Free His Darling Bride (Echoes of the Heart #3) by Anna DeStefano Page B

guys. But while they were around, did they have to know how to push all the right buttons?
    She fired the truck’s engine and groaned at the dashboard clock. “We’re going to be late.”
    “Mike’s really cute,” Shandra gushed.
    He really, really was. Cute, and a passel of other surprising things beneath all of his easy-on-the-eyes charm.
    “You sure you can’t make Mike an exception to your no-dating rule?” her sister asked.
    Bethany didn’t trust herself to answer as she flipped her blinker and turned onto Main Street.

    “Thought you’d pulled up roots and headed out for another contract gig,” Mateo said.
    Mike’s transgender Atlanta neighbor ran the tattoo parlor around the corner from Mike’s building. He was out for an afternoon stroll with his two Chihuahuas, Areeba and Undalay, and his Chiweenie, Paco.
    “I’m wrapping up a few loose ends.” Mike locked up his Jeep where he’d parked it at the curb. “George will be on point while I’m away. You boys look sassy.”
    The three-hundred-pound former bodybuilder was in mid-transition and wearing one of his favorite turbans, a colorful scarf he wrapped around his bald head as often as he did his neck. Befitting the warm August afternoon, the rest of him was decked out in cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a fuchsia tank top. Each dog wore a vest in an identical hue.
    “Not all of us can pull off impoverished cowboy chic, love.” Mateo and his entourage breezed down the road. “Get yourself a little somethin’-somethin’ while you’re gone this time. This isn’t a good look for you.”
    “What look?” Mike took stock of his standard uniform when he wasn’t working: clean shirt, reasonably clean jeans.
    “All work and no play.” Mateo waved over his shoulder. “Giddyup, cowboy. I expect to see you smilin’ next time.”
    Chuckling, Mike headed down the building’s alley to his entrance. He typed a code into the electronic keypad to bypass the security system, while an image of another brightly dressed beauty filled his mind. The lock reengaged as he took the steep steps two at a time, reaching the top and typing a second code to access his apartment. He was greeted with the glare from the overhead skylights, and a not entirely unexpected growl of annoyance.
    “Morning, sunshine.” He dropped his backpack onto the edge of his battered, aircraft carrier–sized desk.
    Georgina Spenser, his business manager, was typing away on Mike’s keyboard, files and folders, papers and highlighters and Post-its strewn across his desk. Her hair, curling madly, mocked the headband she’d slid on to control it.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be settling down in Small Town, USA?” she asked. “Filling up your wandering well. Staying out of my hair for at least a couple of weeks.”
    “I’m just back for—”
    She pointed a fluorescent green highlighter at him like a switchblade.
    “ Don’t tell me you’ve already bailed on your gig and have some project in mind you need me to drop everything and help you make happen. Not unless you’re hankering for an IRS audit, because I haven’t gotten enough done yet to even file an extension. I put off dealing with taxes until I knew you were good and gone.”
    “I’m gone.” He headed into his small bedroom in the back corner of his studio. Not much was there except a twin bed, a closet for his meager wardrobe, and an enormous flat-panel TV that covered most of one of the walls. He plucked a three-ring binder from the rumpled bedclothes. “Just as soon as I get my mother to stop texting about this donation she won’t take no for an answer about.”
    “She hasn’t been taking no for an answer about it for weeks. Why not keep on ignoring her for a while?” George was the youngest of five children, the rest boys—a tomboy to the core. She snatched the binder from Mike when he returned to the desk. “I’ve been looking for that. You never put your toys away when you’re done playing with them.”
    She