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Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2004
ISBN 1-58608-428-3
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Rating: Explicit sex and adult language/profanity.

"Four and 1/2 Roses! ...a delightful story. Fisher has created memorable characters in Cody and Kip. They are the perfect couple, playing off each other in an engaging effortless manner. The best thing about ISN'T IT ROMANTIC? is that it's an easy, enjoyable read with an entertaining story line. Fisher writes like she creates her characters--splendidly." A Romance Review

"ISN'T IT ROMANTIC? by Ellen Fisher is a short, fast-paced read. The humor takes you from the first page to the last with two great characters. The sexual tension burns hot and sudden between the two, and the ending brings a feeling of satisfaction for both. I recommend this author as an enjoyable read and look forward to her next novel." Romance Reader at Heart

"Four and 1/2 Stars! Ms. Fisher weaves an enchanting, funny and very sweet story about trying to save face in the midst of a big lie. Cody is a beautiful, down-to-earth business woman with a bit of insecurity and a pure romantic streak. Kip has seen what luck and life can bring and is unsure if he wants to resume his acting career, but he does know he wants a "normal" life. Great Story!" The Romance Studio

"Four Plugs! ...one hilarious read. ISN'T IT ROMANTIC? is full of fun, laughter, little secrets and little white lies. From the first page till the last you will be laughing and refusing to put this book down. Ellen Fisher really knows how to tickle the funny bone." The Romance Reader's Connection

"a funny and heartworming story... extremely entertaining." Round Table Reviews

ISN'T IT ROMANTIC?

By

Ellen Fisher

© copyright May 2004, Ellen Fisher

Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright May 2004

New Concepts Publishing

5202 Humphreys Rd.

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter 1

Kipling Stanton had never seen such a great ass.

Having just picked up the morning paper off his driveway, he looked over the low hedge of shiny, dark-leafed bushes that separated his new yard from his neighbor’s. And there was his neighbor, bending over to pick up her own paper.

Just like his Realtor had said, the view was fabulous.

He reminded himself firmly that the Realtor had been talking about the view of the creek that rambled past his lawn, rather than his neighbor’s attributes. But attributes they certainly were. His neighbor was wearing extremely tight-fitting shorts that cupped her butt lovingly in the rear and made her tanned legs look incredibly long. Her equally impressive torso was clad in a purple T-shirt. Considering it was Monday, he was a little surprised she wasn’t dressed for work. Then again, maybe she didn’t work.

He scoffed at himself. With the notable exception of himself, everyone worked here, in this neighborhood of stately old houses on waterfront lots, all charging off to their important jobs in huge SUVs the size of Rhode Island. He was probably the only unemployed person in the place.

Maybe she worked odd hours. Or maybe she was a stay-at-home mom. Which would mean she was married.

That would be kind of a bummer, he thought, sneaking a last hasty look at her butt as she straightened up.

"Hi," he said over the top of the bushes.

She jumped and let out a little squeal. "I’m sorry," he said hastily. "I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m your new neighbor."

She held a hand to her chest. "Oh, my God. You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry," he said again. "I figured you saw the big truck yesterday, when I moved in."

She offered a tentative smile and moved closer to the hedge. "Yeah, I saw it. I’d kind of forgotten, though. I’m not real awake this hour of the morning."

"I can understand that," he said, flashing a grin at her. There wasn’t the slightest reason for him to be out of bed at six a.m., considering he was now unemployed. It was a bad habit, one he was going to have to break himself of.

"I’m Cody Lang, by the way."

Cody. He liked that. Short and sweet. "I’m—" He hesitated for a long, awkward moment. "Uh, Kipling."

Her eyes widened, and she made a funny, muffled sound that he suspected was a repressed snort of amusement. He got that a lot, and he couldn’t blame her for being amused. As far as he knew, he was the only man named Kipling in the entire United States. At least he sure as hell hoped so. No one else should have to be stuck with the damned name.

"Kipling, huh? Is that your first name?"

He nodded glumly.

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she managed to suppress outright laughter, for which he was grateful. "I guess your parents liked The Jungle Book, huh?"

He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. "Could have been worse, I guess. They could have called me Rudyard."

A giggle escaped her. "Yeah, that would definitely have been worse."

Cody Lang had a nice smile, he thought. It made her dark eyes sparkle. In fact she was a nice-looking woman. Not glamorous, not with the wildly curling mop of bright red hair and not a speck of makeup to be seen on her features. Not in the least like the elegant, sophisticated women he usually dated. But she was undeniably pretty.

She looked at him across the hedge, and he felt himself take a couple of steps in her direction, near enough to see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. It was as if she was drawing him toward her with those big, dark eyes. He was close enough now to see that her eyes were the color of chocolate. Dark, rich, expensive chocolate. Godiva eyes.

"Are you married?" she said.

Kipling blinked, taken aback by the blunt question. For a moment he thought she had recognized him. Since he was just stepping out to get the paper, he hadn’t bothered to wear the "disguise" he’d used yesterday while dealing with the movers—a pair of sunglasses to conceal his distinctive eyes, and a cap to tuck his well-known blond mane into. This morning there was nothing to disguise his famous features but the scruffy beard he was in the process of growing.

He realized he should have worn the cap and glasses, but he’d lucked out this time-- it was obvious she hadn’t recognized him. If she had, she surely wouldn’t be asking if he was married. Not after People had labeled him "America’s Hottest Bachelor" in eighty-point type. Maybe she was just interested in meeting his wife, had he had one.

He raised his hand so she could see the absence of a ring and grinned ruefully. "Nope. You?"

"No." She gave him a long, considering look. Somehow being on the receiving end of that look made him nervous as hell. He felt like a gazelle, being sized up as a possible snack for a lioness.

"In that case," she said at last, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Really? What?"

She paused for a long moment and gave him the lioness-gaze again. At last she said, "I want to marry you."

Chapter 2

Disappointment curled in Kipling’s gut. Damn it. She had recognized him.

Just once in his life, just once, he’d like to meet a woman and not have her throw herself at him, just because he was famous. Just because she’d seen his face on a few magazines and seen him chatting with Oprah once or twice. And he couldn’t have the slightest respect for a woman who wanted to have sex with a celebrity. There were a stunning number of women in the world who would.

Somehow, based on her innocent, forthright face, he’d thought Cody Lang wasn’t one of them.

"Go to hell," he said shortly, and turned.

"No, wait!" she called, and ran closer to the hedge. "I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I’m in a real jam, and I needed some help. I thought maybe since you were new, you might have a few days off."

"So you thought we could fly to Vegas and get married?" he said stiffly, without turning around.

"Well, obviously I don’t really want to get married. I mean, you’re cute and all, but that’s not really a basis for a long-term relationship, is it?"

Cute. He was pretty sure no one had ever called him cute before. Sure, Oprah had called him "the best-looking man in America," but that wasn’t really the same thing, was it? Oddly enough, he found he liked being called cute better. Especially by Cody Lang.

He turned and regarded her suspiciously. "I don’t understand. You asked if I wanted to get married. Didn’t you?"

She chuckled. "I guess you weren’t flattered by my romantic proposal, huh?"

"It’s not exactly that I wasn’t flattered," he said cautiously. He supposed he should be flattered by the scores of letters he received every week from women, asking him to marry them or just to have sex with him, but somehow he wasn’t. He didn’t particularly appreciate being perceived merely as a sex object.

"Just a little too soon in our relationship to talk about marriage, right?"

He was beginning to suspect Cody Lang was a rabid fan. Either that, or she was simply certifiably insane. That was all he needed, to move in next to a crazy person. Too bad he’d closed on the house yesterday. It was a little too late to get out of his contract now. "Look," he said at last, backing away slowly, "I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but—"

She waved her hands in the air impatiently. "I know it sounds crazy, and I’m sorry. It’s just that my dad is coming to visit me tomorrow, and I sort of told him I was married."

Kipling paused in his cautious, steady progression toward his porch. "Say what?"

"I told him I was married," she repeated, looking uncomfortable.

"But you’re not."

"That’s right. I’m not."

"And now that he’s coming to visit, he expects you to produce an actual husband?"

"Something like that," she agreed.

Kipling narrowed his eyes at her. "So you’re looking for someone to help you deceive your father? What is this, some sort of inheritance thing? He’s going to write you out of his will if you don’t get married?"

"Of course not," she said, looking affronted. "It’s nothing like that."

"So you’re just a pathological liar."

She scowled. "I suppose I deserve that. No. It’s just that...." She broke off, looking even more uncomfortable than before. "Dad has some very serious health issues," she admitted at last. "He wants me to get married before he dies, so I have someone to look after me."

Kipling cocked an eyebrow at her, standing in front of a house that probably cost more than most people made in five or six years. "Like you need someone to look after you."

"You’re absolutely right, I don’t. But Dad has this old-fashioned sexist hang-up. He doesn’t want to see me alone. So I sort of told him I eloped." She grinned. "A wedding isn’t that hard to make up. Making a husband is a lot harder."

Kipling found himself slowly moving toward her again, drawn by the earnestness in her chocolate eyes. "And you thought he wouldn’t find out about this?"

She shook her head. "He doesn’t travel much. He lives on the other side of the country. He’s never liked planes, and with his health problems...well, I just figured he wouldn’t come out here. But once I told him I was married, he decided he’d come out to meet my husband."

"So now you’re in a deep shit."

The corner of her mouth quirked, and he noticed that she had nice, full lips, lips that just begged to be kissed. "You could say that." She paused and looked at him hopefully. "So can I convince you to be my husband?"

"Ah don’t know what to say," Kipling said in a thick Southern drawl, fluttering his eyelashes in his best Scarlett imitation. "This is all so sudden."

She grinned outright. "Why don’t you come over for lunch, and we can talk about it?"

"Considering all my kitchen stuff is still in boxes, that’s an offer I’ll be happy to accept."

"Terrific. See you at noon, then," she said brightly, and bounced up her front steps. Kipling watched her wistfully as she disappeared through a massive mahogany door, and he realized his gaze wasn’t fixated on her rear end anymore. He had the distinct impression there was a lot more to Cody Lang than a nice ass. Although, he thought as he headed back to his own front porch, that was definitely one of her better points.

* * * *

Cody sat down at the kitchen table and flipped open the newspaper, but she realized after a couple of minutes she wasn’t actually comprehending anything she read. Somehow her mind wasn’t on the headlines.

Her new neighbor was one hell of a good-looking guy.

Kipling might have a ridiculous name, but he had a face that would put a movie star to shame, despite the scraggly growth of blond hair that covered the lower part of his face. High cheekbones, well-defined lips, and a chin that jutted out just a bit too far. Hazel eyes that couldn’t quite decide if they wanted to be green or amber and somehow managed to be both. All surrounded by dark gold hair that fell to his shoulders. She didn’t usually go for guys with long hair, but in this case she was more than ready to make an exception.

A gorgeous face packaged with a lean, tight body in jeans and an old T-shirt. Really, was there a downside here?

Yeah, she thought grimly, taking a sip of coffee. There was a downside, all right. He thought she was nuts. She’d seen it in those incredible eyes.

And maybe she was crazy, asking a complete stranger for help in this charade.

But she was desperate, damn it.

Besides that, for some reason Kipling didn’t seem like a complete stranger. It was odd, but she would have sworn she’d met him before. There was something familiar about the set of his broad shoulders, the curve of his lips when he smiled. There was something about the shifting, green-gold eyes that made her think they’d gazed into hers before.

Maybe I’ve seen him before in a dream.

That was, she admitted, a ridiculously romantic notion, but then she was ridiculously romantic. All her life she’d been waiting for someone.

Why couldn’t that someone be Kipling?

The phone rang, and she stood up, almost stepping on her chocolate lab, Rocky, who was sprawled comfortably on the rug beneath the kitchen table, waiting for a bite or two of toast. She grabbed the phone before its second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Cody."

Cody recognized the voice of her friend and employee, Tiffani Harshaw. "Oh, hi, Tiff. What’s up?"

"I just wanted to tell you I managed to open the store without you." Tiffani was the manager of Cody’s bookstore, Lang’s Fairy Tales. Ordinarily Cody worked six days a week, but for the first time in a very long time she’d taken off the entire week in anticipation of her father’s visit.

"Really? And everything’s still standing?"

"Did I forget to mention the ceiling caved in?" Tiffani gave one of her charming, bubbly giggles. "No, everything’s fine and we’ve already had quite a few customers. But it’s quiet right now. So what are you doing on your day off?"

"I just asked a guy to marry me."

There was a brief pause. "I hope you’re kidding."

Cody chuckled. "Sort of. My dad called and said he’d be down tomorrow."

"Ohmigod. And last week you told him—"

"Uh-huh. So I’m trying to get my new next-door neighbor to fill in."

"What? Do you mean the guy who moved in yesterday?"

"Yeah. The perfect solution to my problems."

"You mean," Tiffani said slowly, "you’re going to get a total stranger to sleep in the house with you and your dad for a week?"

Cody paused. "Well, when you put it that way, I admit it does sound kind of dumb."

"Sounds worse than dumb. If you go through with a crazy scheme like this, you are too stupid to live, girlfriend."

"I have got to get a husband before tomorrow," Cody said, desperation tingeing her voice. "I have to. Anyway, I’ve got Rocky."

Tiffani snorted. Despite his macho-sounding name, Rocky was a pushover who’d greet a burglar with a wagging tail and a cheerful willingness to disclose the location of Cody’s jewelry in exchange for a pat. "That dog’s useless. He’s not a chocolate lab, he’s a marshmallow."

"Well, my neighbor doesn’t know that."

"This is nuts, Cody. Don’t you know any other guys who’d do this for you?"

"None I’d trust alone with me."

"But you’d trust this guy you just met?"

Cody laughed ruefully. "Maybe I don’t want to trust him."

"Ah, the truth is out there. Good looking, huh?"

"Better than good looking. Amazing."

"You know, psychos can be handsome, too." Tiffani paused, and Cody heard the sound of her nails tapping on the phone. "Look, let me come over tonight, okay? I can kind of check him out. I have a better eye for psychos than you do."

"You’ve certainly met more than I have."

"Hell, I was married to one, once upon a time. So invite this guy over for dinner, and I’ll have a look."

"You just want to see if he really is that good-looking," Cody accused.

Tiffani giggled again. "Damn straight, girlfriend. Damn straight."

* * * *

Kipling spent the rest of the morning unpacking stuff from his boxes. The books were the first things to come out. The house had a big study, lined with floor-to-ceiling cherry bookcases—one of the things he’d liked most about it. He started piling books onto his shelves. His extensive CD collection went onto the shelves as well, in no particular order right now. He’d organize everything later.

Next he found a box of silver-framed photographs. His little sister, Chrissa, smiling at the camera. She really was beautiful, he thought fondly. In fact, with that long, dark-blonde hair and her shifting amber-green eyes, she looked a lot like him. But he couldn’t really call her "little" anymore. She’d just entered the university here in Swift Creek—which was one of the reasons he’d moved here, to keep an eye on her.

He put the picture of Chrissa, along with a photograph of their parents, up on the mantel in the family room, then thought to look at the time.

It was past twelve already.

He ran for the door, while thinking that a person who took four hours to unpack his books and CDs had too damned many of the things. He gave brief thought to donning his cap and sunglasses, then decided not to bother, since Cody had gotten a good look at his face already anyway. He went up his neighbor’s front steps and rang the doorbell. His blood froze in his veins as he heard a dog bark.

Christ. Cody had a dog. Cold sweat broke out on his body, and he felt nausea twist in his stomach.

Cody opened the door, restraining the dog with one hand on its collar as it strained to get to him. It was a wild-eyed, savage brute with huge ivory fangs. He felt the familiar heavy pounding of his heart and had to stop himself from taking a step backward.

"Hi," Cody said, smiling. Then she looked up into his face and must have read his appalled expression. "Oh," she said. "Don’t worry, he’s perfectly friendly. This is Rocky."

Rocky. It sounded like a savage-dog name to him, the kind of name people gave to enormous, muscular pitbull-rottweiler crosses. He saw foam dripping from the beast’s jaws and thought he might faint, right here on the porch.

Yeah, that would impress the hell out of his new neighbor. Kipling Stanton: stud, hunk, and quivering mass of Jell-O.

"Uh," he said, fighting desperately to keep his voice from shaking, "I’m kind of allergic to dogs."

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "Want me to put him out back, then?"

Oh, God, please do. "That’d be fine," he said.

She wrestled the wild-eyed dog away from the front door and managed to get it out the back. Then she returned to where Kipling was still waiting on the front porch. "You could have come on in," she said, smiling.

He didn’t remark that he liked keeping a nice heavy door between himself and vicious animals with enormous glistening fangs, figuring that such a remark would probably not endear him to the owner of the aforementioned vicious beast. "Thanks," he said, stepping onto the gleaming hardwood floor. The foyer was pretty damned impressive, with a huge brass chandelier and a wide, curving staircase leading to the second floor.

Now that the dog was safely shut away in the backyard somewhere, he actually felt free to look at her. She was wearing the same faded shorts she’d worn this morning, and they were as tight and short as he remembered. Beneath them her legs stretched on pretty much forever. Her coppery red curls formed a halo around her face, accenting her pixie-like features.

She really was pretty.

Too bad she had a dog.

"Come on into the kitchen," she said, turning and leaving him to follow in her wake. He walked behind her, trying very hard not to watch her hips sway back and forth in their hypnotic rhythm. Her kitchen looked like something out of Country Living—pine cabinetry, a rustic-looking pine table topped with a hand-crocheted tablecloth, and apple green walls that had been stenciled along the top with an apple pattern. A narrower back staircase, its risers carefully stenciled with the same apple pattern, led upstairs.

He got the feeling she had put a lot of effort into decorating her house. Maybe he’d be able to get her to give him a few pointers.

"This is a nice kitchen," he said.

"Isn’t it romantic? I did all the work myself." She opened the fridge. "I figured we could have sandwiches," she said, her voice muffled as she leaned into the refrigerator, giving him a fabulous view of her behind. "I have rolls, deli ham, Swiss cheese, that sort of thing. Is that okay with you?"

"Uh," he said. She straightened up and he glanced away hastily, before she caught him ogling her butt. "I mean, yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"No problem," she said easily, starting to toss food onto the distressed pine island. "It was nice of you to agree to come over, considering that you think I’m crazy."

"I don’t think—"

She waved her hand. "Of course you do. I know I sounded nutty this morning. I’m not really awake that hour of the morning, you know?" She walked across to a cabinet and got down two sandwich plates. She offered him one, smiling guilelessly. "But I really am desperate, and I figured maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me out."

Kipling took the plate from her hand. It was blue and white and looked as if it might be extremely old. Then again, for all he knew she’d bought it from a department store yesterday. Decorating wasn’t his strong point. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

She waved her hand again, in a vague fashion that didn’t fool him in the least. He was beginning to realize that Cody Lang was the least vague person he’d ever met. "I just need a husband for a week or so."

"A week? You want me to masquerade as your husband for a week?"

"Or thereabouts, yeah. Dad hasn’t said exactly when he’s going back yet."

"So this could conceivably stretch out longer than that."

Cody shrugged. "If you have to go back to work, we could just tell him you have to go on a business trip or something."

"Why don’t you just do that now?"

She started slathering Grey Poupon onto her roll. "To be perfectly honest, I don’t think he’s going to go away until he meets my husband. Unless I want him to move in with me permanently, I need to come up with one."

He put several slices of ham onto his roll and added four slices of Swiss cheese, abruptly remembering he’d forgotten to have breakfast this morning. "So you want me to stay in your house for a week?"

She beamed at him brightly, as if he were her star pupil. "You got it."

"Let’s just be clear here. Nights, too?"

Her composure slipped slightly, and a slight blush colored her cheeks. "I guess that would be necessary to make our marriage look, uh, real."

"Yeah, I guess it would. And we’d have to sleep in the same room in order to convince him. Are you really so desperate to go through with this that you’ll share a room with a complete stranger?"

"Oh, no," she said, and her face cleared a bit. "My room has a little room off it. A nursery, I think it’s supposed to be. Anyway, there’s a connecting door. You could stay in my room until Dad’s gone to bed, then go and sleep in the other room."

"Well, that’s a relief," he said, although he wasn’t so sure it was. Sharing a room with Cody Lang didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. But it was bound to make things more complicated, and this situation was already shaping up to be complex enough without added problems.

"Of course," she added, "Rocky sleeps with me."

The dog. He felt his heart begin to pound with dread, and imagined himself trying to sleep with that ravenous beast just on the other side of the door.

But of course, she probably wanted the dog in her room to make sure her "husband" behaved himself. She had absolutely no idea how safe the dog’s presence would make her. He wouldn’t go into a room with a dog in it to save his life.

"Fine," he said. "But keep the dog outside till I’m out of the room, okay?"

She frowned at him as they crossed to her table to eat. "So you’re allergic to dogs, but not dog hair?"

Settling into a chair, he gave her a puzzled look over the top of his sandwich. "Say what?"

"You seem to be suggesting you’re only allergic to dogs who are in the same room with you."

Damn. She wasn’t stupid, that much was for sure. He hastily dissembled. "Dog hair bugs me too. But it’s worse when the dog’s in the house with me."

To his relief, she seemed to accept that at face value. "Fine. I’ll keep Rocky outside except at bedtime. He doesn’t mind. He loves the outdoors. Labs always do."

"Labs?"

"He’s a Labrador retriever, you know."

Kipling’s only impressions of the beast had been powerful, bone-cracking jaws and a huge, muscular body. He had thought the thing was a mastiff or a Great Dane. Evidently his imagination had been working overtime again. Or perhaps he just didn’t care to look at a dog closely enough to determine its breed. The unfortunate truth was he didn’t like Labradors better than any other sort of dog.

"Really," he said, trying to force himself to sound interested, when in fact dogs were his absolute least favorite topic of conversation. "I thought Labs were black."

"No, they come in yellow and chocolate, too."

"Chocolate?"

"Brown," she said patiently, as if he were mentally slow.

"Yeah, I get it. But why black, yellow, and chocolate?"

She studied him curiously. "I don’t understand."

"Either they should be black, yellow, and brown, or they should come up with better names for the other colors. You know, like licorice, lemon, and chocolate." He stammered to an awkward halt, aware that he was babbling nervously.

But she giggled. "You know, you may just have a point."

I doubt it, he thought glumly. Just the mention of dogs in a conversation was enough to make him a blithering idiot.

Apparently oblivious to his mental meltdown, she went on to another subject. "I guess we ought to figure out details about our marriage."

He blinked. "Our marriage."

"Yeah. Dad is going to want details. Like where we got married."

"Las Vegas," Kipling suggested.

"Please, no. I wouldn’t go there if you paid me. How about the Grand Canyon?"

"The what?"

"The Grand Canyon." Her eyes lit up. "We had a lovely wedding on the North Rim, just as the sun was setting."

"That’s crazy. Who the hell gets married at the Grand Canyon?"

She managed to look slightly offended. "Isn’t it romantic? It sounds romantic to me."

He snorted. "Romantic, hell. It sounds stupid. Anyway, when people elope they usually go to Las Vegas."

She shook her head. "Las Vegas won’t work. I’ve never been there, but Dad’s gone three or four times. He’d trip me up in no time."

Kipling nodded, seeing the logic of her argument. "But the Grand Canyon won’t work, either. We don’t have pictures. No one goes to the Grand Canyon without taking a picture or two."

"We were in such a hurry to get married we forgot our camera," she suggested, but he shook his head.

"Not with all those little disposable cameras you can buy for next to nothing in gift shops nowadays. It won’t work. We must have gotten married somewhere pretty tacky."

"That isn’t very romantic."

"If you want romantic, you’d better have pictures to back it up, or your dad won’t buy your story."

She stuck her lower lip out. "Fine. Tacky it is, then. The local justice of the peace."

"He could check your story, if he’s prone to being suspicious. It probably shouldn’t be local."

"My best friend could confirm it. Then he wouldn’t have any reason to be suspicious."

Kipling cocked an eyebrow at her. "You’re going to drag your best friend into this too? Do you plan on having the entire population of Swift Creek, Virginia lie about this by the time you’re through?"

Her cheeks went pink again. "Look, you keep making this sound like I have some nefarious ulterior motive. I’m just trying to make my dad happy. That’s all."

"Uh-huh," Kipling said, unconvinced. It was obvious to him she had some sort of unresolved issues with her father. But he wasn’t a psychiatrist, so he kept his mouth shut. "Fine. We got married here. Where?"

"On my lawn, down by the creek."

"Okay, that sounds reasonable. How come we don’t have pictures?"

She brightened. "We could take a few."

Kipling stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Wedding pictures. We could take some."

He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. "Are you seriously suggesting that we take pictures of a fake wedding?"

"Sure, why not?" She was warming to the idea. He could tell by the way her hands were starting to wave through the air. "We could dress up this afternoon, put my camera on a tripod, and take a few pictures."

"Just of us?"

"Well, we didn’t have anyone there except us and the minister," she said with enthusiasm. He wondered if she was beginning to believe this whole thing. Maybe she was crazier than he thought. "And the minister would be the one holding the camera, see, which is why he isn’t in the pictures."

"I thought we had your best friend there."

"Oh, right." Cody thought for a minute, then her face brightened. "Well, Tiff hates having her picture taken, so she refused to be in any of the pictures."

"Who refuses to have their picture taken at a wedding?"

"Tiff will back up my story if I ask her to." Cody grinned broadly. "This is terrific. What a fabulous idea. Dad’ll believe it for sure. Absolutely. Trust me."

Kipling was beginning to get a pounding headache. "Fine," he said. "I’ll go back to my house and see if I can dig out my tux."

"You have a tux?" She beamed. "Better and better. This’ll be great."

He stood up. "I’ll be right back."

"Oh, but wait," she said. "We have to tie up a few loose ends first."

Warning bells clanged in Kipling’s head, and he looked at her suspiciously. "Loose ends? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know." She waved her hand in that vague way meant to conceal some very definite purpose. "We just need to cover our asses completely before we take pictures, that’s all. For example, there’s your hair."

"My hair," Kipling repeated. "Are you talking about cutting it? Because I’m not going to do that, damn it."

"Oh, no, of course not. I like it that length."

"Good," he said.

She flashed the sweet, innocent smile that he’d figured out by now meant nothing but trouble. "We’re just going to dye it."