long have the two of you known each other?”

Lexie looked over her shoulder at him and they answered at the same time.

“For a while” collided in midair with “Not long.”

Lexie’s eyes widened. “For a while, but sometimes it seems as if we just met,” she said, then turned her attention back toward his mother. “Has that ever happened to you?”

“Just once. Sean’s father was the love of my life. I felt like I’d known him forever, yet never long enough.” She sighed for dramatic effect. “We were soul mates, but he died when Sean was two.”

Theodore Knox had been his mother’s second husband. She’d gone on to marry once more.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Geraldine managed a chin quiver. “Thank you.”

For God’s sake. It had been twenty-five years. “It’s past noon. Are you hungry, Mother?” he asked before she went into her long-winded story of how she’d tried desperately to nurse the love of her life back to good health after a fall from a roof in Prince Rupert. His uncle Abe had always said that his mother had become addicted to the attention she received while caring for her dying husband and had turned into an attention-seeking hypochondriac afterward.

“I’m too nauseous to eat.” She reached up and adjusted the Velcro strap beneath her chin. “What do you have in mind?”

“I bought chicken, pasta, apples, bananas, and green vegetables.” His mother didn’t believe in fresh fruit and vegetables, but Sean was more mindful of what he put in his body. During the season, he consumed five thousand calories a day. He ate a prescribed diet of healthy carbs, lean protein, and fresh fruit and vegetables. He drank two to four liters of water, and the occasional vodka tonic or beer.

“Bread?”

“Multigrain.”

His mother’s scowl told him exactly how she felt about multigrain anything. “You know multigrains give me terrible gas and diarrhea.”

The last thing he wanted was to discuss her bodily functions. It might be her favorite subject, but he’d rather take a hammer to his skull. “Or I can stick a frozen pizza in the oven for you.”

“It has cheese. Cheese is good for me,” she argued like a kid, but at least she wasn’t studying Lexie’s face like she was about to jump up, all excited about the Gettin’ Hitched bride.

“Fake cheese.”

“Hot dog.”

“Lips and assholes.”

“You know . . .” Lexie said, and put a finger to her chin. “I can probably come up with something better for you, Mrs. Brown. A woman suffering with delicate health, as you do, needs proper nutrition. Not pizza.”

He’d been raised on hot dogs, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and frozen pizza. His mother didn’t like him or anyone telling her she wasn’t eating right. Although it was true, he half expected her to cross her arms over her chest and have a fit.

“I know you’re right,” she said.

What? It must have been the words “suffering with delicate health” that turned her so compliant. That or the Elasto-Gel had frozen her brain.

“I just ate, but I’d love to make you a good meal. I’m a really good cook,” Lexie assured them. “I get it from my mother’s side. Along with my talent for fashionable pet apparel.” With a slight smile, she turned on the heels of her boots and walked from the room and into the kitchen. He watched her go, his gaze sliding down her back and her long hair, pausing for a moment to appreciate the curve of her waist before stopping at her nice round butt. He didn’t know who was crazier, the woman in the cranial cap or the one in the fish hat.

“Sean,” his mother said just above a whisper.

He turned his attention to his mother and sat on the end of the sofa beside her chair. “What?”

“Do you know who she is?”

“Certainly.”

“She’s the Gettin’ Hitched bride. I was all set to watch the ceremony last night, only she ran away.” She pointed at him. “With you.”

“Not exactly. We were on the same plane.”

“You stole her from Pete!”

“No I didn’t.”

“You stole the Gettin’ Hitched bride!”

That’s why his mother hadn’t mentioned it right away. She thought they were together. Like a couple. “You’re wrong. It’s not what you’re imagining. We met on the plane last night.”

She placed a hand on her chest like she was about to have a heart attack. “Hand me the phone. I need to call Hoda and Kathie Lee.”

“You don’t want to go to Cancun. You don’t even have a passport.”

“I could get one. Quick, I need to call NBC.”

The thought of the world finding out that Lexie was with him, in his mother’s house, was frightening. “You can’t do that.” The sound of pots and pans drew his attention to the kitchen, then back again. While his mother would love that chaos, he would not. “You can’t call Hoda and Kathie Lee.”

“You’re right. Wendy Williams is offering a trip to Disney World in Orlando, Florida.” She stuck a finger beneath her cap and scratched her head. “I’d get a passport to go to the Magic Kingdom. I’d love to see that Cinderella’s Castle and maybe ride in a riverboat.”

“Since when?”

“Since I’d get to talk to Wendy and get a free trip to boot.”

He believed her. She’d jump from her chair and claw her way to the nearest airport for a chance to see Wendy and wreak havoc. He didn’t want that to happen for several very good reasons. First, the discovery of the Gettin’ Hitched bride would bring a mass of news crews and hordes of paparazzi to his mother’s front door. He could see himself standing between his mother in her cranial cap and Lexie in her fish hat, news camera rolling and cameras flashing, trying to look like the sane one. Second, the thought of his mother sitting on Wendy’s couch talking about her latest ailments gave him the same kind of red-faced anxiety as it had as a kid. He’d never known which mother would show up at the hockey games. The relatively normal mother or the one with the battery-powered heating pad, talking about her menstrual cramps. Or worse, the one exaggerating his own sickness, making chicken pox sound like MRSA. He’d been powerless to stop her then. He was an adult now. A hockey player who routinely took hard hits against the boards and returned the favor with a roundhouse punch to the face.

When Sean Knox stepped on the ice, he owned it. He was in control. Off the ice, he owned that, too. He was in control—except when it came to his mother. No one but his uncle Abe had possessed the ability to control his mother. He’d been the only person she’d even listened to, but he’d died two years ago and she was more out of control than ever.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

She stared hard in his eyes and jabbed a finger at him. “Why do you care? She’s not your girlfriend. You said you didn’t steal her from Pete.” Her gaze narrowed as if she was looking for any reason to call BS. “You just met her last night.”

He frowned and his eyeballs pinched. Again he thought of standing between both women wearing stupid hats, strobes flashing and cameras rolling. His entire brain squeezed as he forced himself to say, “Okay. You were right. I stole her from Pete.”

“Ha. Wait till I tell Wanda about this!” His mother crowed as she actually rubbed her hands together. “This is so much better than her son marrying Miss Maple Leaf, 2012. She’s been lording that over my head for five years now.”

Fuck! He didn’t know which hurt worse, the pain in his brain or in his eyeballs. God, somehow last night’s little ha-ha joke had turned into a full-blown secret. “You can’t call anyone. Not Hoda or Wendy or Wanda.” His brain. His brain definitely hurt worse. “We can’t have that kind of attention on us right now.”

“Humph.” She crossed her arms, clearly disappointed that she couldn’t lord her news over Wanda’s head. “What does your coach think about all this? One of his very own hockey players stealing his daughter on national TV?”

How in the hell had this happened? “He doesn’t know yet.” He wasn’t a liar. “Lexie doesn’t know yet.”

“Lexie doesn’t know you stole her from Pete?” She looked at him like he was the crazy one in the room. “I’m confused.”

She wasn’t the only one. “Of course she knows that.” He didn’t like secrets as much as he didn’t like lies. Mostly because he sucked at keeping them all straight, but here he was, smack in the middle of both. “Kowalsky doesn’t know Lexie is with me, and Lexie doesn’t know I play hockey for the Chinooks.” It was always best to go with the truth, and those two things were the truth. “And you can’t talk about it.”

“Are you okay, son?” She put her hand on his knee. “Did you get hit in the head without your helmet?”

It felt like it. Like a butt hit to the forehead.

“You need some Xanax.”

Great. His mother was prescribing medication.

“Or maybe I need the Xanax. I’m confused.” She reached for a prescription bottle on the TV tray next to her. “How could she not know you play hockey for the Chinooks?”

“She’s been out of town filming that stupid show since I was traded.” He shrugged. “Maybe because I played for Pittsburgh and she doesn’t pay attention to players from other teams. Maybe I look different without my helmet. I don’t know for sure, but she doesn’t even seem to recognize my name.” But even the truth had this whole thing spiraling into chaos. “Kowalsky doesn’t like me very much.” His mother still looked doubtful, and he added, “Lexie isn’t real bright. She has a lot of good qualities, but her attic’s a little dusty.”

“God compensates special people.” His mother smiled like a sudden flush of romance made her all warm inside. “You must really love her.”

Sean avoided chaos. He hated shit storms. He was responsible for both. He didn’t know quite how it had happened or how to stop it.

“You kidnapped her from Pete and right from under her dad’s nose, too.”

Kidnap? Love her? From under her dad’s nose?

Geraldine sighed. “She must be your soul mate.”

Good Lord! Soul mate? He tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know her. He wasn’t even sure he liked her. “Yeah. That’s it,” he lied.

“Then I won’t call Wendy or say a word to Wanda.” She lifted a pretend key and locked her lips. “For now,” she said out of one corner of her mouth. “Even though I’m about to bust.”

He wasn’t sure she wouldn’t bust the moment he turned his back. Not when a chance at the Wendy show and national attention dangled in front of her like a tantalizing illness. “Lexie probably needs help,” he managed as he stood. He fought the urge to run. To get the hell out of his mother’s crazy house. “Yell if you need anything,” he said over his shoulder as he walked from the room. Only he couldn’t run from the crazy he’d brought to the house with him.

Lexie stood at the kitchen sink, and if she hadn’t looked up and smiled, he might have hopped the ferry to Prince Rupert. From there, he’d catch a flight to Seattle or Pittsburgh. The team was on the road and he’d much rather get a shot to the cup than be anywhere near Sandspit.

The bright sun bounced off the snow outside, cut a blinding trail through the window, and caught in Lexie’s hair. The fish hat lay on the counter, and she turned her attention to meat she placed in a hot pan on the stove. “I’m making Asian pork tenderloin I found in the refrigerator. It’ll taste so good, Geraldine won’t even know she’s eating healthy,” she said as she put a lid on the pan. “I’ll make simple hoisin and a yummy cucumber salad.”

Sean glanced over his shoulder at his mother and the sharp rise in her brow. Despite the invisible lock and key, she needed convincing. He took a cheese grater from Lexie’s hand and tossed it on the counter.

“Why did you do that?” She turned toward him and lifted her gaze to his, confusion pulling at her brows.

“This is crazy.”

“I know! I need that to shred the cucumber.”

He slid his hand around her waist to the small of her back. “If you don’t want my mother to call The Wendy Williams Show for a chance at her dream vacation, make this look good.”

“What?”

“This.” He pulled her against his chest and slowly lowered his face to hers. “Kiss me like you mean it, Lexie,” he whispered against her mouth.

She sucked in a small breath. “Wendy, too?”

“Wendy, too.” He brushed a soft kiss against her lips, teasing a reaction out of her. Her eyes rounded but she didn’t push away. Her soft breasts rested against his chest, enflaming his body. He kissed her to save her from Wendy and himself from the chaos his mother always created. That was the only reason, he told himself. Her lush mouth parted, and the ache in the pit of his stomach slid between his legs. He struggled to keep the kiss easy even as he craved more. Even as desire smacked his chest and hit the pit of his stomach like a hot ball of lead. He was in control. In control of the chaotic pull making him hard, belying the soft touch of his mouth to hers. Then her hands slipped up his chest, across his shoulder, to the back of his neck. She combed her fingers through his hair, and a shudder worked through him, running down his spine from the back of his skull to his butt. He was tempted. So damn tempted to slide his tongue into her mouth and his hands to her behind, pull her against his hard dick.

All aboard! Lexie’s breast vibrated against his chest. I, I, I, I . . .

Sean dropped his hands and took a deep, cleansing breath. Saved at the last second by Ozzy Osbourne.