Page 35 of The Work Wife

Weston shrugged, not having another plan to offer. “Look at it this way. It will be good practice. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll be dead and you’ll be in the mental hospital. We won’t have to worry about making it to Team One.”

She didn’t look comforted by his conclusion so he shut up and looked out the window for the duration of the flight.

When they arrived, her father was waiting in the passenger-pickup area. His smile turned to confusion as Wes trailed along behind her.

“Jamie?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Is your dad carrying a gun right now?”

“Probably two or three.”

“I’m so dead.”

“Hi, princess.” Her father hugged her and then pulled back to examine Weston, who was dragging their luggage. He shuffled the bags uncomfortably.

“Hi, Daddy. You know Weston.”

“Yes.”

She turned to Weston and swallowed as he propped his bag on hers and held out his hand. The man shook it, his grasp firm and unsettling.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Witmer.”

“It’s nice to see you too. Jamie didn’t tell me she was bringing a friend.”

Weston looked at her expectantly. He was waiting for her to explain—it was her turn, after all—but when she continued to say nothing, he cleared his throat. Surely someone would stop the man if he pulled a gun in front of an airport. Wes would be ready to jump to safety. Would he need to grab Jamie or was she safe?

“I’m not exactly her friend anymore, sir. You see”—he held up his left hand—“we’re married.”

For a second he thought Mr. Witmer might fall over. His face went pale and then the blood returned in full force.

“Married?” He looked right at Jamie, and Weston cowardly rejoiced that she would bear the brunt of the betrayal. After all, this was all her fault. “Are you pregnant? Did you knock up my daughter?” Weston was back in the laser sights of the man who knew how to kill people with his pinky.

“No sir! I swear.”

“Dad, don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out?” he shouted. “Don’t freak out?” He paced in a small circle and came back to stand in front of her. “My only child gets married without telling me or so much as inviting me to the wedding, and I’m not supposed to freak out?”

“Okay. Go ahead and freak out. But can you do it while driving us home?”

Wes wanted to argue that putting an irritated man behind the wheel was a bad idea. Then Jamie reached for the back door instead of sitting up front with her enraged father.

“You can sit up front. You’re legs are longer.” He glared at her and slid into the front seat.

The other man remained stonily silent the whole way back to his home. Twice Wes tried to make conversation, but he wouldn’t bite. It was only after they pulled into the driveway of a tiny home and he’d killed the engine that he turned to look over his shoulder at his daughter.

“You’d better tell me what’s going on here.”

“We’re going to unpack, and when you’ve settled down we’ll sit and talk.” She snatched up her bag and jumped out of the car to storm into the house, leaving Weston to face a seething Mr. Witmer on his own.

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t even ask me for her hand.” Mr. Witmer stared at him.

A strangled laugh escaped, causing Mr. Witmer to narrow his gaze on Weston once again.

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just that . . . Well, Jamie has full possession of both of her hands. Asking you wouldn’t have mattered to her one way or the other. Certainly you know how strong-willed your daughter is.”