The Best Man in Texas

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Brooke Nichols had grown up in a family where random announcements and dramatic proclamations were a way of life.

Girls, your mother has kicked me out of the house…again.

How would you two like to blow off school today and drive to SeaWorld?

Mom, Dad, Brooke, check it out! I decided to shave my head.

In contrast to her parents’ and older sister, Meg’s, more colorful news, Brooke had always announced academic success, such as the journalism scholarship to the University of Texas, or updates about her job, which was currently writing for the Community Lifestyles section of the
Katy Chronicle
. None of her declarations had ever caught anyone off guard. But tonight Brooke had something to share that was both life changing and unexpected.

At least,
I
didn’t see it coming,
Brooke mused as she approached the front door of her parents’ most recent rental home. She’d barely set foot on the porch when her
mom emerged from the house, the screen door clattering behind her.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Didi Nichols enthused. The slim woman with her long, wheat-blond hair was barefoot beneath a baby-doll dress, her only makeup a bright pink smear of lip gloss. When people saw Didi out with Meg, they assumed mother and daughter were sisters. When they saw Didi with curvier, dark-haired Brooke, they didn’t suspect any relation at all. “Come in, come in. Get out of this heat.”

Although it was only mid-May, with months of summer still ahead, temperatures in south Texas had been climbing all week. Inside the house, the air conditioner hummed through the ceiling vents, causing a lavender-and-yellow Happy Birthday banner to flutter overhead. Brooke half chuckled at the whimsical acknowledgment of her thirtieth year.

Following her daughter’s gaze upward, Didi grinned. “You know me, I never throw anything away. That old thing probably dates back to one of Meg’s preteen surprise parties.”

While Brooke used to make her parents swear they wouldn’t ambush her with a party—she’d found adolescent social occasions awkward enough when she
was
prepared—Meg loved the unexpected and dropped heavy hints every year that she would welcome another surprise party. Which, ironically, led to them never being much of a surprise.

“Your sister was so sorry she couldn’t make it,” Didi said. “With that course she’s taking during the day,
she’s back to waitressing nights, and Saturdays are big business.”

After trying and rejecting cosmetology classes and an apprenticeship to a dessert chef, Meg was now training to be a private investigator.

Brooke nodded. “Giff wishes he could be here, too, but he flew to San Francisco first thing this morning.” She caught herself absently fidgeting with the flawless diamond-solitaire ring. Even though she and Gifford Baker had never discussed engagement before last night, much less window-shopped for jewelry, he’d managed to find a ring that fit perfectly—which was so like him.

Didi pursed her lips. “Maybe it would have been better if we’d scheduled this for another time instead of on your actual birthday. Not much of a celebration with just me and Dad, is it? Do you remember that blowout we had for my fiftieth?”

“Yeah, that was…pretty unforgettable.” Brooke managed not to wince at the memory of crowded chaos. When the police had shown up with a noise complaint, one of Didi’s “free-spirited” friends had flashed him in an attempt to earn his goodwill. “Trust me, I’m fine with just the three of us. I have something I want to tell you and Dad anyway.”

Didi’s dark eyes widened with concern. She obviously hadn’t noticed the engagement ring. “That sounds serious, dear.”

Very.
Rest-of-her-life serious.

Brooke had spent years carefully laying out what she wanted her future to be like, what kind of family she would build. Her own children would enjoy a
comforting,
stable
life. Giff—intelligent, reliable and, as a bonus, movie star handsome—could give her everything she’d ever wanted.

She felt a smile tug at her lips as she envisioned her long-cherished dreams coming true. “Don’t worry, Mom, it’s—”

But her mother was moving toward the kitchen. “Everett? Come in here, honey! Brooke has something she needs to discuss with us.”

A moment later Everett Nichols loped into the room, his long-legged stride unhampered by the apron he wore. He passed by his wife to squash his daughter in a bear hug. “Hope you’re hungry, baby. I’m trying something new in honor of your birthday.”

Brooke’s parents had met in Vegas, where Didi had dealt blackjack and Everett had been trying to work his way up in a resort kitchen despite his lack of formal training. A potentially brilliant chef plagued by moments of outrageous failure, he refused to play it safe with flavors. When his criticism of the head chef’s “predictable palate” cost him his job, Everett had gone to a nearby casino to drown his sorrows. According to family legend, his gaze had locked with Didi’s and they were married within seventy-two hours.

In high school and college, Brooke’s friends had giggled over the “passion” of it, how romantic it was that her parents had shared such a whirlwind courtship. Of course, none of her friends had lived through her parents’ subsequent marriage, marked as it was with its
passionate
arguments. And reconciliations. And spontaneous decisions like sinking all the money into a family
restaurant that hadn’t lasted three months, or abruptly moving the family to Colorado while Brooke was in elementary school and then to Texas in the middle of her eighth-grade year.

Brooke’s shoulders straightened as if a burden had been lifted. When Giff had asked her last night to be his wife, she’d experienced a twinge—a whisper, really—of doubt. They’d been dating exclusively since the night, not that long ago, they’d been introduced at a charity St. Patrick’s Day gala. And while she appreciated his brilliance as a technologies consultant, his work ethic and his devotion to his mother, who was recovering from breast cancer, Brooke had occasionally taken stock of her feelings and wondered if there should be…more. Now, looking at her two impetuous parents and thinking about how different her own marriage with Giff would be, Brooke knew without a doubt she’d been right to accept his proposal.

In our case, maybe less really is more.

Prompted by the way his wife was nervously twisting her hands, Everett asked, “Brooke, is everything all right?”

“Couldn’t be better.” She beamed at them and held out her left hand. “Mom, Dad, I’m getting married!”

From the passenger seat came a sudden chirp. Someone must have left a voice mail earlier. Steering one-handed, Jake McBride kept his eyes on the freeway while digging through maps, CD cases and the balled-up paper bag that had held his lunch a few hours ago. His stomach rumbled.
All right, more than a few.

Finally he retrieved the phone. He’d spent a good part of the day driving through the boonies, where reception was questionable, so it was unsurprising that he’d missed a call. Without glancing at the small glowing screen—how many accidents had he seen on the job caused by people looking at their phones or scrolling through iPod menus?—he held the cell to his ear and fumbled with buttons until a computerized female voice told him he had two new messages.

“Hoskins here,” began the first recording. The most recent addition at the fire station, Ben Hoskins didn’t have much experience yet, but he was a quick learner and an affable guy. “Don’t know how late you’ll roll in, but we’re looking at an urgent Bravo Echo Echo Romeo down at Buck’s tonight. Could use your expertise.”

Jake shook his head, chuckling under his breath at the rookie’s invitation to join the guys for a beer. More enticing than the prospect of a drink was the fact that Buck’s had the best jalapeño burger in the state. Still, after four days out of town, Jake needed to shower, unpack and catch a night’s sleep in his own bed, so maybe he’d pass on Buck’s.

After years in the army, the concept of having his own bed and a permanent address to go with it was still rather new. Following his return to the States and honorable discharge, Jake had bought a place on the rural outskirts of Katy, about half an hour from where he’d grown up in Houston. His small, unassuming house was comfortable enough, but coming back from these trips and walking through the front door never gave him that emotional “aha!” moment. There was no soothing rush of
home
other guys in his Company had often reminisced about.

One could argue that Jake’s stint in the military, the string of temporary assignments and lodgings, had contributed to his footloose tendency, but the truth was, he’d always been restless. He had endless childhood memories of his mother imploring him to “settle down,” “sit down” or “quiet down.” Especially if Jake’s father had been sleeping off his latest overindulgence.

Pushing aside the recollection of his parents, Jake pressed a button and listened to the second phone message.

“Hey.” Giff’s voice, as familiar as a brother’s, provoked a stab of guilt. How long had it been since they’d met for a game of racquetball or a platter of burritos at
Jake’s favorite Mexican restaurant, Comida Buena? “I know you were away on one of your walkabouts this weekend.”

Jake grinned at his friend’s phrasing.

“I’m actually on the West Coast myself, lending a hand with a product rollout, but I get back on Wednesday. You free for dinner that night? I have news that I want to give in person. Nothing bad,” Giff added hastily. With a self-conscious laugh, he said, “Just the opposite. I’ve got to run, but give me a call tomorrow if you get a chance.”

Intrigued, Jake tossed the cell phone back onto the passenger seat. He appreciated the assurance that everything was okay since Jake’s first thought had been of Grace Baker. Giff’s mom had fought a rocky battle with breast cancer during Jake’s last tour. If his friend had something to celebrate, it could help restore Jake’s faith in the universe. He’d seen tragic things happen to decent people,
young
people.

As a kid, the son of a disabled and bitter former policeman who increasingly prioritized booze over his wife and child, Jake had fatalistically accepted that
his
life sucked, but he’d believed in some sort of cosmic balance. Surely people born into better neighborhoods and sober families had no worries. Then one spring day in fourth grade, he’d encountered Gifford Baker—the only child of wealthy, loving parents—who was about to get his ass kicked in the field behind the school. By the time they were sophomores, Giff was six feet and spent every morning in the weight room. But such was not the case in fourth grade when three bullies had cornered
him. He’d already taken one blow to the face when Jake crested the hill.

Jake hadn’t known Giff, only known of him. Every class had been required to write a thank-you note to Mr. Baker’s corporation for the money donated to air-condition the gymnasium. It wasn’t affection that propelled Jake to the other boy’s defense, but an overwhelming sense of
wrongness.
If even people like Gifford Baker had crappy stuff happen to them, what hope was there for anyone else?

In the weeks following Jake’s impromptu rescue, the boys became best friends. On their high school football team, Jake played fullback to Giff’s running back, blocking and protecting as necessary. They’d roomed together for a year at Texas A&M until Giff took a semester off when his father died. Jake had never been brave enough to ask, but he couldn’t help wondering if Giff ever resented that it had been
his
father—a philanthropist who’d adored his family—instead of, say, an embittered alcoholic whose wife cried nightly and whose son spent as little time home as possible.

Nothing bad,
Giff had promised this time.
Just the opposite.

Something good, then. Even without knowing what it was, Jake was happy for his friend already. He looked forward to getting the details in a couple of days. Who deserved “good” more than Gifford Baker?

“O
KAY, NOW THAT
she’s
gone…” Megan Nichols began conspiratorially.

Brooke blinked. “Who? Kresley?” Her friend and
editor, Kresley Flynn, had just excused herself to the ladies’ room—which she’d been doing more frequently as her pregnancy progressed.

“Yeah.” Meg scooted closer, temporarily taking Kresley’s chair so that Brooke could better hear her over the rockabilly band playing in the next room. Buck’s Bar and Grill was foremost a restaurant, but a side room off of the main dining area offered darts, pool and a dance floor not much bigger than a cracker. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of her that sounded unsupportive—I mean, family solidarity here—but I have to ask, are you sure about this? The engagement?”

“Am I sure?” Brooke echoed, nonplussed. Her big sister’s motto was to leap first and look…eventually. If she got around to feeling like it. Meg was the
last
person Brooke would have expected to question her decision. Maybe getting engaged after just two months of dating would seem quick to some, but two months was practically a decade in Nichols years. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well.” Meg smiled hesitantly, the expression in her big brown eyes pitying. “I admit Giff is a great-looking guy. That’s undeniable. But his being easy on the eyes aside, don’t you sometimes find him a bit dull?”

An undignified bark of laughter escaped Brooke. So that was Megan’s big concern? “Meg, the last guy you went out with for more than a week swallowed swords and juggled fire at the Texas Renaissance Festival. Compared to that, anyone’s bound to seem dull. Giff isn’t boring, he’s dependable.”

Meg wrinkled her nose, looking closer to twenty than thirty-five. “Another word for predictable.”

If I’m lucky.
Despite herself, Brooke had once fallen for a guy outside her comfort zone—a fellow writer she’d met during her college years in Austin. Her tumultuous on-again, off-again year with the gorgeous brooding poet had reinforced her belief that she didn’t need any more spontaneous types or “artistic temperaments” in her life. Now she had a gorgeous businessman who always called when he said he would and would never forget her birthday. Nothing could make her happier.

“Don’t confuse me with you,” Brooke said gently. “I’m the one who
doesn’t
like surprises.”

With a sigh, Meg flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. “All right. But at least tell me that you two celebrated with a night of wild—”

“What did I miss?” Kresley asked, returning to the table and waiting patiently for Meg to slide back to her own chair. Kresley was adorable in a tie-dyed maternity top, and her thick blond hair was shampoo-ad shiny; she credited the pre-natal vitamins.

Once her coworker was seated again, Brooke felt like the token brunette at the table.

“Just in time,” Meg said, her voice full of mischief. “I was about to get the down and dirty details of Brooke’s sex life. I mean, now that you’re engaged, you
did
finally—”

“Meg, he’s going to be the father of my kids. Your brother-in-law. This isn’t some sordid one-night stand.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Meg teased. She
herself was not shy about details. In her early twenties, she’d traumatized her sister with explicit firsthand descriptions of what sexual positions offered the best orgasms. It had taken sixteen-year-old Brooke a week to get the unwanted images out of her head.

Brooke resisted the urge to point out that rushing into bed had never gained Meg anything lasting and meaningful.
Not my place to judge.
After all, Meg had never craved something permanent the way Brooke did.

But passion wasn’t everything. Brooke had shared incredible physical chemistry with her long-ago poet, and that relationship had been a fiasco. By the time they’d broken up for good, she’d been such a mess that she’d almost lost her university scholarship.

Apparently not even Kresley understood Brooke’s inclination to take it slow, to prioritize the emotional bond over sex. Her pale eyebrows were arched in disbelief. “So does that mean you guys still haven’t—”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Brooke pointed out, “but we decided it would be romantic to wait until our wedding night.”

Meg snorted. “At least now I understand the rush to get married this summer.”

When Giff got back from California this week, they were going to look into different venues and date availability. But they agreed that late July or early August suited them both. He was already scheduled to travel during much of September and, as he’d reasoned, now that they’d found the person they each wanted to spend forever with, why delay? Besides, they wanted at least a year alone together before they started building a
family. The risk of pregnancy complications went up significantly after thirty-five, and not everyone was lucky enough to conceive as quickly as Kresley and her husband, Dane.

Brooke shot a wistful glance in Kresley’s direction. The lifestyles editor was one of those blue-eyed, blond, former cheerleaders who’d been beautiful all her life, but in Brooke’s opinion the woman had never looked lovelier than she did now that she was expecting. Of course, Brooke might be biased because she herself had always wanted to be a mom. Every time she’d felt shocked or embarrassed as an adolescent, she’d resolved to do things differently with her own kids. Those imaginary kids had gradually taken shape in her vivid imagination. She wanted to be ridiculously domestic, cooking them spaghetti and meat loaf instead of asking them to try wasabi brownies; she wanted to help them with her homework and sew silly costumes for school plays.

Granted, she’d never actually made a meat loaf and didn’t own a sewing machine. But these were minor technicalities.

Kresley interrupted Brooke’s fond plans for her future family. “I for one am relieved that you’re looking at July for the wedding. It’s bad enough that I’m going to be a pregnant bridesmaid, but by September, someone would have to
roll
me to the front of the church.”

Brooke laughed. “You’re not that big. Besides, you should be happy you’ve gained weight.”

For the first trimester, Kresley had been sick as a dog. Unable to hold down foods or liquids—hell, she’d barely been able to hold down
air
—she’d lost a few pounds.

“It is nice to have my appetite back,” Kresley admitted with a sheepish look at Brooke’s empty plate. After Kresley had demolished her own salad, she’d finished Brooke’s nachos.

“Speaking of food—” Meg rose “—I should do a once-around, make sure no one’s in the weeds.”

When the three women had first agreed to celebrate Brooke’s news and discuss wedding plans over dinner, Megan hadn’t been scheduled to work on Monday. But another waitress had called in sick, and Buck himself had promised them free food if Meg would be on the premises as “just in case” backup. Brooke had to admit her sister was a popular waitress; even with the minimal amount of work she’d done tonight, she’d made good tips. Meg’s last waitressing job had been at a four-star restaurant but required skirts and pantyhose. Meg had ditched that in favor of wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt to work.

Once Meg had left to make her rounds, Kresley flashed an evil grin. “Brave move of you, asking your sister to be your maid of honor. You’re not worried about bizarre ceremony surprises or a bachelorette party that gets so out of hand the police are called?”

Valid concerns. In theory, the sooner they had the wedding, the less time Meg would have to plan something outrageous. But the truth was, Meg wasn’t much of a planner. She’d never had a problem manufacturing last-minute outrageousness.

“She’s my sister,” Brooke said by way of resigned explanation. “I couldn’t
not
ask her. Especially since you’re in your second trimester and—”

“I was only giving you a hard time,” Kresley assured her. “I’m not hurt that you didn’t ask me.”

“Promise me that if she tries to draft you for something insane, you’ll remind her that I don’t like surprises?”

Kresley’s eyes twinkled. “If you think that’ll do any good.”

Brooke traced the rim of her glass. “Do you think it’s rushing to get married in just a few months?”

“Not if you keep it simple. You said you both wanted a small, intimate wedding, right? Rushing would be if you two crazy kids had up and eloped.”

“No. That is emphatically not for me.” Her stomach clenched at the thought. For someone who wanted a marriage so different from her parents’, kicking off the marriage in the exact same way seemed like a bad omen. “Besides it would break Grace’s heart if she wasn’t there.”