How to Switch a Groom Read online

  Tate lifted an eyebrow but luckily didn’t say any more. He shut the door and walked around the front of the truck, brushing his hair back and making her swallow hard as his glorious deltoid and biceps flexed.

  Cally glanced away, focusing on the dash of the high-end truck. In Chicago, she hadn’t owned a vehicle. Since moving back, she’d bought an older Honda Civic to conserve funds so she could put as much as possible into her charity.

  She ran her hand over the soft leather seat. Tate climbed in and queried her with a glance. Cally knew he wanted to talk about why they were both confused, but she said instead, “Must be nice—brilliant doctor, money rolling in, women fawning over you, and driving the prettiest truck I’ve ever been in.” She remembered as teenagers, he’d told her he wanted to be a podiatrist because his grandma had died of diabetes, going through many painful foot surgeries and finally amputation of both feet before she passed. He’d wanted to help people like that. It had been an idealistic dream that he’d made a reality. She was proud of him.

  Tate smiled and started the motor with a push of a button. “It is a pretty truck.” His voice deepened. “Not even close to as pretty as you.”

  Cally put a hand to her chest, mockingly, because she doubted he’d truly meant the compliment. “Ah, Tate Jepson, you flatter me.”

  Tate dropped it into gear and drove onto the main road. “Your exterior is perfect.”

  Cally’s stomach tightened, and she felt as cold as when they’d all done the ice bucket challenge together. Instead of just doing a small handheld bucket, Brody had emptied an entire tractor bucket of ice water over her head, knocking her off her feet. Colt and Tate had been quick to lift her up, and they’d all laughed. Maybe Tate had meant the perfect exterior comment as a compliment, the old Tate definitely would have, but knowing that this current Tate thought she was shallow and selfish it was definitely a dig. And here she’d thought they were back to their innocent teasing. Nope.

  “Because obviously my interior is dark and twisted?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that, but you have to admit you’re not … who you used to be.”

  Cally clamped her jaw shut and folded her arms tightly across her chest. If she said anything to defend herself, he’d just bring up the past. She knew he was ticked at her for breaking Colt’s heart all these years. Well, like she’d said earlier, welcome to the club, because she was ticked at herself.

  She stared out the window, fighting the hot rush of tears. What did she care what Tate Jepson thought of her? His parents still loved her. Brody and Colt, and even Brikelle, had been kind. They were still her friends. That was all that mattered. She’d just come visit when Tate wasn’t here.

  They cruised toward her parents’ mansion in silence so thick you couldn’t have cut it with a high-dollar knife. Pulling into the pompous circle drive with weird statues that had always embarrassed her, Tate slammed it out of gear and shut off the motor. “Listen, Cally.”

  She swung to face him. Tate studied her. His blue eyes were so conflicted, and she wished she could make it better somehow. In a flash she understood a little about his conflicting feelings. They’d been close all through childhood, even in college. He’d come to the University of Utah a couple of years behind her while Colt had been at Utah State, two hours to the north. So she and Tate had quite often gone to lunch or hung out. When she went to Chicago and they only occasionally sent messages through social media, she’d missed him. She knew he was mad at her for what he felt was betraying Colt, but maybe he felt betrayed too.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued.

  She nodded. “I know, Tate. You’ve always been there for me.”

  “So was Colt.”

  She stiffened. Why did he have to bring that up? Instead of lashing at him like she wanted to, she simply nodded her acknowledgment. “You and your brothers are good men.”

  Tate stared at her as if giving her the opportunity to … what? Open up about the past five years? Explain that she’d worked nonstop to prove herself so she could come back? When the opportunity to return and be with Colt finally happened, she was too late. Or maybe Tate was asking her a completely different question. The way his blue gaze smoldered into her made her fill with warmth and wonder if maybe, just maybe, Tate didn’t hate her. Maybe there was something sparkling between Tate and her that she’d never noticed, because she’d been too focused on his older brother and her own dreams and ambitions.

  “But that’s not enough for you, is it Cally?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Tate pushed out a breath and leaned back against the seat. “You’ve always been too good for everyone in this valley.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He tilted his head to study her, and the betrayed look in his eyes cut straight through her.

  “Have I ever made you feel like that?” she asked. “Have I ever acted like … my mother?”

  He stared for a few seconds then said softly, “Not until you left for Chicago and never even glanced over your shoulder to see how you hurt the ones you left behind.”

  Cally felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the cab. “What did it matter to you?” she demanded. “You were already gone to medical school when I left, and I dated Colt, not you,” she reminded him.

  Tate’s jaw tightened. “Breaking my brother’s heart mattered to me, a lot. He went through years of being miserable.”

  “I’m sorry I hurt Colt, you don’t know how sorry. But it looks like it turned out just perfect. Colt found the perfect woman, and I’m the one who’s alone and miserable. You should be very, very happy.” She flung the door open and jumped out, running toward the garage door.

  “Cally!” she heard Tate calling after her.

  Entering the code with trembling fingers, she heard his truck door open and slam and his footsteps fast approaching. The lock clicked open from inside. She turned the knob and hurried through, shutting it just as Tate’s voice came from close by, “Cally, wait.”

  She dead bolted the door then leaned against it, panting for air. Why couldn’t things be different? Why couldn’t she and Tate be friends like they used to be? When he looked at her now, it was either with condemnation in his eyes or underlying warmth like a man surveying the woman he’d been waiting for. No. She had to be imagining that. It was all condemnation.

  “Cally?” Tate called through the door. She almost ran through the cavernous garage to the house entrance, but she was afraid to move and have him hear her. “I know you’re there.” He paused, and Cally tried to take shallow breaths. His voice came again through the door. “I’m sorry, okay? Maybe the two of us need to sit down and … talk rationally. Do you think I’m capable of rational talk?”

  “I highly doubt it,” she flung at him before she could help herself.

  Tate’s deep chuckle washed over her. She used to make Tate laugh all the time. The sound of it after so many years was like cocoa butter lotion soothing dry skin. His laughter tapered off and silence fell.

  “Please, Cally, open the door,” he said.

  Cally swallowed and with a trembling hand turned the dead bolt, and then the knob. She cracked the door and peered out at him. He looked … incredible. Why did he have to be so handsome, so appealing to her?

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she whispered back.

  Tate pushed a hand through his hair, and his biceps bulged. “I’m sorry I’m so short with you. Part of me is mad at you for what you did to Colt, and part of me wishes we could just be close friends like we used to be.”

  Cally could understand both parts. Would he give her a chance to explain anything or just keep thinking the worst of her? “You’re in a tough position,” she murmured.

  Tate nodded then leaned toward her. “If I come back at one, could I take you to lunch? You can tell me what you’ve been up to the past five years, and I’ll tell you. We’ll talk like we’re adults or something.”

  Call
y thought about it. Could she and Tate get through lunch without one of them saying something to offend or upset the other? She honestly didn’t know, but she wanted to try. She’d lost her best friend Colt. She didn’t want to lose Tate also.

  “Can you try, please?” Tate asked when she didn’t respond.

  She nodded. “I’ll give it my A-game.”

  Tate chuckled again. “That’s all anyone can ask. I’ll see you in a few.”

  Cally leaned against the door frame heavily as he walked away. She was going on a date with one of the most impressive and handsome men she’d ever known. No, it wasn’t a date. They were simply going to “talk like adults”. She’d tell her version of why she left and hope the generous, patient Tate Jepson could forgive her. They’d talk about careers and life. It would be nice.

  She pushed away from the door, shut it, and strode through the garage, laughing at herself. With the fireworks between her and Tate lately, she really doubted it would be nice: heady, exhilarating, upsetting, or confusing—but definitely not nice.

  Chapter Six

  Cally was ready and waiting by twelve-forty. She’d dressed in a flirty, floral dress with a V-neck and a hemline a few inches above her knees. She felt pretty, feminine, a little daring, and almost prepared to try to talk like an adult with Tate. She kept hoping maybe he was interested in her as more than just a childhood friend and the woman who ditched his brother, but then she’d remind herself that was a recipe for disaster and attempt to rein in those thoughts.

  She scrolled through some home designers she followed on Instagram to pass the time. White, crisp, and clean seemed to be moving past trend to a permanent style. She loved it. Cally always stayed on top of the styles, but most of her success was being able to read what the client wanted, sometimes even when they themselves didn’t know. She could use cues as simple as a woman’s choice of jewelry and makeup to understand her clients’ style and decorate their homes in a way that made them feel comfortable and happy.

  The doorbell rang at twelve-forty-five, and her pulse predictably picked up. Tate was early. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he was as excited to talk like rational adults and put the past in the past as Cally was. Cally set her phone on the dresser and pranced down the staircase, her stomach bubbling with nerves and excitement. She wouldn’t need her phone when she was with Tate, and she didn’t want the distraction.

  Swinging the door wide, Cally grinned. “Ta—” Her tongue stopped working, and she backed up a step.

  “No, sweetheart, it’s Bull.” The grinning pest control guy was back sans his logoed hat, shirt, and truck. He had thick, dark hair, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes, and the widest smile she’d seen yet. He darted at her. Cally jumped back, trying to slam the door closed. It slammed on his shoulder. He grunted in pain but shoved the door wide, almost knocking her down.

  Cally turned and pushed off to sprint for the back door, but he dove at her, tackling her around the waist and driving her face and torso into the unforgiving slate floor. Cally screamed in pain and horror. The man wrapped his fingers tight around her waist, jumped to his feet, and jerked her up with him.

  “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he muttered, dragging her out the front door. He slammed it shut behind them. He kept plowing forward, tugging her across the porch and down the stairs.

  Cally hit at him with her hands and tried to dig her heels in, but she ended up slipping and tripping down the stairs.

  “There are cameras everywhere,” she yelled. “They’ll know you’ve taken me.”

  “That’s what I’m planning on,” he said.

  What did that mean?

  She slugged him as hard as she could in the kidney. He stopped plowing down the walk, but he pinned her arms to her sides by wrapping his arms tightly around her and lifted her clean off her feet. Cally screamed and pummeled him with her two-inch spike heels. He grunted in pain, and she was sure his shins would have scars, but he didn’t stop.

  Glancing frantically around, she despaired. There wasn’t a neighbor within half a mile, and Tate, unfortunately, wasn’t early. She kicked, fought, screamed for help, and prayed desperately, but the man shoved her into the open rear hatch of a mid-size sport utility. He struggled with her until he had her hands bound to her feet and then grinned as he ran his hands over her legs before finally closing the hatch, she knew nightmares she’d never even had were about to come true.

  Tate whistled as he pulled into Cally’s parents’ driveway and walked confidently up to the front door. They had a lot of issues between them, and sparks were a mild way of describing how he felt about Cally, but they were going to go to lunch, alone, and talk. Tate dated a lot, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this stirred up and excited about a lunch date.

  He rang the doorbell, glancing around at the pompous home. He’d always hated this house, and he knew Cally had also. There was no warmth, no love here, and it was so dark and perfect-looking. He was hopeful that her parents had never abused her, but they’d sorely neglected her as they traveled the world for business and pleasure, hiring nannies to raise their only daughter.

  Peering through the cut glass, he could only see that there were no lights on inside. He frowned and pushed the doorbell again. Tate thought of himself as a patient person, but would Cally leave him hanging here, just to test or bug him?

  He rapped his knuckles on the door and pulled out his phone. He’d texted her off and on throughout her years in Chicago, and he would call himself a sappy sucker every time, especially since she’d only asked about Colt throughout those exchanges. At least now he had her number. The phone rang and rang, and then went to voice mail, Cally’s voice all bright and cheery asking him to leave a message. He could’ve sworn he heard the ring coming from inside the house, but he might be imagining things. He left a terse message then backed away from the door. They’d only set up lunch two hours ago. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten. She was obviously standing him up. That … sucked.

  His shoulders bowed, and he walked slowly back down the driveway, hoping she’d come out and give him that smile he couldn’t resist. When he reached his truck, he looked back at the silent house. The tall, imposing façade seemed to mock him. He felt like a little boy who could never prove himself to Cally or her snobbish parents.

  He wasn’t worthy of Cally, and she’d never wanted him before. Why would she want him now? Ditched, once again. It was almost as bad as that day when, as a scrawny, hopeful fourteen-year-old, he’d decided to declare his intentions to his dream woman and had seen Cally and Colt kissing. His stomach wrenched painfully. When was he ever going to learn?

  Chapter Seven

  Cally bounced around in the back of the sport utility, banging her knees, elbows, back, and head over and over again. The road must be rutted out, or maybe it wasn’t even a road. She couldn’t see much beyond thick trees, so they had to be headed into the mountains. The mountains surrounding Eden were beautiful and rugged, and a person could easily get lost in them and never be found again.

  They finally stopped, and Cally felt relief that she wasn’t flinging around anymore, but as soon as the back hatch opened and the man’s leering grin swept over the skin revealed by her skirt riding up, that relief fled and terror swept in. What would he do to her?

  He pulled out a knife, and she shrank away. Shoving her onto her stomach, he sliced through the rope that bound her legs and arms together, and then cut her legs free. He ripped her shoes off and dropped them in the dirt behind the vehicle. Grabbing her by the arm, he hauled her to her feet.

  “It’s a bit of a hike, princess. I wish you’d worn better shoes.”

  “I missed that memo,” she said snidely.

  He laughed, but then sneered at her. “I hate complainers so don’t even start, unless you want me to cut out that pretty little tongue.”

  He directed her up a dirt path. Cally’s heart was beating quickly. Cut out that pretty little tongue? Who said awful things like that? At least he hadn’t
touched her legs again.

  The trail was mostly dirt but an occasional rock or twig poked into her feet. She winced but didn’t dare make much sound after his threat. They walked and walked along the trail, through shade and sun up a slight incline. She was sweating, and she knew she was ruining her dress, not that that mattered in the least.

  After what felt like forever but was probably less than half an hour of no sound but their breathing and birds tweeting, she couldn’t stand not knowing what his intentions were, so she asked, “Why did you want the cameras to see me leaving?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “So your parents will know we have you and pay the ransom money.”

  Cally barked out a laugh. “My parents? Are you insane?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he stopped in the middle of the trail. “What?”

  Cally almost told him how stupid he was. Her parents would never pay any ransom for her, but the evil radiating from his eyes stopped her from explaining that he’d kidnapped the wrong rich kid. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He arched an eyebrow, obviously wanting an explanation.

  Cally swallowed and finally said, “I don’t think my parents are in the country right now.”

  “Well, I hope for your sake they have internet service and a fast jet to bring my boss his money.” He took his time checking her out and then smiled, “Or I’ll just keep you as payment.” He yanked on the rope binding her hands, and she stumbled but righted herself. They started forward again.

  Cally’s stomach churned. Her parents would never give up any of their fortune or interrupt whatever exotic vacation they were on at the moment for her. She started praying harder. Her only hope was escape, but she had no clue how to accomplish that.

  Tate drove back to his parents’ house, irritated and confused. Why would Cally stand him up? He almost turned around so he could check if her car was in the garage, but he held to his pride. Sometimes pride was all a man had to cling to.