Jumped (2 page)

“Finn, this is Harris,” Beth said, gesturing.

“Charmed to make your acquaintance.” Harris reached to shake Finn's hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Finn said.

Beth considered the telenovela route one last time. She knew Harris would go along with it and pretend to be her boyfriend. But upon further review, it was still an astoundingly dumb idea and she dismissed it. “Harris is an old friend of Grady's,” Beth said to Finn.

“And his fantastic personal chef,” Harris said.

“I have no doubt,” Finn said, and Beth could tell that Harris was charmed because he leaned toward Finn in front of Beth. But that's what Finn did. And Harris was susceptible to flattery about his cooking. Compliment him on a piece of toast and he'd add you to his will.

“What's your favorite food?” Harris asked.

“Here we go,” Beth said. Then, to Finn, “He'll make an entire meal for you. And Kristen,” she added, hoping the omission wasn't too obvious.

Just then a server arrived with their salads, causing Harris to straighten.

Finn's mouth—that same mouth she used to love to kiss, which is the thought that popped into her head because obviously her brain had not read today's game plan—opened. He gestured to Kristen and said, “We just met. Sitting here just now.”

“Oh.” That was all Beth said, because Kristen was pretty and smiled at Finn a lot and Beth had assumed they were together. Beth loaded her fork with salad and stuffed it in her mouth so she couldn't put her foot there again. She knew she must look like a moose feeding in a swamp. She felt some vinaigrette drip out and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin.

Neatness has never been your strong suit.
Finn knew this about her. For a split second she felt a surprising jolt as a long-dormant memory surfaced, Finn working on a stain on one of her blouses at a tiny sink during their honeymoon in Italy. She remembered how she had fallen more in love with him right then.

Harris busied himself with drizzling the dressing perfectly, leaving Beth to talk to Finn.

“Are you still in the horse biz?” Finn asked.

She nodded and chewed, feeling like a horse grazing in a lush pasture. Finn smiled, his damn eyes merry. He was having a grand old time. Finally she said, “Yes. Sort of. I'm not teaching much anymore. I've branched out into fashion.” Maybe he'd think she was a great big business success. “I have a clothing line for riders.”

He raised his eyebrows and drew his lips into a tidy bow. “Good for you.”

“And you?” she asked. “Still in construction?”

“More or less.”

What does that mean?
But she wasn't going to be coy. “What are you working on now?” she asked.

“I have a project going.”

“Residential or business?”

“Residential.”

“Where?”

“South.”

He was maddening.
“Where? I'm not going to ransack the site.”

His mouth curved ever so slightly at this. “Missouri. Branson. Did you know they have all kinds of seismic building codes? There are earthquake issues in Missouri.”

He held his fork in his left hand, like a European. She used to love that about him. He never went so far as to mash his peas onto the back of the tines, but he regularly speared meat with his upside-down fork. Now he collected the last of the field greens on his salad plate. Suddenly a question leaped into Beth's head like a jumper onto a bank on a derby course. Without thinking, she asked, “Did you know I would be here?”

He stilled his hands and looked at her. “What do you think?”

Another question answered with a question.
“I don't know. That's why I asked.”

“No.” He ate his salad. Calmly.

Wait a minute. Finn and Melissa knew each other, but they weren't great friends.
“Why are you here to begin with? You only know Melissa because of me.”
Gah, Beth! Stop talking!

He took a good long time to finish chewing and swallowing. Then he sipped his wine. Then he wiped his mouth. Then he looked at her straight on.

“As it happens, I did some work for Melissa and Nick. After . . .”

After the divorce.
The words hung, unspoken, in the thin mountain air.

“A house?”

“Yes.”

So he was still working in construction. Still, she wondered why Melissa had asked him, of all people, to build their house. Was it simple coincidence that he'd been on the crew? Beth patted her lips with the napkin again.
Stop being like this
, she scolded herself, then said to Finn, “That's nice, that you helped with their house. I'm . . . sorry for all the questions. I'll stop now. I was surprised to see you, and started firing away.”

“Bethany, you were never one to pull punches. It's part of your charm.”

He grinned and she automatically smiled back.

The server appeared with the main course, which featured elk medallions, since the animals were plentiful in the state's high country. Beth was grateful for the interruption. As they ate, the conversation flowed breezily around the table and included everyone. Amanda spoke politely to Finn, even though she hadn't seen him since well before he and Beth had broken up. And Grady, who was used to public appearances but didn't need to be the center of attention, entertained the table with stories about being an actor. Beth, now on her second glass of wine, started to relax.

This was going to be a piece of cake. No problem. Why had she worried?

Plates of fruit and assorted cookies were delivered to the tables to supplement the wedding cake. The DJ switched from mellow jazz to some livelier dance music. However, the bottles of wine at their table were empty, and Beth wanted an excuse to escape. She set off in search of the ladies' room and the bar.

“Finn!”

Finn was heading to his table when he heard a woman's voice. He turned to see Amanda Brunswick sidling through various conversations to get to him. She was easily one of the most beautiful women in the room, with her long, golden-brown, wavy hair, broad smile, and tiger eyes. She had been one of his favorite friends of his wife's, quiet and intense but warm and sincere. Tonight she had a new confidence about her, presumably because she had lived a rags-to-riches story over the past year; she had married Grady Brunswick and was, from what Finn gleaned from occasionally browsing the horse-show news online, collecting a bevy of blue ribbons at the big jumper shows with her mare, Edelweiss.

He nodded to her. “Amanda.”

“Care to dance?” she said. He heard another motive just beneath the surface of her request.

“I'm waiting for them to play a minuet.”

Amanda laughed. “In that case, let's go check out the lobby.” He let her lead the way out of the ballroom. In the Old West-meets-contemporary-comfort decor and furnishings, they found a conversation nook with a bay window and sat next to each other—but not too close—on the cushion.

Amanda formed a line with her lips, then spoke. “Finn. I've always liked you.”

Finn opened and closed his mouth. This was going to be one of
those
talks.

She went on. “Beth is, as you know, very important to me. She's my best friend. I don't know everything that happened between you two, and I've only heard Beth's side of things. So I don't pretend to know the whole truth at all. I don't think you're a bad guy. And one can't know what happens inside someone else's marriage. I just don't want to see Beth get hurt. I know she seems to be tough on the outside, but you know how she is. If you came to this wedding with any ulterior motives . . .”

Finn was surprised to hear this, and even more surprised at how her eyes darkened as she spoke.

She continued, “. . . just . . . don't hurt her. She didn't put me up to this; she doesn't know I'm talking to you. She hasn't told me anything that would lead me to believe you'd do anything to harm her. But I'm her friend, and I'm being proactive here. No offense but, let's face it, this is the first time she's seen you since the divorce, and it's bound to be awkward at best and awful at worst.”

He sighed and raised his hands, palms up. “I would never intentionally hurt her. Why would I? Amanda, I didn't like getting divorced. I hated it. Believe me, I have nothing against Bethany.”

She leaned back against the window frame and stared at him, her chin lowered. She was gauging his honesty! For Pete's sake.

She nodded and bit her lower lip. “Okay, then.” She lifted her chin, sighed, and smiled. “Let's get back to the party.” She stood and he followed.

Well
. He walked behind her.
She's protecting her friend.

Harris stood next
to
Beth on the balcony where Beth had gone to cool her bare feet on the flagstones. Her sandals were so pretty, yet completely at odds with every bone in her foot. “Did he
say
anything to you? Because if he did, believe it or not, I can defend your honor. I'll start with verbal barbs, and if we get into a debate over, say, whether or not you can wear white after Labor Day, I'm all over it. But even if it comes to fisticuffs, I simply channel the imaginary love child of Suze Orman and Jillian Michaels and I'm a force to be reckoned with. If I can get Grady to join in, well, sister, watch out.”

Beth laughed. “No, he didn't say anything.”

She paused. “He was always a nice guy, you know?” She was staring at her left hand on the railing—her left hand, which had no rings on it—and then started to get wistful, which was simply not going to fly. “But we're both adults, we're at a wedding, and I want cake. Have they cut the cake yet?”

Harris grinned. “My, but aren't we the little carb trollop? Okay, if you want to let that trim figure broaden into another zip code, who am I to stop you?”

She shot him a killing glance. “Why do I put up with you?' ”

“Where to start? Advice on clothes, shoes, makeup? Real estate? Cleaning products? How to peel garlic?” He grinned at her—his resistance-melting, Harris grin—and offered his arm. “Shall we go indulge? I shudder to think of the extra cardio I'm going to have to endure tomorrow, but I must admit, cake sounds carb-tacular.”

Beth picked up her sandals—nobody would care if she was barefoot now; they were all drunk and dancing—and took his arm. The evening was looking brighter, with or without cake.

Back in the ballroom,
Finn was weighing his options. The geologist was sitting at the table and he didn't want to have to talk to her, because he sensed she had her sights set on him. Instead, he leaned against a pillar near the bar, watching guests dance. Some looked like they could compete on one of those talent shows on TV, others like they were having seizures.

But back to his dilemma. He was going to be around these people for the next couple of days. Destination weddings meant activities, meaning that if he chose to participate, he'd see them. He could leave now, before the schmaltzy parts of the reception, if they were going to have a garter toss and the rest of it. He was already astounded at how much all this had affected him. He hadn't been to many weddings since his divorce, but maybe because Bethany was here, this one was mounting a surprise attack. Although they had eloped, he had always wanted a proper wedding, mostly because he knew Bethany had. But they'd run out of time. At the end of their yearlong marriage, instead of figuring out a guest list, they'd figured out how to divide their belongings.