The Mistletoe Effect (10 page)

What he really needed was a long trail ride—and he’d get to that—but first things first. Back at the stable, life was going on as usual for a busy Saturday. Jed, a stable employee who’d been at the resort since before Decker’s time, was giving introductory riding lessons to two children in the main arena while their parents looked on, and Megan, one of Decker’s newer stable employees, was giving pointers to a teenage girl over at the grooming stalls.

He found Manuel in the stable shining up a saddle. “Hey, I need to take care of some business. You still have this place under control if I take off for a while?”

“Yep. Do whatever you need to. Just don’t get fired, because then Dickey Robuck will win Cord’s pool and that would be a crime against humanity.”

Shaking his head and just as pissed off as he’d been when Manuel first told him about the bets, Decker grabbed a blanket and his favorite saddle from the rack and headed to Dasher’s stall.
What a bunch of morons.
Next month when he left the resort for greener pastures, there’d only be a handful of people he’d miss. The rest could go to hell for all he cared.

He had the blanket in place on Dasher’s back when he froze as a new question ran through his mind. What did all this mean for next month? Those same degenerates were going to run Carina’s name through the mud after Decker quit his job and left. They were going to spread it around that it was her fault, that she’d driven him away or some other bullshit like that, and he wouldn’t be there to defend her from the dirt.

Irritation simmered inside him. Their arrangement wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. It was supposed to be fun, a fantasy come true. But here he was, lying to his friend, gearing up to go pick a fight, and putting Carina and her honor in a bad situation. And all in the name of what—great sex with a woman he was infatuated with? Since when did he let himself get led around by his dick?

Since you were eighteen, dumbass.

He could kick himself all he wanted about the bad choices he’d made, but it didn’t change the facts. All he could do now was enjoy his time with Carina, get busy with damage control, and, when he quit his job, figure out a way to do so that dumped all the blame on him and left Carina smelling like roses.

No problem.
He swallowed hard and foisted the saddle onto Dasher.
Yeah, right. No problem indeed.

He finished the rest of Dasher’s ride prep in a haze, channeling his anger and frustration into plans—angry, inappropriate,
HR-was-going-to-kill-him
kind of plans. Once out of the stable and in the saddle, he pointed Dasher toward the resort’s main offices and urged him into a fast trot.

Instead of stopping at the gate leading into the employee courtyard and smoking patio, Decker rode Dasher all the way in, much to the shock of the half-dozen employees sitting around enjoying their break time.

After tethering Dasher to a metal chair, Decker stormed through the office’s main corridor, avoiding eye contact with his curious coworkers, his head on a swivel to make sure Carina wasn’t around to witness what he was about to do. The last thing he wanted was for her to get a hint of what people were saying about her.

At the far end of the cubicles and offices, he pushed through the swinging door and into the space behind the lobby’s check-in counter. It was midday on a Saturday and the place was jumping, with every computer station manned and a line of impatient travelers waiting to check in. Cord McGraw was all the way at the end, helping the VIPs at the concierge desk.

The mere sight of him got Decker’s back up all over again. He strode the length of the counter, snagging a This Station Closed sign along the way. He dropped the sign on the counter and hooked his arm around Cord’s neck in a way that Decker hoped came across as a friendly gesture to the guest he’d been helping.

“What the—” Cord spluttered.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. We’ll be right back,” Decker said to the guest. “Cord, I need a word with you.”

Back they went along the length of the counter, with Decker half-dragging Cord and Cord grunting and whining like a damn baby.

The moment the swinging door closed behind them, taking them out of public view and into the middle of the array of cubicles at the front of the office space, Decker shoved Cord away from him. “I need your help with something, Cord.”

Arms flailing, Cord stumbled back and knocked into a desk. The artificial Christmas tree sitting on top tumbled to the ground, its ornaments rolling this way and that.

Across the room, Ty Briscoe’s secretary looked up from her keyboard, her mouth lolling open.

“Did you say ‘help’?” Cord asked in a shocked tone as he stood and smoothed an indignant hand over his shirt. “Screw you.”

Decker lunged forward. One of the ornaments crunched beneath his boot. He grabbed Cord by the lapels and jerked him up close to his face. “Your ears broken? Let me see if I can clear them out for you.”

Hands still gripping Cord’s lapels, Derek swung him around and slammed his back and head into the wall, then got up close to his face again. “Testing one, two, three. That better?” Decker asked.

“Go to hell,” Cord spit, giving Decker a futile shove.

“Right. But first, here’s what I need your help with, asshole. I need you to spread the word to everyone who works here that my wife is off-limits to any kind of gossipy, small-minded, bullshit lies. You let everyone here know that if I ever hear another rumor about her or if I even get a whiff of something disrespectful being said about her—or, for example, if anyone should engage in an office betting pool that might reflect badly on her or her reputation in any way—I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”

Decker caught movement in the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Ty leaning against his office’s door frame, his arms crossed and a grave expression on his face. For just a moment, Decker’s stomach dropped. His whole future hinged on Ty’s approval of him, and this, right now, did not paint him in the most mature and responsible light.

Decker shifted his focus back to Cord, who was sniveling and shoving at him.

Screw it.
Yes, he needed Ty’s blessing and letter of recommendation for the job he was set to start next month, but this matter went beyond any job prospects Decker had. Carina deserved so much better than the way she was treated around here, and it was about damn time that changed.

He shook Cord by the jacket to reclaim his attention. “And by holding you responsible, that means if I don’t feel like you’re doing everything in your power to protect Carina’s good name, then I’m going to kick your ass to Mexico. Comprende?”

Cord spluttered. “You can’t do that.”

Decker yanked him away from the wall and got his mouth by Cord’s ear. “What’s my father-in-law going to do, fire me? You think he’d go any easier on you if he knew what you were doing and saying about his little girl?”

Cord cursed.

Disgusted that it’d taken a physical threat for Cord to see the stupidity of his ways, Decker released him with a huff. “You and I have an understanding then?”

“You’re such a prick, Decker.”

Decker grabbed a handful of Cord’s shirt and tightened his free hand into a fist. Cord cowered, his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I got it. I’ll stop the betting pool.”

“And?” Decker prompted.

Cord rolled his eyes to the ceiling but answered, “And make sure nobody says anything bad about Ms. Briscoe.”

Decker indulged in one last slam of Cord’s backside into the wall. “Decker,” he growled. “It’s Carina Decker from now on.”

Cord’s eyes went wide. For the first time, he seemed to process just how deep the hole was that he’d dug himself into.

“Fine,” Cord said. “You two deserve each other.”

Though Decker’s fists were itching to brawl and his vision was seeing a bull’s-eye painted on Cord’s cheek, he forced himself to take a step back, then another.

He’d wanted to send a message that Carina wasn’t to be hassled or disrespected, but even he hadn’t expected such a vehement declaration of marriage to come out of his mouth. He sure hoped she planned to assume his last name, because there’d be no taking it back now.

The weight of Ty’s and the office workers’ stares pressed on him. He avoided their gazes—all except one. He turned to meet Ty’s intimidating stare man-to-man. “Sir,” Decker said in a terse clip by way of acknowledgement and good-bye.

Ty gave a single nod, his eyes narrowing contemplatively. Contemplating what, Decker had no idea. Maybe this stunt had cost him his dream job, but only time would tell. He refused to guess, especially since the month was far from over. Instead, he spun on his boot heel and strode from the room.

∗∗∗

Saturday evening, Carina stood just offstage from the wedding band at the final reception of the night, keeping one eye on the party and the other on the sketch of a new wedding dress design she was working on over the reception time line of events on her clipboard.

She was adding beaded flourishes to the dress’s neckline when Alex found her. Tonight he was dressed in a light purple dress shirt paired with a clashing skinny blue tie that made him seem even taller and thinner than he was, as though he’d gotten dressed in the dark while half-asleep, which was probably the case, seeing as how the dance floor lighting highlighted the dark circles of sleep deprivation under his eyes. Ah, the joys of new parenthood.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

“Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head, he gripped her clipboard in an attempt to take it from her. “Yes. You’re still here instead of off with your new husband. I’ve got this.”

She didn’t relinquish her hold on it. “Thanks, but I always stay to the end. I don’t want the cleanup staff to think I’m above them or that just because I’m a Briscoe I’m excused from breaking a sweat. You’re the one who should be going home to be with your family.”

“Okay, one, every employee at the resort knows how hard you work. And, two, you are above them. That’s what the word
manager
means.” He flicked her name tag, where
Special Events Manager
was written below her name.

“All right, but—”

Heat crept up on her neck. There she went with her
buts,
just like Decker had pointed out.

Alex folded his arms across his chest and arched a brow. “Trouble in paradise already?”

Not
trouble,
necessarily, but more like a huge dose of awkwardness because Carina had no idea what to do when she left the reception or where she was staying that night.

She and Decker hadn’t talked all day. She’d looked for him wherever she went, but her office, the chapel, and the ballrooms were on the opposite ends of the resort from the stable. The only hint that he hadn’t packed up and left town or vanished into thin air was a rumor one of Emily’s sous chefs told her about Decker making threats in defense of Carina’s honor to Cord McGraw, who worked at the concierge desk.

The tale seemed outlandish because Carina never did anything that could be construed as dishonorable and she’d never been a source of resort gossip before. As far as she knew, Cord was a happy, well-paid employee, and she didn’t have time to worry if her assumption was incorrect. Besides, fake husband or no, Decker didn’t need to defend her honor like they were transplants from an era when chivalry and honor defending was serious business. This was the twenty-first century, and Carina was one of Cord’s bosses. If he started trouble, Carina had a number of ways to deal with it that didn’t involve threats, and Decker had to know all that.

What really made her situation that night dicey was that she wasn’t sure how to get in touch with Decker. Calling the stable would be a giveaway that she didn’t have his cell phone number, which wouldn’t do. It wasn’t like she walked around with the contact information of every resort employee in her phone. She’d have to ask someone in HR or one of Decker’s friends, after which she would die of embarrassment, or she’d have to seek out his personnel file on her own.

The alternative would be to just show up at his house, but she felt the first stirrings of mortification merely at the image in her mind of her showing up with a suitcase at his door and catching him off-guard—or, worse, finding out he wasn’t there. Then what? She couldn’t very well return to her apartment while resort guests and employees looked on.

Compounding the issue was the fact that her father and Granny June were spreading it around to every corner of Texas and the world that Carina and Decker had actually gotten married, so it’d look pretty suspicious to outsiders if the bride needed help finding the groom’s phone number or if she were to be caught knocking on his front door with a suitcase.

So instead, she planned to close the reception down like she usually did while she debated her not-so-exciting options. “No trouble at all. Everything’s fine. I just have a hearty work ethic, that’s all.”

With a beleaguered sigh, Alex draped an arm across her shoulders and turned her toward the crowd. “Tell you what, if you must work, then there’s someone at the bar who’s not on the guest list. He’s about six foot one, wearing a black Stetson, and the bridesmaids keep hitting on him. How about you show him the exit on your way out before the single men at the reception start to complain about unfair competition?”

Her gaze shot to the bar near the double-door entrance to the ballroom. Sure enough, Decker was leaning against the bar, a red plaid button-down flannel shirt open over a black T-shirt, a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, a lowball glass in his hand, and looking as devastatingly handsome as he’d been the first time she laid eyes on him. The only detractors from the swoon-inducing sight were the two bridesmaids flanking him. Both girls were laughing like he’d just told the funniest joke they’d ever heard.

That’s how it’d always been. Carina watching him from a distance while he held court for female guests and employees alike. Married, single, young, and old—they all wanted up close and personal time with the resort’s resident stud. Like he was friggin’ Patrick Swayze in
Dirty Dancing
.