“Only person’s been mad since we got here is you,” Sean muttered.

Annabelle’s expression turned so hilariously murderous that Eddie snorted beer—or maybe African violet fertilizer—right out through his nose, which cracked everybody up.

Annabelle lunged for Heath, grabbing his shirtfront in her fists, pulling herself up on her toes, and hissing at him through clenched teeth. “They’re going to get drunk, and then one of these idiots is going to plow his Mercedes into a car full of nuns. And I’ll be liable. This is Illinois. We have host laws in this state.”

For the first time Heath was disappointed in her. “Didn’t you get their keys?”

“Of course I got their keys. Do you think I’m nuts? But—”

The front door blew open, and Mr. Hot Shit Robillard waltzed in all decked out in Oakleys, diamonds, and cowboy boots. He gave a two-finger wave like the fucking king of England.

“Oh, shit. Kill me now.” Annabelle’s grip on his shirt tightened. “Somebody’s going to take him out tonight. I can feel it. He’ll end up with a broken arm or crippled, and then I’ll have to deal with Phoebe.”

Heath gently pried her fingers loose. “Relax. Lover Boy can take care of himself.”

“All I wanted was to be a matchmaker. Is that so hard to understand? A simple matchmaker.” She slumped back on her heels. “My life is crap.”

Leandro frowned. “Annabelle, you’re starting to get on my nerves.”

Three long strides brought Robillard to her side. He gave Heath a long look, then looped his arm around Annabelle and kissed her hard on the lips. Fury exploded behind Heath’s eyelids. His right hand curled into a fist, but this was Annabelle’s house, and she’d never forgive him if he did what he wanted to.

“Annabelle’s my woman,” Dean announced as he broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes. “Anybody gives her trouble has to deal with me…and my offensive line.”

Annabelle looked annoyed, which made Heath feel a hell of a lot better. “I can take care of myself. What I can’t deal with is a house full of drunken morons.”

“That is so harsh,” Eddie said, looking injured.

Dean stroked her shoulder. “You guys know how irrational pregnant women can get.”

Way too many heads started nodding.

“Did you take that test like I told you, baby doll?” Dean slipped his arm around her again. “Do you know yet if you’re carryin’ my love child?”

Apparently that was too much for Annabelle, because she started to laugh. “I need a beer.” She grabbed Tremaine’s bottle and drained what was left.

“You shouldn’t drink if you’re pregnant,” Eddie Skinner said with a frown.

Leandro swatted him in the head.

Heath realized he was having the best time he’d had in weeks.

Which reminded him of Delaney.

Annabelle had been too preoccupied to spot her through the crowd, and Delaney hadn’t moved from her place inside the front door. She stood with her back to the wall and that ever-pleasant smile frozen on her face, but her eyes were glazed and just a little wild. Delaney Lightfield, horsewoman, champion trapshooter, golfer, and expert skier, had just glimpsed her future, and she didn’t like what she saw.