Blissed (Misfit Brides #1) (36 page)

“That’s a dime. And your coffee’s not brewing.”

“Hell.” He released her and bent under the table, then popped back up. “Unplugged. All fixed.”

Cameramen wandered around the tables. Duke followed, giving the audience a blow-by-blow of each husband’s difficulties.

And the crowd loved it.

By the time CJ’s coffee was ready, most of the other couples were already at the next obstacle at the twenty-yard line. CJ poured the coffee cup three-quarters full, then, still holding both the mug and the coffeepot, jerked his head down the field. “Let’s see some hustle.”

Nat pointed at the coffeepot. “You can’t—”

“Sure I can.” He grinned. “Rules said carry a full cup to the end. Didn’t say I can’t take refills.”

That was
exactly
the sort of thinking that had won him the Husband Games five years ago.

“
Go
, Nat.”

Together, they raced to their pile of two-by-fours at the twenty-yard line, then backtracked like the other couples, searching for the screws in the grass so CJ could build a free-standing doorframe. The cameras circled. Duke entertained the crowd with his running commentary, and Natalie wished the Hubstacle Course could last forever.

CJ started on the frame when he had enough screws. Natalie kept searching. When she had eight, she darted to deliver them. His drill wrenched out a sickening squeal that ended in an abrupt sputter. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “Huh.”

He dropped the battery out, glanced at it, shoved it back in, and pulled the trigger again.

Nothing.

“Oh, no,” Nat whispered.

“Ye of little faith.” He reached into his back pocket and whipped out a multitool, then flipped it open to the screwdriver. “Need six more, Nat. Get back to work.”

“Fine way to talk to your wife.”

“If you were my wife, I would’ve slapped your ass too.”

She stared at him a beat too long. She
did
love the feel of his hands on her ass.

“Go get the screws, Natalie.” But there was a heat in his eyes that hadn’t been there a minute before, and she felt an answering pull low in her belly.

“You dirty talker, you,” she murmured.

He clamped a board in place between his thighs and lined up the edge with the last piece of the square frame. “You haven’t seen dirty yet.”

Nat scampered back to scour the grass for more screws. There wouldn’t be dirty talk—not after what was coming next—but she was here to support him, so she’d find the screws.

By the time CJ finished his door frame, most every other couple—including Vi and Gilbert—were at the next obstacle. CJ handed Natalie the coffee mug and pot, and then—

“Ohmigod
,
”
Nat squealed.

He hefted her up in his arms, sloshing coffee over both of them. “Style points, right?” He marched her through the doorway, all the way from the twenty-yard line to the thirty-, where he deposited her gently at the edge of the next obstacle.

A temporary floor was laid out, and secondhand couches and recliners and lamps were scattered haphazardly on top of it. CJ plucked the instructions off a torchiere floor lamp. “Put it all in its place,” he read. He grinned at Natalie. “’Bout time I get to use these muscles for something.”

He hefted her into a chair, and then he went to work.

Three floors down, Dad was heaving against a purple floral recliner while Marilyn pointed to a mark on their portion of the floor. The couple closest to Nat and CJ, a younger couple that had won sometime since the flood, were pushing a pockmarked leather sofa to a strip of yellow tape that roughly matched the couch’s length.

CJ heaved and shoved at the furniture on their floor. Natalie couldn’t deny her primal satisfaction at watching him go caveman on the furniture.

He
did
have nice muscles.

And all too soon, they’d done their job. He had moved up to fourth place, behind Dad and Marilyn.

CJ carried the mug and the coffeepot while they raced to their next station at the forty-yard line. When they arrived, Natalie’s heart cramped.

Mom was up there in heaven laughing right now. She should’ve been
here
though. On the field. Watching. Celebrating.

This
obstacle was the reason she’d created the Hubstacle Course.

Another folding table held three glass mason jars full of a brown substance. CJ set down the coffee. “Open these?” he said. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Natalie said.

He twisted the first lid.

And grunted when it didn’t budge.

No doubt, Mom was watching from her cloud in heaven, cackling gleefully at finally disposing of the stash in the attic.

CJ tried the lid again.

And again.

“Natalie,” he said between grunts, “where the hell did these things come from?”

He twisted and twisted, but nothing gave.

“Grandma Stella,” Nat whispered.

CJ stopped. Looked at her. Wiped his forehead. “How—”

He shook his head, then whacked the jar on the edge of the table.

This time when he twisted, the band came off.

“I think you have to pop the seal too,” Natalie said.

He flipped open his multitool and pried the lid off. “
Holy mother,”
he gasped. “What
is
that?”

Natalie’s laughter came from deep, deep inside her.

Around them, other couples were groaning and moaning and shrieking.

But Natalie couldn’t stop laughing. Mom would’ve
loved
this. “Beets,” she gasped.

Hands on hips, CJ turned to face her. “How long’s Grandma Stella been dead?”

“S-seven y-years.”

“
Jesus
.”

He grabbed a second can, whacked it against the table, then twisted.

When the lid didn’t budge, he yanked his shirt off.

The crowd whooped.

So did a few of Natalie’s not-anywhere-near-dormant-anymore bits, despite her uncontrollable laughter.

CJ covered the lid with his shirt and twisted again, and this time, the lid came loose. He held the can as far away as possible and popped the lid with his pocket knife. “Good God.”

“Get it off! Get it off!”
Claudia Sweeney shrieked four tables down.

“Gilbert, go get that damn drill,” Vi shouted. “We’re getting done with this once and for all.”

There was laughter, there was chanting, there were cameramen gagging and backing away from the tables.

This
. This was what Mom had envisioned. A new challenge, nothing anyone had seen before, with reactions to rival the best reality television
anywhere
. They’d go viral on YouTube, get mentioned on
Good Morning America
, and Bliss’s place in history would be re-secured.

She’d done it.

Mom had done it.

Natalie’s hands shook. Her laughter faded, a thicker, heavier emotion took its place. Her throat clogged and her eyes stung.

Mom had done it. She should’ve been here to see this. To dance and laugh with Dad. To celebrate her victory. To rule her final Games.

CJ grabbed his last jar. “Where’s the hazmat unit?”

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

“Nat?” CJ said.

She waved her hands at the cans. “Keep going,” she said, but she had to push the words out.

“You’re crying.”

He sounded completely dumbfounded at the thought of a woman crying. He had all those sisters. She couldn’t comprehend how he couldn’t comprehend a woman crying.

“
You’re
crying,” he repeated.

“Oh, my
God
, what
is
that?” the young wife at the next table shrieked. Her husband gagged and spilled the congealed, God-only-knew-how-old beets all over the grass.

The crowd went wild.

This was Mom’s heaven.

She’d done it. And she wasn’t here to see it.

“Hell, Nat.” CJ pulled her into a hug against his warm, solid body. “They’re just beets.”

“Quit.” She shoved his chest, then swiped her eyes. “Win. I—I’m good.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like
damn women
, but he let her go and grabbed his last jar again. “So your cooking skills are inherited?”

It was impossible to pretend to be insulted, and the laughter felt good. “Nobody had the heart to tell her the beets were terrible.”

“Nobody?”

“She gave them to half our neighbors, and they gave them back to us.” Natalie’s laughter was born from her soul this time. “Mom couldn’t bring herself to throw them away, so she stored them in the attic. Every year, she made Dad buy new jars and wash them so they looked like the jars we’d eaten and saved for her. We lost so much sentimental stuff in the flood, but the damn beets survived.”

He grunted into the jar lid, then banged it on the table again. “You people make my family look normal.”

A cheer broke through the crowd. A loud, rambunctious, female-voiced chant.

“Princess! Princess! Princess!”

“What’s that about normal?” Natalie said.

She was being obnoxious and she knew it. But he treated her to one of his charming smiles, and she giggled. Soon, they were both laughing.

The last lid gave way. He popped the seal, deposited the open jar on the table, shrugged his shirt back on—damn it—then grabbed the coffee. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

Two couples were ahead of them, three keeping pace, and Dad and Marilyn were right on their heels. The last visible obstacle was at the fifty-yard line. Finish line tape stretched across the end zone, but first, they had to tackle a Christmas tree.

CJ groaned at the pile of Christmas lights on the ground beside the fake tree. Natalie huffed out a laugh. “Memories?”

“Nightmares.” He handed over the coffee, then grabbed the tangled string of lights.

“Didn’t get what you wanted for Christmas?”

“After Basil left for college, I was the designated light stringer. If we had one tree, we had five. Every year.”

“So this’ll be no problem.”

He gave her the dubious eye, but he was already untangling the chaotic mess.

He was a natural competitor. But more, he was fun to watch. Engaging.

Hypnotizing.

“You’re doing really well,” she said.

He ducked his head, but she caught the glimmer of light in his smile. “I’m having fun.”

“I’m glad.” Glad that the shadows in his eyes were gone, glad that he was able to enjoy himself, glad that she was here with him.

And so very, very sad that this was almost over. The next two events were all on him.

He wouldn’t need her anymore.

Too soon, they’d untangled the lights. CJ instructed Natalie to stretch the strand out in a straight line on the ground. He picked up the tree, turned it sideways, wrapped the end around the top of the tree, and gave her a completely unfiltered CJ grin at the chant of “Princess! Princess! Princess!” erupting again. Behind him, sprinklers sputtered and erupted past the fifty-yard line.

General cheering overtook the chant. The cameramen covering the tree-lighting from behind darted for cover. Nat’s stomach pitched.

The last obstacle.

Her time with CJ was almost over.

“Hope you brought your rain jackets, gentlemen,” Duke said over the speakers. “Keeping your wife dry is part of the next challenge.”

Dad’s tree flickered on, the colored lights tiny pinpricks beneath the bright sky. Another tree lit down the line. Then another on their other side. Three couples, heading into the water.

CJ glanced behind him, then back at Natalie. His next word was drowned by the crowd, but his feelings about the final obstacle were obvious.

Despite knowing she’d end this event soaking wet, despite knowing it was nearly time to let go, Natalie grinned. “That’s a dollar.”

He shrugged, then rolled the tree down the line of lights Natalie had stretched out.

When he reached her, he straightened, took the plug end from her, and jerked his head back toward the electrical cord. “Haul ass, woman.”

She did. Claudia and Wade were in the sprinklers. So were Dad and Marilyn, and the sound of Marilyn shrieking—
shrieking—
under the spray was music.

She
didn’t
have superhuman water-propelling superpowers. Who knew?

By the time Natalie caught up to CJ, he’d plugged in the tree. The white lights glowed, the crowd hollered, and now they were facing half a football field of water.

CJ cracked his knuckles. “Wife dry, coffee cup full.” He handed Natalie the coffee mug and pot.

A fifth couple waded into the sprinklers.

“Strategy,” CJ said.

Claudia took a spray across her front and shrieked. The sixth couple moved into the water. CJ’s eyes shifted farther down the field. A brief frown furrowed his forehead, then he held his arm out in gallant fashion. “Natalie, may I have this dance?”

“You’re going to love watching me get soaked, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned, guiding her closer to the water. The spray on their right was coming back toward them, the spray on their left headed away.

CJ shifted so he was on her right. “Keep walking straight. Go as fast as you can without spilling.”

Another shriek echoed on the field. The crowd roared.

Natalie stepped forward, one eye on the coffee, one eye on the approaching stream of water.

“Keep going, Nat.” CJ positioned himself between the water and Natalie. When it hit, he sucked in a sharp breath, but he didn’t squeal.

Mist dusted Natalie’s bare arms.

“Quicker,” CJ said. “Keep going straight.”

He pivoted behind her and came up on her left. “Little faster, Nat.” He gripped her elbow and nudged her to speed up.

To get closer and closer to the finish line.

To end her time with him.

The coffee cup was less than half-full, and the pot had enough for maybe only three-quarters of a cup. The more they had at the end, the better, because he wouldn’t win the Hubstacle Course based on their time alone. They needed the style and bonus points. “Don’t be so bossy. You’ll make me spill.”

“You’ve got this. Trust me. Faster.”