Best Laid Wedding Plans (20 page)

Jenni Beth draped an arm across her eyes. The morning sun had risen, but she hadn't. Groggy, she blamed Cole for her poor night's sleep. He'd crawled inside her head and messed with it. That shared kiss, her body's traitorous response, their almost make-out session. She groaned. How long since she'd even thought about going parking? Ah, jeez. If he'd had any idea how tempted she'd been. Trouble, trouble, trouble. He was up to something. But then, heck, what was she doing? She'd kissed him by her car like there'd be no tomorrow. Of course, he'd started it, but still. She'd surprised herself with the way she'd answered his kiss, then doubled the ante. They both should have disintegrated from the heat.

On the other hand, she'd been the one in the middle of the drought. It had been a long time since she'd kissed like that, felt that heat. Cole? That man lived in a veritable rain forest of women. She doubted the kiss had affected him the way it had her. No. Not true. She'd felt his arousal against her, felt his need. And that's what had snapped her back to reality.

They weren't kids anymore, and this was a dangerous game they played. Somebody could get hurt. And it wouldn't be Cole.

She sighed. Yesterday, Cole had been so gentle, so patient with Ms. Hattie, coaxing her to eat a little more, to take one more bite. He'd approached their plan so matter-of-factly it never once, not for a single second, smacked of charity. And that allowed Ms. Hattie to maintain her dignity and pride.

The man was a chameleon, one she needed to banish from her mind. They'd ridden the carousel before, and it hadn't worked. Well, not the ride. She huffed out a breath. That had worked finer than fine. It was the aftermath that had been a disaster.

She threw herself into her work, so exhausted she could barely find her bed at night. And still, when she closed her eyes, Cole crept into her mind, into her bed. She'd pull the covers over her head, but she couldn't hide from him.

Late Thursday afternoon, Richard Thorndike showed up, his shiny new Lexus looking totally out of place beside the workers' pickups.

Her stomach rolled, clenched. She took a deep breath. Darned if she'd let the arrogant, deceitful pain in the butt see a single nerve.

“You making house calls?” Jenni Beth wiped her hands on already filthy shorts and stood from where she'd been weeding the flower bed. She suspected she had dirt on her face, too.

Oh well.

“Thought I'd stop by and see how things are progressing.” Hands splayed on his hips, he stood beside the Lexus in shirt sleeves and sharply creased dress pants, studying the house from top to bottom. He nodded. “A lot of improvements.”

“If you've come looking for an apology, you can hop right back in that car of yours and head into town.”

“No. I came to deliver one, actually. I was out of line.”

Her brows arched.

“I might not have handled things as well as I could have.”

She sent him a saccharine-sweet smile. “You think?”

His ears turned red. “Don't use that tone with me.”

“Or what? You'll spread gossip around town?”

He shifted his hands to his pockets.

“That was my biggest complaint, you know. That's why I paid you that visit.”

“Paid me a visit? Is that what you call it?” His small eyes drilled her. “Barging in, chasing away customers, and screaming at me?”

“I did not scream at you,” she said. “I may have raised my voice, but I most certainly didn't scream.”

“Semantics.” Richard waved a hand far more manicured than her own grubby ones. “I do, however, apologize for speaking to Moose and the guys at the store. My first allegiance has to be to the people of Misty Bottoms.”

Ice flowed through her veins, crept into her voice. “And the Beaumonts aren't citizens of Misty Bottoms?”

“Of course you are. You're being nitpicky.”

“I don't think so. You're standing here on my land, in front of my house, insulting me and my family.”

His eyes shuttered; his color rose. “As I said, I came to apologize. However, I'm still not totally convinced this idea of yours will be profitable, and I don't want you taking anyone else down with you.”

“The good citizens of Misty Bottoms must rest easily at night, knowing you're protecting them from the big, bad monster.” She pointed at finger at herself. “Me.”

Beck appeared out of nowhere, and Jenni Beth, certain he'd heard the entire conversation, felt a spear of relief.

“Richard.” He acknowledged him with a tip of his head.

“You helping out, Beck?”

Her friend nodded, but said nothing.

“Can I take a look inside?”

Jenni Beth glanced at Beck, then back at Richard. The air fairly vibrated with an undercurrent of hostility.

“Richard, I'm sorry, but the house is a construction site. I'm not sure our insurance would cover you if something happened, so I'm going to have to say no.”

Beck leveled a well-done look at her, and she almost smiled.

Thorndike stared at her in stony disbelief. No one told him no. What he wanted, he got. Well, not this time.

“We're doing fine,” she continued. “We're on track both with the time and our budget. Anything else? Because if not, I have work to do.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw.

Had he really expected her to take him into the parlor? Offer him tea? So not going to happen.

Without a word, he stormed back to his car.

Beck stepped beside her, and she leaned into him. In the shade of the porch, they watched as he drove down the live-oak-lined drive.

“What did he want?”

“I guess he wanted to scratch his curiosity.” She shrugged.

“You handled that perfectly. Remember, he's not on your side. He only wins if you lose.”

She turned her head slightly. “Now you sound like Cole.”

“That's not necessarily a bad thing.”

Friday morning, perched on the fourth rung of a ladder, scraping the last stubborn bits of paint from the fascia, Jenni Beth's cell rang. Pulling it from her pocket, she saw it was Duffy at the pub.

“One of my waitresses has a nasty cold and can't make her shift. Friday's a tough night to run shorthanded. Wondered if you might want to fill in for her.”

“Oh, we're so busy here, Duffy, and I'm a mess. I've been working my butt off all week.”

“I'll pay you. I know you're runnin' up lots of bills with that renovation.”

“Cash?”

“You bet.”

The calculator inside her came to life. A transfusion, no matter how small, would be welcome. Figuring everything at his cost, Beck had worked up an invoice for the absolutely essential repairs at Ms. Hattie's, and Jenni Beth had given him the okay. Whatever Duffy paid her tonight, along with tips, would help offset that tab. If it paid for a single window, it would be worth it. Besides, it had been ages since she'd waited tables at the pub. Might be a nice change of pace.

“What time do you need me?”

* * *

Cole's headlights reflected off the Misty Bottoms town limits sign, and he asked himself for the hundredth time what the heck he was doing. Tired and more than a little frazzled, he should be home. In his city condo.

He'd finished up late this afternoon, with no intention of making this drive. Since he'd been spending so much time here, he'd fallen behind in Savannah, both at home and at work. He'd planned to spend the evening taking care of late paperwork, then pick up a few groceries before heading to his condo to straighten up a bit and do some laundry. All the day-to-day stuff.

If he were smart, he'd give both Jenni Beth and Magnolia House a wide berth, tell Mickey to take tomorrow off, and work Traditions himself.

But he hadn't. Like a fly to a honey jar, he'd come barreling in. Chances were good, too, he'd end up in as much of a mess as that honey-lovin' fly.

A glance at his dashboard clock told him it was too late to drive to Jenni Beth's house, too early to go to his place and stare at four walls. As restless as he was, he'd drive himself nuts.

Problem was he was going under and fast—and not at all comfortable with it. He thought about her day and night. She'd even wriggled her way into his dreams.

This wasn't in his plans, wasn't what he wanted.

His stomach growled. His fridge was pretty darn bare, and he didn't want to barge in on his parents. Why not hit Duffy's Pub? He'd eat, play a little pool, drink a couple cold ones, and get his mind off Jenni Beth. It was either that or drive over to her place and climb the ivy to her attic room. That idea? Fraught with all kinds of danger.

By the time he parked his truck, he heard the music rolling out of the restaurant. Friday night. He'd forgotten the pub hired a band on the weekends.

Halfway through the door, he stopped and dropped his head to his chest. He recognized Jenni Beth's laugh from across the room and didn't know whether to laugh at himself or cry. Talk about best laid plans gone awry.

What the heck. A grin split his face. Might as well go with it. He hadn't expected to see her tonight. Now he would. What were the chances Jenni Beth would be here tonight waiting tables? Maybe he should consider it a gift. An opportunity to sit back and drink his fill of her. Or punishment. The grin disappeared. Look, but don't touch.

Didn't Nietzsche say something about what didn't kill you made you stronger?

Guess he'd soon find out.

Muscling his way to the bar, he slid onto a stool and ordered a beer. Settling in, he leaned an elbow on the patinated copper counter and relaxed.

He swiveled on his stool and faced the tables. She wore skintight jeans and a skimpy, white lace halter top. The ankle-length pants showed off simple red flats. Big dangly earrings caught the light and sparkled.

Redder-than-red lipstick, wavy, mussed hair, and smoking hot eyes.

Whooee!
Maybe she would kill him.

Leaning toward old Mr. Watkins, she jotted his order on her pad, then said something that had him laughing. She moved to another table with her coffeepot and, chatting, refilled cups. Jenni Beth had her customers eating out of her hand.

Damn. Every male in the place had to be salivating. He sure as hell was. He'd been fighting this attraction for a long while now. Too long. He'd dated his share of women, but none got to him. Yet watching her, so confident and comfortable, spun his system out of control.

Maybe the time had come to throw in the towel and run with whatever was going on between the two of them. He'd dipped his toe in the water earlier this week, throwing out more than a few broad hints, stealing a couple kisses. While she hadn't exactly run with it, she hadn't blown him out of the water, either.

That kiss in the parking lot… Whew. Thinking about it, thinking how she'd felt dancing with him at Chateau Rouge, set his motor running faster still. Made him hotter than hell. Fidgety.

He didn't get it. His taste ran to dark-eyed brunettes, yet this one blond had always been able to work her way beneath his skin. It defied all logic and understanding.

Well, logic be damned. Time to go with his gut.

Slowly, he took another drink of his beer, set down the bottle, and sauntered to the stage. He nodded at Trey, the lead guitarist, indicating he wanted to talk.

When his pal moved to the front edge, Cole leaned in and said, “Do me a favor, bud. You know Eric Clapton's ‘Wonderful Tonight'?”

“Sure do. Great song.”

“Would you play it? I want to dance with Jenni Beth.”

He winked. “You bet.”

At the end of the number, Trey struck the first notes of Clapton's hit.

Cole crooked a finger at Jenni Beth, then tugged at her hand when she came close.

Her gaze moved over her tables. “What do you want?”

“Quit scowlin'. You'll scare everybody away. Dance with me.”

“Cole, I'm working.” She tried to pull away.

“Hey, Duffy,” Cole shouted across the noisy bar. “You don't care if Jenni Beth dances with me, do you?”

“Hell no.”

Everybody in the pub looked their way, and he watched Jenni Beth's face flush. Somebody in the back whistled.

“Thanks, Duf.”

“You're causing a scene, Cole.”

“Nope. But you will if you fight me on this.”

He laced his fingers with hers and led her onto the miniscule dance floor.

Without giving her even a second to catch her breath or put up more of an argument, he drew her into him, inhaling her sweet scent, a smell so totally and uniquely Jenni Beth. Feminine and delicate with a touch of heat and sizzle.

“You do look wonderful tonight, sugar.” He sang along with the song, and she relaxed in his arms.

In one smooth motion, he spun her out, twirled her in a circle. Her quick laugh caused his heart to stumble, proof positive he'd landed himself smack-dab in the middle of some serious trouble.

Dangedest thing about it? He didn't care.

His arm encircled her waist, and he brought her in close as she added her voice to his, singing along with the familiar song. “You've come a long way from that hairbrush microphone in your bedroom.”

“What?”

She started to pull away, but he deftly brought her back, her body warm and soft against his.

“Wes and I used to sit on the stairs and listen while you sang to your latest favorites on the radio.”

“And laugh your fool heads off, I'm sure.”

He grinned. “Sometimes.”

She swatted him. “Cole Bryson, you are no gentleman.”

“Never claimed to be.”

As he twirled her out again, he watched her arrange her expression into that prim and proper Southern lady.

But underneath? He studied her as she gave it up and laughed. In the skintight demins and that sexy-as-sin lace halter top?

One hot woman!

Even at eighteen, in her quiet white debutante gown, the real Jenni Beth had shone through. She had no idea how close he'd come to dragging her away somewhere and devouring her.