Stand-In Groom (12 page)

“Oh, really, Anne!” Jenn slid down from her perch, arms crossed. “When are you going to give up on the idea of love at first si—” She jerked and grabbed for the cell phone hanging from her tiny waistband. “Sorry, gals, it’s the restaurant.” She whizzed out the door, phone to ear.

“Don’t mind her.” Meredith stood and stretched. “She and Clay Huntoon broke up.”

Anne frowned. “Clay Huntoon? The sports reporter for Channel Six who sings at church occasionally? Did I know she was seeing him?”

Meredith smiled and shook her head. “That’s how she met Danny Mendoza—Danny and Clay work together.”

“I swear she changes boyfriends like socks.” Anne fingered the waxy petal of one of the stargazer lilies. “Do you think maybe that’s why she’s so keen to find out if I plan to see Danny again? Do you think she might be interested in him?”

“Dunno. Maybe.” With a shrug, Meredith crossed to the door. “Hey, have you heard from Major O’Hara the last couple of weeks?”

Anne shook her head. “No, why?”

“He asked about you this afternoon—mentioned we haven’t worked any events with you recently, was wondering how you are, and said he’d probably give you a call to see if you have any small events he might pick up freelance.”

“Really? Are things so slow there that he has time to cater non-B-G events? I mean, it must really eat into the time he gets to spend with Debbonnaire.”

“You really are behind the times, Anne. Major and Deb broke up before Christmas. She wanted him to propose—after dating only two months, if you can believe that.” Meredith pressed her lips together. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll tell Major tomorrow you’ll be calling.” Meredith pulled the door closed behind her. “Good night, Annie.”

“ ’Night, Mere. No, sweet dreams instead.” She grinned when Meredith stuck her tongue out at their long-standing joke.

After putting her kitchen to rights, Anne slid the chain lock into place and put a pot of English toffee–flavored decaf coffee on to brew.

The news that Major O’Hara was once again available hadn’t struck her the way it would have a few weeks ago. Twenty years ago, when he’d started working for Aunt Maggie, fifteen-year-old Anne had been sure she was going to marry him one day. Although he seemed to enjoy flirting with her, he never hinted he would consider asking her out. Then she met Cliff Ballantine and allowed her relationship with Major to fall into a comfortable friendship.

She forced Major’s dimpled smile to replace George’s sharp features and brown eyes in her imagination. If she was going to obsess about someone, better for him to be someone available. She concentrated on Major, trying to remember the last time she’d seen him. Hadn’t it been at church a month or so ago?

Had George found a church to attend yet?

“Stop it.”

She carried her laptop computer into the bathroom and set it on a low stool. Perching on the side of the tub, she held her hand under the faucet, and when the water reached a comfortable temperature, she measured out two capfuls of the black-tea-and-red-currant bath oil.

Going back into the kitchen, she filled a latte mug with the richly scented coffee, doctored it with a bit of half-and-half and sugar, then went into the living room to grab a DVD. She hadn’t indulged in a bath and movie evening in quite a while.

Not even twenty minutes into
My Fair Lady
, Anne stopped it and brought up the computer’s media player to listen to music instead. Why did Professor Henry Higgins remind her of George? Was it his influence over Courtney that made her seem older than her nineteen years? Had he seen her as a diamond in the rough and fallen in love with her as he taught her etiquette? Or was he just a wealthy man who wanted a beautiful wife and decided to get one young enough that he could mold her into the kind of woman he wanted her to be?

How had they met? He self-admittedly had never been to Bonneterre before. In fact, aside from the New York area code on the business card he’d given her, she wasn’t sure where he lived.

And where had his money come from? Probably some old, aristocratic family in England, with the legacy fortune passed down to and doubled by each successive generation.

Closing her eyes, she sipped her coffee as the strains of Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me” wafted through the steamy room.

She’d opened up with him over lunch yesterday more than with anyone outside of Meredith and Forbes. Not even Jenn knew all of the details of Anne’s parents’ deaths or of why she had started her own business.

The next song started, and rather than picturing Dean Martin, she could clearly imagine George Laurence serenading her with “Return to Me,” her favorite song.

She jumped out of the tub, not caring that she splashed water all over the rugs and tile floor, and turned the music off. Jamming her arms into her bathrobe, she fled to the kitchen, where she grabbed her planner and flipped to the address book.

“Please let him still have this number.” She picked up her cell phone and dialed. It rang once…twice…

“Hello?”

“Hi, Major, it’s Anne Hawthorne….”

8

Soft amber light pooled on the brick walkway from the faux gas lamp outside Anne Hawthorne’s office. George stopped. Why had he come down this way? There weren’t any restaurants on this side of Town Square.

He had to stop thinking about Anne Hawthorne. He was here to do a job, and once finished, he’d go away. She would stay here with her family and her successful business.

Maybe if he confided in her—no. If he told Anne he wasn’t the groom, he would be breaking the contract, and it would put her in an awkward position with her cousin Forbes. Anne would ask questions George couldn’t answer, and that would only make matters worse.

After lunch yesterday, though, he was hard pressed to deny the growing attraction he felt for her. He wanted to spend more time with her, wanted to be the one to whom she told all her secrets, in whom she confided her dreams and fears. Asking her to go out socially was out of the question as long as she thought he was the groom. He couldn’t do anything to compromise his employment or Anne.

Why was he still here? Nothing he could do or say would justify his lurking outside of Anne’s office at nine o’clock in the evening. He crossed Town Square toward the lights and music emanating from the Riverwalk. He fruitlessly wished Anne had still been working so he could have invited her to dinner.

He grimaced. Yes, a romantic dinner with someone he’d spent the last two weeks purposely deceiving. What a brilliant idea.

He chose an open-air café, and the hostess showed him to a small wrought-iron table. He took the chair that faced the river. Although his stomach clenched with hunger, his appetite was gone. Nothing on the menu piqued his interest. He ordered a Caesar
salad and let the waitress talk him into trying their peach-flavored iced tea.

What did Anne do outside of her work? His own job was such that he was always on call, necessitating that he drop his own plans whenever his employer wanted something. Anne was self-employed. She could set her own hours. What interests did she pursue? Did she have hobbies?

He’d had a glimpse of that outside life yesterday when she turned on the music in the car. To hear the strains of his favorite singer coming from her stereo… He’d never met another woman who enjoyed listening to the classics. Most women thought he was odd for not enjoying the latest noisemakers.

With whom did she spend her free time? Obviously, she had family in town. He shook his head, remembering her cousins. Jennifer Guidry—pretty, young, and flirtatious—had mentioned seeing Anne again on Thursday night. Not for the first time did he wish he had a group of friends or relatives to spend time with. Although he guarded his personal space and private time jealously, he still needed fellowship and companionship.

Lights from the buildings behind him twinkled on the surface of the river. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the small table.

Are you testing me, God? Is this attraction supposed to be a test of my ability to keep my word to my employer while not lying to Anne? How am I supposed to do both?

He gave the waitress a tight smile as she set the glass of tea down. Absently, he lifted it and took a sip, then groaned. It had taken him years to learn to enjoy cold tea, but he’d forgotten restaurants in the South always overloaded theirs with sugar.

He flagged down another server and requested a glass of water with no ice and a slice of lemon.

He envied Anne. She’d found what she enjoyed doing and had created a flourishing business. He was jealous of Jennifer Guidry’s precocious success as a restaurateur. The girl couldn’t be thirty years
old yet had built a restaurant that seemed to thrive in an out-of-the-way town when the chances for failure in the food-service industry were high.

Both women had found a way to make their dreams come true, while his still remained only a fantasy. Maybe he wasn’t praying about it often enough or listening for God’s answer hard enough.

“George?”

George started at Forbes’s voice. He stood and extended his right hand. “Good evening, Forbes.”

The lawyer smiled, his eyes reflecting the glow of the Japanese paper lanterns strung around the café. “I’m glad to see you’re getting out and enjoying Bonneterre.”

“Yes. The city has many charms.” George glanced around at the women gaping or batting their eyelashes at Forbes. “Won’t you join me?”

“Ah, I’d love to, but—” Forbes nodded toward a nearby table at which sat a breathtaking redhead. He grinned. “It’s a business dinner, but that doesn’t keep her from wanting my sole attention.”

George smiled. “If you have to do business over dinner, at least the company is pleasant to look at.”

“Speaking of dinner company, do you have plans Thursday night?”

“Not particularly. Just work.”

“Now, George, you know what they say: All work and no play makes George a dull boy. I know you’ve got a reputation to protect, so bring Courtney along with you, if you don’t think that’ll make things too uncomfortable.”

“Miss Courtney is in Paris.” George’s mind raced. Thursday was the night Anne and Jenn were supposed to be having dinner.

“Then you must come. I’ll make sure no one asks you any probing questions. You can’t just sit around at home by yourself for the next four months.”

“Just how many will be at this dinner?”

“Oh, five or six others—Anne, my sisters Jennifer and Meredith,
a few other miscellaneous cousins.” Forbes squeezed George’s shoulder. “Say you’ll come. Anne will never forgive me if she finds out you’re spending the night by yourself when you could be with us.”

“When and where?”

“The Fishin’ Shack—it’s Jenn’s restaurant. Take River Road south out of town and go about twenty minutes to the town of Comeaux—”

George held his hand up with a smile. “I’ve been there once already, so it should be no trouble to locate again.”

“Excellent. We’ll see you there around seven Thursday night.”

George sank into his chair. He’d get to see Anne in a social setting and meet more of her family. Would she be happy to see him? She seemed to enjoy the time they’d spent together yesterday—

No, he was deluding himself. The attention Anne showed him amounted to nothing more than professional courtesy. She thought he was a client—someone who was getting married—but he was letting it go to his head, thinking that somehow, deep down, she must know he wasn’t the groom, imagining she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

The story of his life—he liked a woman he couldn’t have because of his social status or job. He had to find some way to cure himself of the attraction and refocus on the job at hand.

W
ith a wave and return greeting, Anne swept past the hostess and made her way through the crowded restaurant to the large round table in the back. She wasn’t the first to arrive, as several cousins sat around talking and laughing over their iced tea and hush puppies.

Meredith scooted out the chair beside her for Anne, who slid into it gratefully. “Working late?”

Anne nodded. “Probably would have worked straight through dinner if Forbes hadn’t called me to tell me he was leaving the office later than usual. I didn’t tell him I was still at work myself.”

“Big wedding this weekend?”

“Yeah, so I’m going to have to eat and run.”

“I’m just glad you’ve been able to make it to as many dinners this summer as you have. When you’re not out on dates, that is.” Meredith winked.

Anne grabbed a glass and filled it from the pitcher of sweet tea in the middle of the table. Thursday night dinners with the family were easier to work into her schedule than dates with men she didn’t know and didn’t particularly want to meet. With her family, she could be herself; she could put aside the persona of the outgoing, vivacious professional woman everyone else wanted to see her as. She could let her vulnerabilities show, could let someone else support her for a little while.

“I’m a little surprised Forbes isn’t here yet.” She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “If he left downtown around the same time I left…”

Meredith turned to answer a question from one of their cousins, leaving Anne to her own thoughts. Oh, to meet a man she could feel as comfortable with as she did her family. To be able to talk to him like she had with George here in this very restaurant three days ago.

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him in that way. He’d already made his choice of partner, and she’d no more try to win him away than she would try to break up a married couple. She had to overcome these feelings. She
had
to.

“Oh, Anne, did you ever talk to Major?” Meredith asked.

“I did. We’re having dinner—so I can go over a couple of upcoming events with him to get bids on catering them. That’s all.” At least, Anne told herself, she didn’t have any other motives for getting together with the handsome chef whom longtime Bonneterre residents still remembered as a high school and college football star.

“Hey, y’all.”

Forbes’s voice startled her. She hated sitting on this side of the table where she had her back to the main part of the restaurant.